whiskey | bi | she/her | 32 | see pinned post for my writing | no minors, weird adults only | this is a snz fetish blog, if you aren't into that this won't be the place for you ✨
Masterlist of the Elliot's universe. If you’re new to this world, welcome! Here are the main characters:
Elijah: The GM and owner of Elliot's, a restaurant in Manhattan. My stories range in timeline, but at his youngest in these stories he's 35, at the oldest he's 41. His description is in this post. Elijah is straight (he and Greyson argue like a married couple but aren't together lol)
Greyson: The Executive Chef at Elliot's. He ranges in age from 26-32. Description of Greyson here! Greyson is pansexual (again, he and Elijah won't be getting together in my stories).
Visual of both Greyson + Elijah by the incredibly talented ghostlychill from 'The Way You Care for Me' here!
Matt: Greyson's sous chef. He is dating Mark, in the later stories. He ranges in age from 20-26. He is bisexual.
Mark: Elijah's front of house manager, dating Matt in the later stories. He ranges in age from 22-28. He is gay.
Mark and Matt descriptions here.
Requests are open! If you have something you'd like to see in this universe, please feel free to send it (I can't guarantee it will get written BUT I will definitely try to fill what I can :))
PSA: I do write:
Light Mess
Coughing/pneumonia
Contagion
Fevers, passing out, rashes...anything in the ‘cold/flu’ vicinity
PSA: I do not write:
Emeto
Romance/sexual plots featuring Elijah and Greyson as a couple
Anything co/vid related
Fanfic or anyone else’s OCs
RP of any kind, including with my characters (sorry)
Heavy mess
Elliot's Cast - Full fics. Now in chronological order!
Long Day, Late Night - M, cold (Greyson)
Don't Mention It - M, cold (Elijah)
Open Secret - M, cold (Elijah)
Home for Christmas - M, cold (mostly Greyson, but Elijah a little too)
Go Home - M, cold (Greyson)
A Cup of Tea and Paracetamol pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4 - M, cold (Elijah only in pt 1 and 2, both in pt 3 and 4)
Weak/Weary - M, cold (Greyson)
One Month - M, cold (Greyson)
Who Cares for You - M, cold (Elijah. There’s also a couple sneezes from Greyson that are fake/induced by pepper)
Downfall pt 1, pt 2 M, cold (Elijah, matt, and mark pt 1, Greyson pt 2)
Heart. Sick. - M, cold (Greyson)
Critical - M, cold (Elijah)
Cry Wolf - M, cold (Greyson)
Patient Zero - M, cold (Elijah and Greyson)
City Slicker - M, allergies (Elijah)
Three - M, cold (some Greyson, plus Matt. M/M pairing)
Show & Tell - M, cold (Matt)
Nowhere to Hide - M, illness (Mark)
Safe - M, cold (Mark centric, but Greyson and Matt also feature here)
Instant Karma - M, cold (Greyson)
Thanks - M, cold (everyone, but Elijah focused)
See Me, I See You - M, cold (Greyson and Elijah)
The Way You Care for Me - M, illness (Greyson + Elijah)
FOH/BOH pt 1 - M, cold (Elijah pt 1)
Hard to Shake - M, cold (Greyson)
Then & Now - M, cold (Greyson)
Ambiance - M, allergies (Mark)
Chatterbox - M, cold (Greyson - this is a short one)
Noticing - M, cold (Greyson)
Worth It - M, cold + inducing (Greyson - Reed w a snz kink)
Before & After - M, flu (everyone)
The Gift - M, cold (Greyson)
Weird - M, cold (Greyson)
Leaving - M, cold (Greyson)
Glutton for Punishment - M, cold (Elijah)
Had It - M, cold (Greyson)
Flu Shot - M, flu (Greyson & Elijah)
(note: there may be discrepancies in this timeline. I am not perfect, this is snz fiction not a fully mapped novel so if something doesn't make sense timeline-wise, my apologies haha.)
Elliot's Cast - Drabbles (no particular order)
Fever - Elijah, cold
Outside - Greyson, cold
Nyquil - Elijah, cold
Summer - Elijah & Greyson, colds
Angry - Greyson, cold
Gingerbread - Greyson, Matt, colds
Bed - Elijah, cold
Heat - Elijah, cold
More about the guys under the tag #asks answered. As always, thanks so much for reading!
I just wanted to tell you that I adore your writing!! It’s so good and your characters are my fav 💗💗
I’ve reread lots of your fics too
That’s all, thank youuu
😭😭😭 you guys have to stop being nice to me, my heart can't handle it lol
but for real, not to be a weirdo but getting validation that people like my writing really makes all the work...worth it. like I obviously write for myself, I'd have to to write as much as I do, but as anyone who creates anything will tell you, getting some external validation really breathes life back into the work. at this point I've written around 400 pages of fic for my guys - thats a full novel. and the fact that people still read it is so incredible to me, I don't even know how to describe my gratitude. i love writing snz fic but it is hours and hours and hours of work and anyone taking the time out of their day to appreciate it is so incredible to me. thank you, whether you've read one sentence of my fics or all of them multiple times over. i love this community so much.
Hi! I'm a whore for sick/miserable Greyson, and while I was rereading some of my favorite fics, I came across a line where Greyson mentions how Collin got angry with him on a date because Grey was sick and then left him with the tab, which then maxed out Grey's credit card, and that then led to him having to call Elijah to bail him out, etc etc. I was wondering, did you ever write that as a stand alone fic? I thought maybe you had, but I couldn't find it, so maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part lol. 😅 Anyway! Aside from that, my main point is that I really love your characters and their interactions with on another, sick or otherwise haha. Thank you for blessing us with your writing!
Ok first of all the concept of someone not just reading but rereading my fics has me 🥰🥰😍😍 so thank you so much for sending and for reading I really can't overstate how incredible that makes me feel!!
So firstly, unfortunately there is not a fully fleshed out story of that scene (at least not yet 👀). The funny thing about that scene is it was supposed to be a part of the fic it's from (Leaving is the fic, I think??) originally, but I cut it because I didn't want to do flashbacks for that one. HOWEVER, I have been thinking of a fic that's basically all the times that collin was a dickhead to Greyson when he was sick during their relationship, soooo hopefully in the nearish future there will be a fic that includes that scene! 😸
Thank you again for reading my stuff and taking the time to send this 🥹 people reading and thinking about my ocs is quite literally one of the most amazing feelings and you totally made my day by asking about this!
Heyyy here I am again, going a month without posting a thing and then posting a fic and running away. This is the fic I did the poll about! In it, Greyson gets the flu and gives it to Elijah, who was supposed to get a flu shot and, shocker, didn't. It takes place 6 months into Elijah and Emily's established relationship, and explores their burgeoning relationship a bit. The boys are v sick in it. It's dual POV - Elijah & Emily, it switches back and forth. It's extremely long. If you read it, I hope you like it! I'd love to hear how people feel about this relationship.
CW: Male snz, male illness, contagion (not purposeful), lots of coughing, fevers, dizziness, all things flu-related. Mention of pneumonia, but nothing scary happens. 7kish words under the cut.
Enjoy :)
Flu Shot
The waiting room was a chorus, a cacophony, of coughing.
“I’m ready for whoever’s next,” Emily said to the charge nurse at the front desk, adjusting her mask so it better fit over her face. “And room two is clean.”
Rhonda, the charge nurse, smiled behind her own mask. “Thanks, Em, for being so quick about it. Maybe if everyone was as on top of it as you, we’d get through this waiting room before shift change.”
Emily hummed out a laugh. “Doubt it,” she said, squirting hand sanitizer onto her palms and rubbing it halfway up her arms. “It’s like a never-ending revolving door in this place lately.”
“Mmm,” said Rhonda, handing Emily a clipboard. “Flu season. My favorite time of year.” She rolled her eyes, prompting a giggle from Emily.
“Yours and mine both, sister,” she said, checking her watch with the clipboard under her arm. Elijah had texted her a good morning.“Hey, I’ll get this next one in just a second, if that’s okay.”
“No worries,” Rhonda said. “Not like they’re going anywhere.”
Emily placed a gentle hand on Rhonda’s shoulder before stepping around the corner and into the employee bathroom. Once there, she pulled her phone out and texted Elijah back – first, a good morning, and then, a reminder to get a flu shot, something he definitely should have already done, right? They had talked about it at least twice. The restaurant was a cesspool when it came to illness, Emily had come to realize in the six months the two of them had been dating. Close quarters, no one able to take a sick day, and long and late hours basically guaranteed that at least one person was sick at any given time, and this flu season really was shaping up to be… intense. Emily bit her lip as she typed; Elijah was a smart guy, with self preservation, she reasoned with herself. Certainly he’d already done it.
Pressing send on the message, she stepped back out into the hallway and grabbed the clipboard again, cracking her neck on the way to the waiting room. Only two hours into the shift, and she was already on her fourth clipboard. It was going to be a long day.
***
good morning <3. hey, random, and I know we talked about it a few weeks ago, but make sure u get ur flu shot if you havent already, its a srsly rough season this year xx
For the tenth time in two minutes, Elijah reread the text from Emily with his heart in his throat. Fuck, he knew he’d been forgetting to do something this past week – now, he remembered what it was. They had talked about flu shots when Emily got hers, courtesy of her work, last month; Elijah had promised he’d get his in the next few weeks, despite how busy the restaurant was. He did not.
Elijah slipped his phone back in his pocket, making a mental note to find the time today or tomorrow to get the shot. It would take less than thirty minutes, he reasoned with himself. Even he had thirty minutes to spare during the day. Thinking better of it, he pulled the phone back out, sitting back in his seat and perusing the closest pharmacy’s website for open flu shot slot times. There was one tomorrow afternoon, three pm – perfect. Before service, after manager meeting, and the pharmacy was barely a five minute walk away. Why hadn’t he done this earlier? Elijah pressed the time he wanted and began filling out his information, when he heard the back kitchen doors open and slam shut.
He heard Greyson before he saw him.
“HTTSHHH-uhh! Hhh… hh -! HRRTXXCH-ue!” The two massive sneezes were followed by a round of coughing, deep and chesty, the type of cough that you hear from the person next to you on the bus and start to hold your breath. Elijah’s head whipped up from his phone, mid-typing. No, he thought to himself, standing to walk toward the sound of Greyson’s suffering, please no.
“That had better not be you, Greyson,” he said, heading towards the back kitchen, phone long forgotten. Elijah thought back to Monday, when Greyson had texted him asking about the place that sold great miso soup near Elliot’s.
It’s called koi fish, Elijah had texted back. Why?
Because Reed was sick. He had the flu, they’d gone to urgent care to confirm, and he was completely miserable and refusing to eat anything. A pit had formed in Elijah’s stomach even then; Greyson, god love him, was absolutely unable to escape anyone near him getting sick without also succumbing. At this point, it was nearly a joke, a bit in the restaurant: if you have a cold, just go breathe near Chef for a minute. He’ll absorb it from you in a matter of moments, and you’ll start to feel better immediately. A rhinovirus succubus.
Please wash your hands while you’re taking care of him, Elijah had texted his friend. Sequester yourself if you have to. We have such a busy week.
Greyson had agreed, said he was being careful. He’d gotten a flu shot! He’d done everything right! He was a chef, he had to update his ServSafe card every five years to prove he knew how to keep his food from making people sick. If anyone knew how to keep from getting sick, surely it was him. And during Tuesday service, he was fine. Elijah thought, stupidly, that maybe they’d made it over the hump, so to speak.
But then yesterday – Wednesday – came around, and he’d been a little off during service. His consonants had been a little muted, his voice a little thin… but surely he was fine. Right? Surely he could make it through one illness his boyfriend had without catching it. Certainly he could.
When Elijah turned the corner into the prep kitchen, his heart, once lodged in his throat, immediately fell to the pit of his stomach. “Jesus Christ,” he said, taking the chef in.
Greyson looked miserable. His coat was zipped up to his neck, the hood slung over his head doing nothing to conceal his red, watering eyes and chapped nose. Clearly he could barely breathe; his mouth hung open, and when the coughs finally settled he was left wheezing into his sleeve, his breath just a catch away from the coughing fit beginning anew. “Hey, boss,” he managed, pulling his sleeve under his running nose. “How goes it?”
“Dude,” Elijah said, crossing his arms from the entrance of the back kitchen. “What did I tell you about sequestering yourself from Reed? Did it look like he was having so much fun on his death bed you needed to join him?”
Shrugging, Greyson turned on the water at the sink and thoroughly washed his hands before turning back to Elijah. “I got mby flu shot,” he wheezed, attempting to clear his throat. “I figured I’d be finde.”
Elijah closed his eyes, gathering himself before responding. “It’s not a magic spell, Grey. If you’re making out with your flu-ridden boyfriend, you’re going to get sick even if you had the shot. Everyone knows that.”
“Huh. Weird. They didn’t teach us that in culindary school. It’s almbost like it’s fuckigg food college. Ndot all of us went to three years of mbed school, Doctor Elijah. Ndot all of us are fuckigg a ndurse. Hh -!” Again, Greyson turned into his coat sleeve bracing himself on the sink with his free hand to keep from falling over. “HRTTTSCHH-ue! Huhh – HUHHTSCHCH-ueee!”
“Christ,” Elijah said, cringing. “Bless you. That sounds fucking painful.”
“It – hh -! Hh… hnng. Snrf. It is,” Greyson said, trying to sniff back some of the congestion and instead coughing hard enough that Elijah felt his chest contract in sympathy. He dipped out of the back kitchen, grabbed a water bottle from the beverage fridge in the server station, and brought it back to Greyson, who drank gratefully until the fit abated. The chef took a slow, deep breath, testing the waters of his lungs, and let it back out. He nodded at Elijah, as if to say good for now.
“I’m not a doctor, dickhead,” Elijah said when Greyson regained control. “They literally tell you that when you get the flu shot, don’t they?” Greyson raised an eyebrow.
“Whend’s the last timbe you got a flu shot?” he asked, rubbing his chest with a closed fist. Elijah flushed red and, realizing how close he was to Greyson, took a big step back.
“It’s been a while,” he admitted.
“Clearly,” Greyson said, moving out of the back kitchen and heading towards the office. Reluctantly, Elijah followed him – whether he wanted to sit next to the chef, breathe his germs in, or not, he did have to finish the schedule and the only place to do it was the office. They sat heavily in their chairs, Greyson’s rheumy eyes meeting his boss’s. “And also, I wasnd’t mbaking out with Reed, I was takigg care of himb. Tryigg to be a good boyfriend or whatever.”
“Mmm,” Elijah nodded. “You know you can be a good boyfriend without laying on top of him, yeah? You can take care of him without being attached at the hip.”
Greyson scoffed, coughed, and put his head on his hand, elbow resting on the desk. “Mbaybe you and Embily can take care of each other through a plastic bubble, but that’s ndot how Reed and I fly,” he said, eyes drooping towards closed. Elijah went to answer, but was cut off by a hastily-covered – “HTTSZZCHH-uee! HhhRRTSCHHH-uhhh!”
Watching the droplets rush from the chef’s mouth into the air surrounding them in the office, Elijah remembered the disclosure agreement on the bottom of the form he filled out for the flu shot he was clearly going to desperately need. Any persons with cold or flu-like symptoms will not be permitted to receive the flu shot. Shit. He needed to get out of Greyson’s metaphorical splash zone, and quickly.
“Bless you,” he said again, while Greyson pulled a single tissue – then, thinking better, a whole handful – out of the box. “Grey, you are not well enough to be here. You need to go home, when does Matt get in?”
Greyson cringed as well blew his nose. “Yeah, that’s the thigg,” he said, pressing his fingers into his face where his sinuses resided. “Mbatt’s sigck too. I, uh, mbay have recruited himb to help mbe with Reed while Mbark is away.”
Groaning, Elijah sat back in his chair and pulled a hand warily down his face. Fuck. “So he isn’t coming in, then?” he asked, prompting a laugh from Greyson.
“Ndo, he’s combing in. I can’t do this ndight by mbyself, ndot like this. I figured the two of us incapacitated equals about onde of us healthy.”
Great, Elijah thought, giving Greyson an incredulous look. Surrounded by sick people all night. “You’re going to get your whole staff sick,” he warned his friend. Greyson shrugged.
“Is what it is,” he said, pulling another handful of tissues from the box. “Juuhh – just - HNTSZZCHH-uee!” he collapsed forward into the tissues and let out a little moan of frustration, before blowing his nose and tossing them aside. “Just have to tell themb ndot to get too close,” he croaked, coughing into his fist.
“Yeah,” Elijah said, looking down at the confirmation email from the pharmacy. “I’m sure that’ll work perfectly.”
***
Post-shift, and finally back at her Brooklyn fifth floor walk-up, Emily poured herself a glass of wine and sat heavily on the couch. What a day, she thought, downing half the glass in one large gulp.
The twelve-hour shifts she’d agreed to back in July were starting to wear on her. Sure, she only had to work four a week, and eight of those hours were guaranteed overtime, but christ those four days never got any shorter. Not getting back to her apartment until ten p.m. when she left for the day at seven a.m. had her feeling like Elijah and all the other restaurant workers – a creature of the night, relegated to only seeing the outside when it was dark. Less person, more vampire.
Speaking of Elijah, she thought, pulling her phone out and frowning at the screen. Her boyfriend hadn’t texted her since this afternoon, and even that text seemed hasty and distracted. She’d asked how his day was going, and he sent back the emoji that looked like it was gritting its teeth, followed by two words: Had better. To that, she sent a simple ? and had been left on read.
Now, with the restaurant closing in the next half hour, surely Elijah had some time to talk. Without thinking, she clicked on her boyfriend’s contact photo – a very Elijah-coded shot of him mid sip of a cocktail with a hand help up to the camera – and hit the call button.
Almost immediately, Emily was sent to voicemail. Confused, she pulled the phone away from her face and studied it, eyebrows furrowed. Again, she clicked the all button.
Again, voicemail.
This time, though, a text from Elijah popped up.
Elijah
10:21PM
Hey babe, sorry, we’re still finishing up service and Grey had to go so I’m cleaning on the line. Are you okay?
Emily cocked her head to the side at this message. Cleaning on the line? Where the hell did Greyson have to go that meant Elijah had to get on-line? She clicked the text box to reply.
Emily
10:22PM
yes, all good. what happened to greyson?
A few minutes passed before Elijah finally texted back.
Elijah
10:31PM
I sent him home. He and Matt have the flu.
A sigh escaped Emily’s lips as she read her boyfriend’s message. Of course the chefs had the flu. She put her wine glass on the coffee table and typed out another text.
Emily
10:34PM
oof, the worst im sorry. good thing u got the flu shot, right?
Another five full minutes went by without an answer. Finally, as Emily got up to pour herself another glass, a text pinged through. She looked down at the phone – Elijah had ‘liked’ her message, but didn’t send anything back. Emily pressed her lips together and put the phone down. Self-preservation, she thought to herself for the second time that day. He does have it… right?
***
T-minus six hours until the flu shot appointment.
Elijah let himself in through the back door of the restaurant and immediately pulled a hand down his face, still exhausted from the night before. He may as well have not even left; by the time the line was clean and the paperwork was done, it was nearly three in the morning. The seven a.m. wakeup call to come back in had come in the blink of an eye.
Slowly, Elijah made his way to the office at the front of the kitchen, typing out a text to Greyson as he did.
Elijah
8:55AM
Are you alive?
The evening previous, to call Greyson alive would have been more than a stretch. The chef had made it through about half of service, coughing and sneezing and wiping away fever sweat, but by the time eight o’clock rolled around, he was swaying on his feet. Dishes were leaving the kitchen ungarnished, temps unchecked, and seat numbers given to food runners forgone. Elijah knew if they wanted to keep their Michelin star, he needed to send his friend home. Greyson was entirely too sick to put up a fight; he’d yanked his apron off, donned his coat, and left the building without even saying goodbye to the cooks.
In Elijah’s hand, the phone buzzed.
Greyson
9:01AM
barely lol. fevers down tho, so ill be in later. like noon.
Relief washed over Elijah as he read; Greyson was able to text, he was up at nine a.m., he was joking around. Most likely, the worst was behind him.
Elijah
9:02AM
Matt?
Once Greyson was gone, Matt tried to step up to the plate and take over expo, but the poor kid was down just as bad as Greyson, and Elijah had to send him home about thirty minutes after the executive chef. Whatever Reed had passed along to the chefs was fucking lethal.
Greyson
9:05AM
mmm havent heard from him yet. probably not coming in tho. like I wouldnt bet on it
Elijah sighed; well, one was better than none, he supposed.
He stood from the desk and turned to the kitchen, moving slowly to turn on the lights and the gas and to crank up the heat. Outside, snow had begun to fall, and for once he was grateful; maybe it would be a slow evening. Maybe they could all get out and get to bed before three in the morning. Elijah’s bones ached with the desire to crawl up in his bed, Emily’s warm frame wrapped in his arms, nothing to do but listen to the snow outside and… and…
“Hhh…” Elijah’s breath caught, and he pressed his tongue hard against the back of his teeth to quell the itch in his sinuses. No, he thought, pinching his nose hard between his thumb and pointer finger. Not now.
It would have been a lie to say that Elijah felt… completely put together. Try as he might, he was just unable to ignore his body in the way that Greyson and Matt always seemed to; he was hyper-aware of it, in fact, tuned in to even the smallest twinge of difference. He’d felt it yesterday, just the tiniest bit off; he knew the second he swallowed and it went down a little weird. Oh, he thought to himself as he watched Greyson and Matt cough themselves dizzy. It’s so over.
Then, despite the late night, Elijah had gone home and tossed and turned in his bed from four until six in the morning, unable to breathe out of one nostril or the other, sitting up every few minutes to guzzle water, his throat dry and sticky despite the wild amount of liquid he was ingesting. As he lay pre-feverish in his bed, he thought of Emily. He thought of the busy-as-fuck week they’d had. He thought of Greyson.
Greyson was sick. And Matt was sick. And Elijah was getting a flu shot today, and Emily had warned him about the flu not just yesterday, but multiple times since fall had turned to winter, and he could not be sick. So when his alarm went off at seven, Elijah took the hottest shower he could handle and looked himself in the mirror. “You are fine,” he said to his reflection. “You are not sick.”
Manifesting had always been one of his strong suits, after all. Had he not manifested this life he made for himself? Manifested the restaurant and its accolades? Manifested his nice apartment, his happy life? Sure, some would say that he worked his ass off for it, had scrimped and saved and worked two or even three jobs at a time when he was young, learned how to wire and plumb and interior design when he finally saved enough to buy the restaurant so that he wouldn’t have to pay someone to do everything for him. Some would certainly argue that he even had to work to be happy, to feel deserving of all that he had, but who were they to say those things? It was all manifestation, baby. One hundred perce -
“HXTSH-uhhh! NTSHH-ieuu! Hh - ! HhIGTXTZCH-uee!” Elijah attempted to stifle the sneezes into the back of his wrist, an effort that left him groaning at the pain behind his eyeballs. Can’t manifest health, he thought, then quickly pushed the thought away. Yes, he could manifest health. Of course he could. Mind over matter.
Elijah sniffed experimentally, testing to see how congested he really was. The sniffle barely moved any of the sludge beginning to build in his sinuses, and in fact only managed to make the constant buzz at the back of his nose and throat burn stronger. Again, he pinched his nose shut, this time managing to fully stifle two, three – four – shit – five sneezes in rapid succession, leaving him panting and stuffed up to the gills in the wake of the fit. Who the hell was he holding them in for, it’s not like anyone else was here. But Elijah knew, he was doing it to prove a point to himself – that he was well, that he was fine, that this afternoon he would be allowed by the pharmacy to get the flu shot. Manifesting. That was the reason. He checked his watch, and sighed.
Five hours, twenty-five minutes until the appointment.
***
Emily was sure this week was never going to end.
Eight hours into her fourth twelve-hour shift in a row, and she was the kind of tired you feel in the depths of your bones. The waiting room never got less full. The people never got kinder. At every new patient, every new throat she had to swab and temperature she had to take, she could feel herself untethering more and more. It was barely December – was this going to be the way it was all winter? She shuddered at the thought. Maybe she needed to take a mid-winter vacation.
Also, why the fuck wasn’t Elijah texting her back?
For the third time that hour, Emily checked her phone. No text from Elijah. She checked his location – still at the restaurant. It was two p.m., for god’s sake, it’s not like they were in service. What the hell was he doing?
The thought that she had often, the one she got whenever things seemed to be going well in a relationship, slipped into the back of her mind. Maybe he’s just done. Emily bit her cheek at the thought; much as she wished she could count it out, call it nonsense… it would honestly make sense. Elijah was chronically single, as Greyson put it when they all went out back at the beginning of her and Elijah’s flirtation.
“I mean, same,” Emily had said, smiling. Greyson had put his drink down on the bar top, turned away from the seat Elijah had just left to go use the bathroom, and looked at Emily, his face set into a serious look.
“No, like… look, Emily, Elijah does really like you. And like, I’ve known him for almost ten years and he’s never liked anyone, so that’s huge. But when I say he’s chronically single, I mean he doesn’t know how to be in a relationship. At all. He’s quite literally married to that restaurant. He’s there over a hundred hours a week.” He’d picked the drink back up, swallowed the remainder of it, and shrugged at her. “Just… I mean, just don’t be surprised if he picks it. When he picks it. He picks it over everything. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”
That had stuck with her, much as she didn’t want it to. Emily wasn’t the type of person who needed constant validation, truly; she was independent, she loved her space, and she knew Elijah was the same. It was something she enjoyed about their relationship, the fact that they didn’t have to be in constant contact or see each other more than once a week. It worked for them. But she couldn’t deny, six months into the relationship, that Greyson was right: Elijah did pick the restaurant over everything. Dates were often canceled, sometimes at the very last minute, and holidays and birthdays were a moot point. Elliot’s came first, always. And that was okay with her, really, she understood. Elliot’s was Elijah’s lifeblood, what he’d always dreamed of. She was proud that he was so passionate.
She just wished, sometimes, that he could be… more human about their relationship. Like now. When he was refusing to text back. She looked down at their text thread again – three texts from her, sent hours apart, two this morning and one an hour ago on her lunch break. No response. Fucker, she thought, annoyed. Again, the thought: maybe he’s just done. Emily sighed, clicked her phone off, and put it back in her pocket, heading towards the front for another patient clipboard.
Maybe. But she really, really hoped not.
***
“Elijah.”
“Sshh. I dond’t wandt to hear it.”
“Lij, c’mbon mban, you kndow they’re ndot going to let you -”
“Greysond. Shut the fuck up. Can you watch the servers for an hour while I’mb gone?”
“I mbean -”
“Can you?”
Greyson gave Elijah a withering, pitiful look. “Obviously I can,” he said, coughing into his elbow. “But you’re quite literally about to be turned away at the door,” he finished, voice croaky and waterlogged. Elijah placed an overly warm hand onto his own throat to keep from dissolving into his own coughing fit. He shook his head.
“I wond’t,” he said, “because I’mb ndot sick.”
The day had been… humbling, to say the least. Elijah had tried his best all morning to heed off the oncoming illness; downing tea and ignoring the constant itch in his sinuses, sucking on endless lozenges and then finally, after a couple hours of insisting to himself that he did not need it, giving in and shooting back double the recommended dose of dayquil. By the time Greyson trudged in at noon, Elijah could feel the mask slipping more and more with each passing minute.
“Oh, ndo,” Greyson said when he walked into the office and found Elijah doubled over into his elbow, coughing up a lung. “You sound like fuckigg shit.”
Painfully, Elijah rolled his eyes at his friend. “Pot, kettle,” he said, yanking a tissue out of the nearly depleted box just in time to – “HRRTSHHH-uhh!”
Greyson grimaced while Elijah blew his nose uselessly. “Bless you,” Greyson said. In return, Elijah flipped him off. “Sorry.”
Annoyed, Elijah tossed the tissue into the trash can by their chairs and squirted hand sanitizer onto his hands. “How are you feeligg?” he asked, ignoring Greyson’s blessing.
“Bad. But probably better thand you.”
Elijah deadpanned his friend, pushed up his glasses, and sat back in his chair, an attempt to look blasé. “I feel finde,” he said, trying to clear the congestion from his voice. “I amb fine.”
A soupy-sounding laugh escaped Greyson’s lips, followed by a crunching, painful cough that lasted entirely too long for Elijah’s liking. Despite his aching limbs, the GM pushed himself to a stand and went to the server station to make Greyson a tea, sickly sweet with honey, the only way the chef would drink it. By the time he returned to the office, Greyson had managed to collect himself.
“Thangks,” he said, taking a sip. “Where’s yours?”
Without meaning to, Elijah’s eyes panned over to the two empty coffee cups by his computer monitor. Greyson smiled and hummed to keep from laughing, to save his fucked-up lungs. “You sound like you have fuckigg pneumonia,” Elijah said, an attempt to change the subject. Shrugging, Greyson sipped his tea.
“Ndah,” he said, rubbing his chest with the heel of his hand. “Reed sounded the sambe the first few days; I’mb okay. Pneumonia feels way worse thand this.” If he wasn’t worried about collapsing into his own coughing fit, Elijah would have laughed.Only Greyson would have that reference point.
“You’re sickly. Like a Victoriand child. Has andyone ever told you that?”
Greyson raised an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said, a smile dancing on his lips. “I thingk that’s fairly well-established. I also thingk,” he said, reaching over to press the back of his hand to Elijah’s forehead, “that you’re deflecting.”
Elijah tried to pull away quickly, but his reflexes were slowed by the ache in his joints. “I’mb getting a flu shot at three, and they wond’t give it to you if you have...symptoms,” he said swatting at his friend’s hand, a poor attempt to ward off the accusation of illness. “I cand’t be sick.”
“Uhh,” Greyson said, pressing his lips together. “I mbean, I thingk your body doesn’t really give a fugck about what your plans for a flu shot were. Clearly,” he said, motioning to the GM as if he was flu-incarnate. “Also, didn’t Embily tell you to get a flu shot, like, two mbonths ago? Why are you just ndow going?”
A flush burned across Elijah’s face. “I mbay have forgotten. Like. Every time she said it.”
Greyson bit his cheek, a laugh catching in his throat. “You’re a bad boyfriend,” he joked, kicking Elijah.
“I’mb workigg on ihh – hh…” Elijah’s hand flew up to his nose, once again pinching it to keep the sneeze at bay. Not just to prove that he wasn’t ill – though that reason still stood – but because they were just exhausting. Grating and throat-scraping and seemingly endless. Before the chef had arrived, he found himself doubled over, sneezing so hard that his vision began to dance at the corners of his eyes. Passing out was not in the cards today.
“Good luck with that,” Greyson said, turning away from his boss to turn his computer on. Then, as he watched Elijah struggle out of the corner of his eye – “Lij, just let yourself -”
“HRTSCHHH-uee! GTSXXCHH-uhh! HhhhITSZCHHH-ieuuu! ITSZCHH-ieuuu! ITSZCHH-uhhh! Huh -! HuhhhETSZCHH-uee!” Again, Elijah found himself doubled over into his lap, the sneezes painfully and uncharacteristically unrestrained. Panting, he grabbed the last three tissues from the box and wiped himself up, afraid blowing would set him off again. He coughed into the handful of tissues, swallowing compulsively to try and make the fit stop quicker.
“Wow,” Greyson said. “There is ndo way in hell they’re goigg to let you get that flu shot.”
The next few hours had gone as terribly as Elijah could’ve imagined they would; he felt like fucking dog water, a descriptor the servers loved to use that felt so apt he couldn’t help but pick it up. Sludgey, tepid, nasty. The fever he’d felt warming the back of his neck at the beginning of the day now felt like it was boiling his brain, turning it into soup. The cough felt constant, and he suddenly understood why Greyson was spending so much time rubbing his chest – it hurt, hurt like a gorilla was sat between his neck and stomach. And then, there was the – the…
“Bless you, Elijah.” Matt, who they thought wasn’t going to make it in, had come around two, and pointedly blessed his boss literally every time he sneezed. Greyson, who had given up on getting Elijah to admit to having the flu, had stopped an hour in and gone to the back kitchen to prep. Matt wasn’t giving up nearly as easily.
“Boss, you ndeed to take some more medicinde,” Matt said placing the dayquil that he and Greyson had just taken doses of on the desk beside Elijah. The GM shook his head.
“’m okay,” he said around the congestion in his throat. “Thangks.”
Matt sighed stuffily and shook his head. “I’ll leave it there just in case,” he said, turning to go back to prepping the line.
The cherry on top of this shitty day, though, was Emily texting him.
Emily
8:41AM
morning <3 hope you have a good day
Emily
10:12AM
are greyson & matt coming in today? fingers crossed it isnt too busy tonight!
Emily
1:20PM
this place is a fucking madhouse. think im getting misophonia from hearing so much coughing lmao
Emily
2:48PM
hellooo? earth to elijahhh
He wanted to text back, truly, but every time he opened their text thread he felt that familiar sense of dread; he’d promised her he’d get a flu shot, promised he’d stay healthy. And, of course, he’d managed to somehow fuck it up. There was little more he wanted than to text her, I’m down so fucking bad can you please come to my house tonight? To say, I feel like I’m dying and all I want is to be in bed with you. But he didn’t; he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to her.
And now it was nearly three, and Greyson was stood in front of him telling him he was going to be turned away from the pharmacy. Which of course he was right, of course he was sick, but for Emily and for his own stupid pride, he just could not admit it.
“I’m ndot sick,” he said to Greyson again, donning his coat and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “So please, watch the servers. I’ll be back whend I’mb done at the pharmacy. Okay?”
Greyson just shook his head, obviously too tired and annoyed to continue to fight his friend. “Whatever, Elijah,” he said. “Good fuckin’ luck, bro.”
***
Thirty more minutes, Emily thought to herself. You can do anything for thirty minutes.
It had been just about the longest day of her life; she had to get off these twelves, they were quite literally sucking the life out of her. The stream of patients refused to let up, and all she wanted was a hot shower and a fat cocktail. And maybe Elijah to text her back, but at this point even that was neither here nor there.
“Em,” Rhonda called to her as she put yet another finished patient clipboard at the front desk. Emily grimaced at the sound of her name. Please, please don’t need anything from me.
“What’s up?” she said, trying to sound bright and happy, not like she was ready to lob someone’s head off. She walked towards Rhonda, who was holding yet another fucking clipboard.
“Room three was asking if you’re around,” she said, handing over the clipboard. Emily couldn’t help herself; she groaned aloud.
“Can Paul just tell them I left? Please? I only have thirty minutes left, Rhon. I’m so done.”
Rhonda shrugged. “Paul already said that you’re here, doll. Sorry. Just tell the guy you’re about to be off, let him know you’ll put the night lead on him if he’s so worried.” She held the clipboard out a little more forcefully, prompting Emily to, begrudgingly, take it.
“Fine,” she said, tucking the clipboard under her arm. “But if it’s that weirdo from last week who kept pretending to have a broken leg to see me, I’m calling the cops.”
Rhonda laughed. “Show ’em how it’s done,” she said. “I’ll take your name off the board for the rest of the shift.”
“You’re my hero,” Emily said.
Without looking at the clipboard – she could hear the coughing from the hallway, at this point she could diagnose the flu in her sleep – Emily knocked on the door of room three. She adjusted her mask, squirted some hand sanitizer on, and pushed through the heavy door.
“Good afternoon, Mr. -” she glanced down at the clipboard then, and stopped in her tracks. At the top of the patient intake form: Elijah Morrison. Emily’s head shot up from the clipboard and – oh.
There, on the paper-lined bench, sat her obviously very ill boyfriend. Beneath his glasses, Elijah’s eyes were lined with bags, his cheeks and nose scarlet from fever and constant rubbing, respectively. As she walked toward him, he removed the elbow he was coughing into and attempted a smile.
“Hey, Doc,” he said, his voice low and scratchy with illness. “I, uh… I thingk I mbight have the flu.”
A wave of deja vu passed over her, and Emily couldn’t help but to smile as she pulled down her mask. “Hmm, do you think?” she asked, placing a cool hand on Elijah’s hot forehead. “Jesus, baby. You’re burning up. What the hell are you doing here?”
Elijah managed a little laugh without coughing. “Grey wouldn’t let mbe combe back to work, said I’mb gonna scare off mby own customers. And I wanted to see you.” Ever the charmer, even when he’s on death’s door, Emily thought, shaking her head. “Is this how you talk to all your patiendts, by the way?” Elijah asked, grinning goofily – oof, that had to be a high fever for him to be making that face. “Kinda undhinged,” he said, tugging playfully at the braid she had hastily done this morning. Emily rolled her eyes, gave Elijah a little push.
“Yeah, that’s how most patients describe my bedside manner. ‘Kinda unhinged’,” she said, making Elijah laugh and then cough again, grating and painful. She stepped briefly into the hall to grab a cup of water for him, catching Rhonda’s eye as she did. Rhonda raised an eyebrow, pulled down her mask. I thought you were passing him off? She mouthed.
Emily sighed, shrugged. “It’s Elijah,” she said. Rhonda eyes grew to saucers. She shooed Emily back towards the room with her hand.
“I’ll mark the room as unavailable until you leave,” she said. Emily smiled. Truly the best, she thought as she walked back in and handed Elijah the cup. He drained it, finally catching his breath.
“Thangk you,” he said, grabbing her hand. “I’mb sorry.” Emily pressed her eyebrows together, confused.
“Why are you sorry?” she asked, taking his temperature and using the light on the otoscope to look into his ears and throat. Temp was high – 103.2 – but no ear infection, and it didn’t look like strep, so she put her tools down. “I can see why Greyson wouldn’t let you back, jesus,” she joked, hopping up on the bed to sit beside her boyfriend. “No need to apologize – I figured you’d probably end up sick, since Greyson is. You two are on top of each other like ninety percent of the time.”
Elijah shrugged, rubbing his nose and eyes – was he about to cry? Distraught, Emily started to say something, to take it back, when Elijah wrenched to the side, away from her.
“HHRDDTSCHH-ieuuu! RRTSCHH-uee! HTSZZZCHH-ieuu! Hh… hhITSZCCCH-uhhh!” Elijah folded in on himself over and over, the paroxysms so intense that they nearly moved the bed beneath them. Finally, Elijah sniffled, out of breath, and Emily jumped down to hand him a box of tissues.
“Bless you,” she said as he blew his nose. “That sounded… painful.” Elijah laughed as he wiped his nose.
“That’s exactly what I said to Grey yesterday,” he croaked. Emily smiled.
“And?”
“And they are. Paindful. He said as mbuch.” Elijah shrugged. “He didn’t lie.”
“Mmm,” Emily hummed, placing the earbuds of her stethoscope in her ears and listening to Elijah’s crackling lungs. “You need to rest, by the way,” she said, taking the buds out and slinging the stethoscope around her neck to hold with both hands. “Your lungs sound rough. That could easily develop into walking pneumonia.”
“I also said that to Greysond,” Elijah laughed. Emily smiled again, a little sadly.
“It sounds like both of you need a day off,” she said, pointedly. A nod, a shrug from Elijah.
“Probably,” he said. There was a beat, then, a moment of silence before Emily couldn’t help herself.
“So, I assume you didn’t get a flu shot, like I told you to?” she asked, trying to play it off as light and playful, despite her worry. If Elijah didn’t get a flu shot, this was about to be a rough week for him. She made a mental note to ask when his symptoms started, to see if she could get him on Tamiflu. Elijah cringed.
“Yeah,” he said, “that’s why I was apologizing. I, uh, actually wendt to go get onde this afterndoon. But… they turned mbe away.” He smiled goofily again, shrugging. “Said you cand’t have a fever and get it.”
Emily pressed her lips together. “I could’ve told you that,” she said, sitting next to him again. “If you just asked.” Elijah nodded, turned to look at her.
“I’mb sorry,” he said. “I didn’t wandt you to worry. Or thingk I don’t listen to you. It just slipped mby mbind. But I should’ve just done it. I’mb sorry.”
Placing her hands on either side of Elijah’s hot face, Emily gently massaged his sinuses, nodded before he closed his eyes in relief. “Do you remember the first time we met?” she asked. One of Elijah’s eyes opened, just a bit.
“How could I forget,” he said. “I thingk it was ind this very roomb.”
“It was room nine. But close enough.”
Elijah smiled, hummed. “Dond’t mbake mbe laugh,” he said, closing his eye again. “Hurts.”
“Sorry,” Emily said, continuing to massage. “Do you know what I said to Rhonda, after you left that first time I saw you?”
“Mmmb?”
“‘That’s the hottest sick man I’ve ever met. I’d hate to see him well. It would be too much for my heart to handle’.”
This time, both of Elijah’s eyes popped open. “Yeah?” he asked. Emily nodded. “Well, Grey was basically mbarrying us the whole rest of the day. Called mbe ‘Mbister Doctor Embily’.” Emily’s face flushed – what happened to ‘he’s married to the restaurant’? – and Elijah chuckled. “That whole saga was so embarrassing,” he said, leaning his face onto Emily’s hand. He looked at her earnestly, then. “But I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
Emily’s heart thumped in her chest, butterflies swimming in the pit of her stomach. Maybe he’s just done, she’d thought earlier, but that wasn’t true. This man, this passionate and stubborn man… he couldn’t be just done. She wasn’t sure how she’d thought he could. “Lij?” she said.
“Yeah?”
“I want to kiss you.”
Elijah looked into her eyes, his bloodshot and watery. His nose was running, just a little, his glasses askew from leaning on her hand. She’d spent all day annoyed at sick people, going from room to room to room wishing them all away, but somehow Elijah – sick Elijah, contagious and fluish Elijah – erased all of them, the whole day’s worth. Sick or well, she could look into his eyes all day long. “You’ll get sick,” he croaked out, sniffling. She nodded, brought his face close.
“I could use a day off,” she said, bringing his face close and pressing her lips to his, the kiss too warm and too wet and somehow perfect, the perfect kiss for the moment. He kissed back, hungrily, until he had to pull away to breathe.
“Thangk you,” he said. “And sorry. For giving you the flu.”
Emily pushed Elijah’s sweaty hair out of his face. “It’s okay,” she said. “It won’t be too bad. After all – I got my flu shot.”
This time, Elijah laughed in earnest, ending again in a crackly cough. “Touché, baby,” he said when he got himself back together. “Touché.”
hi so I love them. the contrast between Elijah and Emily vs Reed and Grayson???? the relationship dynamics?? detatched but no less passionate vs reed and his overgrown clingy puppy?? i love it all omg
🥹🥹 thank you!! I'm so glad you love the dichotomy. I also love the Greyson vs Elijah attachment style hahaha
Heyyy here I am again, going a month without posting a thing and then posting a fic and running away. This is the fic I did the poll about! In it, Greyson gets the flu and gives it to Elijah, who was supposed to get a flu shot and, shocker, didn't. It takes place 6 months into Elijah and Emily's established relationship, and explores their burgeoning relationship a bit. The boys are v sick in it. It's dual POV - Elijah & Emily, it switches back and forth. It's extremely long. If you read it, I hope you like it! I'd love to hear how people feel about this relationship.
CW: Male snz, male illness, contagion (not purposeful), lots of coughing, fevers, dizziness, all things flu-related. Mention of pneumonia, but nothing scary happens. 7kish words under the cut.
Enjoy :)
Flu Shot
The waiting room was a chorus, a cacophony, of coughing.
“I’m ready for whoever’s next,” Emily said to the charge nurse at the front desk, adjusting her mask so it better fit over her face. “And room two is clean.”
Rhonda, the charge nurse, smiled behind her own mask. “Thanks, Em, for being so quick about it. Maybe if everyone was as on top of it as you, we’d get through this waiting room before shift change.”
Emily hummed out a laugh. “Doubt it,” she said, squirting hand sanitizer onto her palms and rubbing it halfway up her arms. “It’s like a never-ending revolving door in this place lately.”
“Mmm,” said Rhonda, handing Emily a clipboard. “Flu season. My favorite time of year.” She rolled her eyes, prompting a giggle from Emily.
“Yours and mine both, sister,” she said, checking her watch with the clipboard under her arm. Elijah had texted her a good morning.“Hey, I’ll get this next one in just a second, if that’s okay.”
“No worries,” Rhonda said. “Not like they’re going anywhere.”
Emily placed a gentle hand on Rhonda’s shoulder before stepping around the corner and into the employee bathroom. Once there, she pulled her phone out and texted Elijah back – first, a good morning, and then, a reminder to get a flu shot, something he definitely should have already done, right? They had talked about it at least twice. The restaurant was a cesspool when it came to illness, Emily had come to realize in the six months the two of them had been dating. Close quarters, no one able to take a sick day, and long and late hours basically guaranteed that at least one person was sick at any given time, and this flu season really was shaping up to be… intense. Emily bit her lip as she typed; Elijah was a smart guy, with self preservation, she reasoned with herself. Certainly he’d already done it.
Pressing send on the message, she stepped back out into the hallway and grabbed the clipboard again, cracking her neck on the way to the waiting room. Only two hours into the shift, and she was already on her fourth clipboard. It was going to be a long day.
***
good morning <3. hey, random, and I know we talked about it a few weeks ago, but make sure u get ur flu shot if you havent already, its a srsly rough season this year xx
For the tenth time in two minutes, Elijah reread the text from Emily with his heart in his throat. Fuck, he knew he’d been forgetting to do something this past week – now, he remembered what it was. They had talked about flu shots when Emily got hers, courtesy of her work, last month; Elijah had promised he’d get his in the next few weeks, despite how busy the restaurant was. He did not.
Elijah slipped his phone back in his pocket, making a mental note to find the time today or tomorrow to get the shot. It would take less than thirty minutes, he reasoned with himself. Even he had thirty minutes to spare during the day. Thinking better of it, he pulled the phone back out, sitting back in his seat and perusing the closest pharmacy’s website for open flu shot slot times. There was one tomorrow afternoon, three pm – perfect. Before service, after manager meeting, and the pharmacy was barely a five minute walk away. Why hadn’t he done this earlier? Elijah pressed the time he wanted and began filling out his information, when he heard the back kitchen doors open and slam shut.
He heard Greyson before he saw him.
“HTTSHHH-uhh! Hhh… hh -! HRRTXXCH-ue!” The two massive sneezes were followed by a round of coughing, deep and chesty, the type of cough that you hear from the person next to you on the bus and start to hold your breath. Elijah’s head whipped up from his phone, mid-typing. No, he thought to himself, standing to walk toward the sound of Greyson’s suffering, please no.
“That had better not be you, Greyson,” he said, heading towards the back kitchen, phone long forgotten. Elijah thought back to Monday, when Greyson had texted him asking about the place that sold great miso soup near Elliot’s.
It’s called koi fish, Elijah had texted back. Why?
Because Reed was sick. He had the flu, they’d gone to urgent care to confirm, and he was completely miserable and refusing to eat anything. A pit had formed in Elijah’s stomach even then; Greyson, god love him, was absolutely unable to escape anyone near him getting sick without also succumbing. At this point, it was nearly a joke, a bit in the restaurant: if you have a cold, just go breathe near Chef for a minute. He’ll absorb it from you in a matter of moments, and you’ll start to feel better immediately. A rhinovirus succubus.
Please wash your hands while you’re taking care of him, Elijah had texted his friend. Sequester yourself if you have to. We have such a busy week.
Greyson had agreed, said he was being careful. He’d gotten a flu shot! He’d done everything right! He was a chef, he had to update his ServSafe card every five years to prove he knew how to keep his food from making people sick. If anyone knew how to keep from getting sick, surely it was him. And during Tuesday service, he was fine. Elijah thought, stupidly, that maybe they’d made it over the hump, so to speak.
But then yesterday – Wednesday – came around, and he’d been a little off during service. His consonants had been a little muted, his voice a little thin… but surely he was fine. Right? Surely he could make it through one illness his boyfriend had without catching it. Certainly he could.
When Elijah turned the corner into the prep kitchen, his heart, once lodged in his throat, immediately fell to the pit of his stomach. “Jesus Christ,” he said, taking the chef in.
Greyson looked miserable. His coat was zipped up to his neck, the hood slung over his head doing nothing to conceal his red, watering eyes and chapped nose. Clearly he could barely breathe; his mouth hung open, and when the coughs finally settled he was left wheezing into his sleeve, his breath just a catch away from the coughing fit beginning anew. “Hey, boss,” he managed, pulling his sleeve under his running nose. “How goes it?”
“Dude,” Elijah said, crossing his arms from the entrance of the back kitchen. “What did I tell you about sequestering yourself from Reed? Did it look like he was having so much fun on his death bed you needed to join him?”
Shrugging, Greyson turned on the water at the sink and thoroughly washed his hands before turning back to Elijah. “I got mby flu shot,” he wheezed, attempting to clear his throat. “I figured I’d be finde.”
Elijah closed his eyes, gathering himself before responding. “It’s not a magic spell, Grey. If you’re making out with your flu-ridden boyfriend, you’re going to get sick even if you had the shot. Everyone knows that.”
“Huh. Weird. They didn’t teach us that in culindary school. It’s almbost like it’s fuckigg food college. Ndot all of us went to three years of mbed school, Doctor Elijah. Ndot all of us are fuckigg a ndurse. Hh -!” Again, Greyson turned into his coat sleeve bracing himself on the sink with his free hand to keep from falling over. “HRTTTSCHH-ue! Huhh – HUHHTSCHCH-ueee!”
“Christ,” Elijah said, cringing. “Bless you. That sounds fucking painful.”
“It – hh -! Hh… hnng. Snrf. It is,” Greyson said, trying to sniff back some of the congestion and instead coughing hard enough that Elijah felt his chest contract in sympathy. He dipped out of the back kitchen, grabbed a water bottle from the beverage fridge in the server station, and brought it back to Greyson, who drank gratefully until the fit abated. The chef took a slow, deep breath, testing the waters of his lungs, and let it back out. He nodded at Elijah, as if to say good for now.
“I’m not a doctor, dickhead,” Elijah said when Greyson regained control. “They literally tell you that when you get the flu shot, don’t they?” Greyson raised an eyebrow.
“Whend’s the last timbe you got a flu shot?” he asked, rubbing his chest with a closed fist. Elijah flushed red and, realizing how close he was to Greyson, took a big step back.
“It’s been a while,” he admitted.
“Clearly,” Greyson said, moving out of the back kitchen and heading towards the office. Reluctantly, Elijah followed him – whether he wanted to sit next to the chef, breathe his germs in, or not, he did have to finish the schedule and the only place to do it was the office. They sat heavily in their chairs, Greyson’s rheumy eyes meeting his boss’s. “And also, I wasnd’t mbaking out with Reed, I was takigg care of himb. Tryigg to be a good boyfriend or whatever.”
“Mmm,” Elijah nodded. “You know you can be a good boyfriend without laying on top of him, yeah? You can take care of him without being attached at the hip.”
Greyson scoffed, coughed, and put his head on his hand, elbow resting on the desk. “Mbaybe you and Embily can take care of each other through a plastic bubble, but that’s ndot how Reed and I fly,” he said, eyes drooping towards closed. Elijah went to answer, but was cut off by a hastily-covered – “HTTSZZCHH-uee! HhhRRTSCHHH-uhhh!”
Watching the droplets rush from the chef’s mouth into the air surrounding them in the office, Elijah remembered the disclosure agreement on the bottom of the form he filled out for the flu shot he was clearly going to desperately need. Any persons with cold or flu-like symptoms will not be permitted to receive the flu shot. Shit. He needed to get out of Greyson’s metaphorical splash zone, and quickly.
“Bless you,” he said again, while Greyson pulled a single tissue – then, thinking better, a whole handful – out of the box. “Grey, you are not well enough to be here. You need to go home, when does Matt get in?”
Greyson cringed as well blew his nose. “Yeah, that’s the thigg,” he said, pressing his fingers into his face where his sinuses resided. “Mbatt’s sigck too. I, uh, mbay have recruited himb to help mbe with Reed while Mbark is away.”
Groaning, Elijah sat back in his chair and pulled a hand warily down his face. Fuck. “So he isn’t coming in, then?” he asked, prompting a laugh from Greyson.
“Ndo, he’s combing in. I can’t do this ndight by mbyself, ndot like this. I figured the two of us incapacitated equals about onde of us healthy.”
Great, Elijah thought, giving Greyson an incredulous look. Surrounded by sick people all night. “You’re going to get your whole staff sick,” he warned his friend. Greyson shrugged.
“Is what it is,” he said, pulling another handful of tissues from the box. “Juuhh – just - HNTSZZCHH-uee!” he collapsed forward into the tissues and let out a little moan of frustration, before blowing his nose and tossing them aside. “Just have to tell themb ndot to get too close,” he croaked, coughing into his fist.
“Yeah,” Elijah said, looking down at the confirmation email from the pharmacy. “I’m sure that’ll work perfectly.”
***
Post-shift, and finally back at her Brooklyn fifth floor walk-up, Emily poured herself a glass of wine and sat heavily on the couch. What a day, she thought, downing half the glass in one large gulp.
The twelve-hour shifts she’d agreed to back in July were starting to wear on her. Sure, she only had to work four a week, and eight of those hours were guaranteed overtime, but christ those four days never got any shorter. Not getting back to her apartment until ten p.m. when she left for the day at seven a.m. had her feeling like Elijah and all the other restaurant workers – a creature of the night, relegated to only seeing the outside when it was dark. Less person, more vampire.
Speaking of Elijah, she thought, pulling her phone out and frowning at the screen. Her boyfriend hadn’t texted her since this afternoon, and even that text seemed hasty and distracted. She’d asked how his day was going, and he sent back the emoji that looked like it was gritting its teeth, followed by two words: Had better. To that, she sent a simple ? and had been left on read.
Now, with the restaurant closing in the next half hour, surely Elijah had some time to talk. Without thinking, she clicked on her boyfriend’s contact photo – a very Elijah-coded shot of him mid sip of a cocktail with a hand help up to the camera – and hit the call button.
Almost immediately, Emily was sent to voicemail. Confused, she pulled the phone away from her face and studied it, eyebrows furrowed. Again, she clicked the all button.
Again, voicemail.
This time, though, a text from Elijah popped up.
Elijah
10:21PM
Hey babe, sorry, we’re still finishing up service and Grey had to go so I’m cleaning on the line. Are you okay?
Emily cocked her head to the side at this message. Cleaning on the line? Where the hell did Greyson have to go that meant Elijah had to get on-line? She clicked the text box to reply.
Emily
10:22PM
yes, all good. what happened to greyson?
A few minutes passed before Elijah finally texted back.
Elijah
10:31PM
I sent him home. He and Matt have the flu.
A sigh escaped Emily’s lips as she read her boyfriend’s message. Of course the chefs had the flu. She put her wine glass on the coffee table and typed out another text.
Emily
10:34PM
oof, the worst im sorry. good thing u got the flu shot, right?
Another five full minutes went by without an answer. Finally, as Emily got up to pour herself another glass, a text pinged through. She looked down at the phone – Elijah had ‘liked’ her message, but didn’t send anything back. Emily pressed her lips together and put the phone down. Self-preservation, she thought to herself for the second time that day. He does have it… right?
***
T-minus six hours until the flu shot appointment.
Elijah let himself in through the back door of the restaurant and immediately pulled a hand down his face, still exhausted from the night before. He may as well have not even left; by the time the line was clean and the paperwork was done, it was nearly three in the morning. The seven a.m. wakeup call to come back in had come in the blink of an eye.
Slowly, Elijah made his way to the office at the front of the kitchen, typing out a text to Greyson as he did.
Elijah
8:55AM
Are you alive?
The evening previous, to call Greyson alive would have been more than a stretch. The chef had made it through about half of service, coughing and sneezing and wiping away fever sweat, but by the time eight o’clock rolled around, he was swaying on his feet. Dishes were leaving the kitchen ungarnished, temps unchecked, and seat numbers given to food runners forgone. Elijah knew if they wanted to keep their Michelin star, he needed to send his friend home. Greyson was entirely too sick to put up a fight; he’d yanked his apron off, donned his coat, and left the building without even saying goodbye to the cooks.
In Elijah’s hand, the phone buzzed.
Greyson
9:01AM
barely lol. fevers down tho, so ill be in later. like noon.
Relief washed over Elijah as he read; Greyson was able to text, he was up at nine a.m., he was joking around. Most likely, the worst was behind him.
Elijah
9:02AM
Matt?
Once Greyson was gone, Matt tried to step up to the plate and take over expo, but the poor kid was down just as bad as Greyson, and Elijah had to send him home about thirty minutes after the executive chef. Whatever Reed had passed along to the chefs was fucking lethal.
Greyson
9:05AM
mmm havent heard from him yet. probably not coming in tho. like I wouldnt bet on it
Elijah sighed; well, one was better than none, he supposed.
He stood from the desk and turned to the kitchen, moving slowly to turn on the lights and the gas and to crank up the heat. Outside, snow had begun to fall, and for once he was grateful; maybe it would be a slow evening. Maybe they could all get out and get to bed before three in the morning. Elijah’s bones ached with the desire to crawl up in his bed, Emily’s warm frame wrapped in his arms, nothing to do but listen to the snow outside and… and…
“Hhh…” Elijah’s breath caught, and he pressed his tongue hard against the back of his teeth to quell the itch in his sinuses. No, he thought, pinching his nose hard between his thumb and pointer finger. Not now.
It would have been a lie to say that Elijah felt… completely put together. Try as he might, he was just unable to ignore his body in the way that Greyson and Matt always seemed to; he was hyper-aware of it, in fact, tuned in to even the smallest twinge of difference. He’d felt it yesterday, just the tiniest bit off; he knew the second he swallowed and it went down a little weird. Oh, he thought to himself as he watched Greyson and Matt cough themselves dizzy. It’s so over.
Then, despite the late night, Elijah had gone home and tossed and turned in his bed from four until six in the morning, unable to breathe out of one nostril or the other, sitting up every few minutes to guzzle water, his throat dry and sticky despite the wild amount of liquid he was ingesting. As he lay pre-feverish in his bed, he thought of Emily. He thought of the busy-as-fuck week they’d had. He thought of Greyson.
Greyson was sick. And Matt was sick. And Elijah was getting a flu shot today, and Emily had warned him about the flu not just yesterday, but multiple times since fall had turned to winter, and he could not be sick. So when his alarm went off at seven, Elijah took the hottest shower he could handle and looked himself in the mirror. “You are fine,” he said to his reflection. “You are not sick.”
Manifesting had always been one of his strong suits, after all. Had he not manifested this life he made for himself? Manifested the restaurant and its accolades? Manifested his nice apartment, his happy life? Sure, some would say that he worked his ass off for it, had scrimped and saved and worked two or even three jobs at a time when he was young, learned how to wire and plumb and interior design when he finally saved enough to buy the restaurant so that he wouldn’t have to pay someone to do everything for him. Some would certainly argue that he even had to work to be happy, to feel deserving of all that he had, but who were they to say those things? It was all manifestation, baby. One hundred perce -
“HXTSH-uhhh! NTSHH-ieuu! Hh - ! HhIGTXTZCH-uee!” Elijah attempted to stifle the sneezes into the back of his wrist, an effort that left him groaning at the pain behind his eyeballs. Can’t manifest health, he thought, then quickly pushed the thought away. Yes, he could manifest health. Of course he could. Mind over matter.
Elijah sniffed experimentally, testing to see how congested he really was. The sniffle barely moved any of the sludge beginning to build in his sinuses, and in fact only managed to make the constant buzz at the back of his nose and throat burn stronger. Again, he pinched his nose shut, this time managing to fully stifle two, three – four – shit – five sneezes in rapid succession, leaving him panting and stuffed up to the gills in the wake of the fit. Who the hell was he holding them in for, it’s not like anyone else was here. But Elijah knew, he was doing it to prove a point to himself – that he was well, that he was fine, that this afternoon he would be allowed by the pharmacy to get the flu shot. Manifesting. That was the reason. He checked his watch, and sighed.
Five hours, twenty-five minutes until the appointment.
***
Emily was sure this week was never going to end.
Eight hours into her fourth twelve-hour shift in a row, and she was the kind of tired you feel in the depths of your bones. The waiting room never got less full. The people never got kinder. At every new patient, every new throat she had to swab and temperature she had to take, she could feel herself untethering more and more. It was barely December – was this going to be the way it was all winter? She shuddered at the thought. Maybe she needed to take a mid-winter vacation.
Also, why the fuck wasn’t Elijah texting her back?
For the third time that hour, Emily checked her phone. No text from Elijah. She checked his location – still at the restaurant. It was two p.m., for god’s sake, it’s not like they were in service. What the hell was he doing?
The thought that she had often, the one she got whenever things seemed to be going well in a relationship, slipped into the back of her mind. Maybe he’s just done. Emily bit her cheek at the thought; much as she wished she could count it out, call it nonsense… it would honestly make sense. Elijah was chronically single, as Greyson put it when they all went out back at the beginning of her and Elijah’s flirtation.
“I mean, same,” Emily had said, smiling. Greyson had put his drink down on the bar top, turned away from the seat Elijah had just left to go use the bathroom, and looked at Emily, his face set into a serious look.
“No, like… look, Emily, Elijah does really like you. And like, I’ve known him for almost ten years and he’s never liked anyone, so that’s huge. But when I say he’s chronically single, I mean he doesn’t know how to be in a relationship. At all. He’s quite literally married to that restaurant. He’s there over a hundred hours a week.” He’d picked the drink back up, swallowed the remainder of it, and shrugged at her. “Just… I mean, just don’t be surprised if he picks it. When he picks it. He picks it over everything. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”
That had stuck with her, much as she didn’t want it to. Emily wasn’t the type of person who needed constant validation, truly; she was independent, she loved her space, and she knew Elijah was the same. It was something she enjoyed about their relationship, the fact that they didn’t have to be in constant contact or see each other more than once a week. It worked for them. But she couldn’t deny, six months into the relationship, that Greyson was right: Elijah did pick the restaurant over everything. Dates were often canceled, sometimes at the very last minute, and holidays and birthdays were a moot point. Elliot’s came first, always. And that was okay with her, really, she understood. Elliot’s was Elijah’s lifeblood, what he’d always dreamed of. She was proud that he was so passionate.
She just wished, sometimes, that he could be… more human about their relationship. Like now. When he was refusing to text back. She looked down at their text thread again – three texts from her, sent hours apart, two this morning and one an hour ago on her lunch break. No response. Fucker, she thought, annoyed. Again, the thought: maybe he’s just done. Emily sighed, clicked her phone off, and put it back in her pocket, heading towards the front for another patient clipboard.
Maybe. But she really, really hoped not.
***
“Elijah.”
“Sshh. I dond’t wandt to hear it.”
“Lij, c’mbon mban, you kndow they’re ndot going to let you -”
“Greysond. Shut the fuck up. Can you watch the servers for an hour while I’mb gone?”
“I mbean -”
“Can you?”
Greyson gave Elijah a withering, pitiful look. “Obviously I can,” he said, coughing into his elbow. “But you’re quite literally about to be turned away at the door,” he finished, voice croaky and waterlogged. Elijah placed an overly warm hand onto his own throat to keep from dissolving into his own coughing fit. He shook his head.
“I wond’t,” he said, “because I’mb ndot sick.”
The day had been… humbling, to say the least. Elijah had tried his best all morning to heed off the oncoming illness; downing tea and ignoring the constant itch in his sinuses, sucking on endless lozenges and then finally, after a couple hours of insisting to himself that he did not need it, giving in and shooting back double the recommended dose of dayquil. By the time Greyson trudged in at noon, Elijah could feel the mask slipping more and more with each passing minute.
“Oh, ndo,” Greyson said when he walked into the office and found Elijah doubled over into his elbow, coughing up a lung. “You sound like fuckigg shit.”
Painfully, Elijah rolled his eyes at his friend. “Pot, kettle,” he said, yanking a tissue out of the nearly depleted box just in time to – “HRRTSHHH-uhh!”
Greyson grimaced while Elijah blew his nose uselessly. “Bless you,” Greyson said. In return, Elijah flipped him off. “Sorry.”
Annoyed, Elijah tossed the tissue into the trash can by their chairs and squirted hand sanitizer onto his hands. “How are you feeligg?” he asked, ignoring Greyson’s blessing.
“Bad. But probably better thand you.”
Elijah deadpanned his friend, pushed up his glasses, and sat back in his chair, an attempt to look blasé. “I feel finde,” he said, trying to clear the congestion from his voice. “I amb fine.”
A soupy-sounding laugh escaped Greyson’s lips, followed by a crunching, painful cough that lasted entirely too long for Elijah’s liking. Despite his aching limbs, the GM pushed himself to a stand and went to the server station to make Greyson a tea, sickly sweet with honey, the only way the chef would drink it. By the time he returned to the office, Greyson had managed to collect himself.
“Thangks,” he said, taking a sip. “Where’s yours?”
Without meaning to, Elijah’s eyes panned over to the two empty coffee cups by his computer monitor. Greyson smiled and hummed to keep from laughing, to save his fucked-up lungs. “You sound like you have fuckigg pneumonia,” Elijah said, an attempt to change the subject. Shrugging, Greyson sipped his tea.
“Ndah,” he said, rubbing his chest with the heel of his hand. “Reed sounded the sambe the first few days; I’mb okay. Pneumonia feels way worse thand this.” If he wasn’t worried about collapsing into his own coughing fit, Elijah would have laughed.Only Greyson would have that reference point.
“You’re sickly. Like a Victoriand child. Has andyone ever told you that?”
Greyson raised an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he said, a smile dancing on his lips. “I thingk that’s fairly well-established. I also thingk,” he said, reaching over to press the back of his hand to Elijah’s forehead, “that you’re deflecting.”
Elijah tried to pull away quickly, but his reflexes were slowed by the ache in his joints. “I’mb getting a flu shot at three, and they wond’t give it to you if you have...symptoms,” he said swatting at his friend’s hand, a poor attempt to ward off the accusation of illness. “I cand’t be sick.”
“Uhh,” Greyson said, pressing his lips together. “I mbean, I thingk your body doesn’t really give a fugck about what your plans for a flu shot were. Clearly,” he said, motioning to the GM as if he was flu-incarnate. “Also, didn’t Embily tell you to get a flu shot, like, two mbonths ago? Why are you just ndow going?”
A flush burned across Elijah’s face. “I mbay have forgotten. Like. Every time she said it.”
Greyson bit his cheek, a laugh catching in his throat. “You’re a bad boyfriend,” he joked, kicking Elijah.
“I’mb workigg on ihh – hh…” Elijah’s hand flew up to his nose, once again pinching it to keep the sneeze at bay. Not just to prove that he wasn’t ill – though that reason still stood – but because they were just exhausting. Grating and throat-scraping and seemingly endless. Before the chef had arrived, he found himself doubled over, sneezing so hard that his vision began to dance at the corners of his eyes. Passing out was not in the cards today.
“Good luck with that,” Greyson said, turning away from his boss to turn his computer on. Then, as he watched Elijah struggle out of the corner of his eye – “Lij, just let yourself -”
“HRTSCHHH-uee! GTSXXCHH-uhh! HhhhITSZCHHH-ieuuu! ITSZCHH-ieuuu! ITSZCHH-uhhh! Huh -! HuhhhETSZCHH-uee!” Again, Elijah found himself doubled over into his lap, the sneezes painfully and uncharacteristically unrestrained. Panting, he grabbed the last three tissues from the box and wiped himself up, afraid blowing would set him off again. He coughed into the handful of tissues, swallowing compulsively to try and make the fit stop quicker.
“Wow,” Greyson said. “There is ndo way in hell they’re goigg to let you get that flu shot.”
The next few hours had gone as terribly as Elijah could’ve imagined they would; he felt like fucking dog water, a descriptor the servers loved to use that felt so apt he couldn’t help but pick it up. Sludgey, tepid, nasty. The fever he’d felt warming the back of his neck at the beginning of the day now felt like it was boiling his brain, turning it into soup. The cough felt constant, and he suddenly understood why Greyson was spending so much time rubbing his chest – it hurt, hurt like a gorilla was sat between his neck and stomach. And then, there was the – the…
“Bless you, Elijah.” Matt, who they thought wasn’t going to make it in, had come around two, and pointedly blessed his boss literally every time he sneezed. Greyson, who had given up on getting Elijah to admit to having the flu, had stopped an hour in and gone to the back kitchen to prep. Matt wasn’t giving up nearly as easily.
“Boss, you ndeed to take some more medicinde,” Matt said placing the dayquil that he and Greyson had just taken doses of on the desk beside Elijah. The GM shook his head.
“’m okay,” he said around the congestion in his throat. “Thangks.”
Matt sighed stuffily and shook his head. “I’ll leave it there just in case,” he said, turning to go back to prepping the line.
The cherry on top of this shitty day, though, was Emily texting him.
Emily
8:41AM
morning <3 hope you have a good day
Emily
10:12AM
are greyson & matt coming in today? fingers crossed it isnt too busy tonight!
Emily
1:20PM
this place is a fucking madhouse. think im getting misophonia from hearing so much coughing lmao
Emily
2:48PM
hellooo? earth to elijahhh
He wanted to text back, truly, but every time he opened their text thread he felt that familiar sense of dread; he’d promised her he’d get a flu shot, promised he’d stay healthy. And, of course, he’d managed to somehow fuck it up. There was little more he wanted than to text her, I’m down so fucking bad can you please come to my house tonight? To say, I feel like I’m dying and all I want is to be in bed with you. But he didn’t; he couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to her.
And now it was nearly three, and Greyson was stood in front of him telling him he was going to be turned away from the pharmacy. Which of course he was right, of course he was sick, but for Emily and for his own stupid pride, he just could not admit it.
“I’m ndot sick,” he said to Greyson again, donning his coat and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “So please, watch the servers. I’ll be back whend I’mb done at the pharmacy. Okay?”
Greyson just shook his head, obviously too tired and annoyed to continue to fight his friend. “Whatever, Elijah,” he said. “Good fuckin’ luck, bro.”
***
Thirty more minutes, Emily thought to herself. You can do anything for thirty minutes.
It had been just about the longest day of her life; she had to get off these twelves, they were quite literally sucking the life out of her. The stream of patients refused to let up, and all she wanted was a hot shower and a fat cocktail. And maybe Elijah to text her back, but at this point even that was neither here nor there.
“Em,” Rhonda called to her as she put yet another finished patient clipboard at the front desk. Emily grimaced at the sound of her name. Please, please don’t need anything from me.
“What’s up?” she said, trying to sound bright and happy, not like she was ready to lob someone’s head off. She walked towards Rhonda, who was holding yet another fucking clipboard.
“Room three was asking if you’re around,” she said, handing over the clipboard. Emily couldn’t help herself; she groaned aloud.
“Can Paul just tell them I left? Please? I only have thirty minutes left, Rhon. I’m so done.”
Rhonda shrugged. “Paul already said that you’re here, doll. Sorry. Just tell the guy you’re about to be off, let him know you’ll put the night lead on him if he’s so worried.” She held the clipboard out a little more forcefully, prompting Emily to, begrudgingly, take it.
“Fine,” she said, tucking the clipboard under her arm. “But if it’s that weirdo from last week who kept pretending to have a broken leg to see me, I’m calling the cops.”
Rhonda laughed. “Show ’em how it’s done,” she said. “I’ll take your name off the board for the rest of the shift.”
“You’re my hero,” Emily said.
Without looking at the clipboard – she could hear the coughing from the hallway, at this point she could diagnose the flu in her sleep – Emily knocked on the door of room three. She adjusted her mask, squirted some hand sanitizer on, and pushed through the heavy door.
“Good afternoon, Mr. -” she glanced down at the clipboard then, and stopped in her tracks. At the top of the patient intake form: Elijah Morrison. Emily’s head shot up from the clipboard and – oh.
There, on the paper-lined bench, sat her obviously very ill boyfriend. Beneath his glasses, Elijah’s eyes were lined with bags, his cheeks and nose scarlet from fever and constant rubbing, respectively. As she walked toward him, he removed the elbow he was coughing into and attempted a smile.
“Hey, Doc,” he said, his voice low and scratchy with illness. “I, uh… I thingk I mbight have the flu.”
A wave of deja vu passed over her, and Emily couldn’t help but to smile as she pulled down her mask. “Hmm, do you think?” she asked, placing a cool hand on Elijah’s hot forehead. “Jesus, baby. You’re burning up. What the hell are you doing here?”
Elijah managed a little laugh without coughing. “Grey wouldn’t let mbe combe back to work, said I’mb gonna scare off mby own customers. And I wanted to see you.” Ever the charmer, even when he’s on death’s door, Emily thought, shaking her head. “Is this how you talk to all your patiendts, by the way?” Elijah asked, grinning goofily – oof, that had to be a high fever for him to be making that face. “Kinda undhinged,” he said, tugging playfully at the braid she had hastily done this morning. Emily rolled her eyes, gave Elijah a little push.
“Yeah, that’s how most patients describe my bedside manner. ‘Kinda unhinged’,” she said, making Elijah laugh and then cough again, grating and painful. She stepped briefly into the hall to grab a cup of water for him, catching Rhonda’s eye as she did. Rhonda raised an eyebrow, pulled down her mask. I thought you were passing him off? She mouthed.
Emily sighed, shrugged. “It’s Elijah,” she said. Rhonda eyes grew to saucers. She shooed Emily back towards the room with her hand.
“I’ll mark the room as unavailable until you leave,” she said. Emily smiled. Truly the best, she thought as she walked back in and handed Elijah the cup. He drained it, finally catching his breath.
“Thangk you,” he said, grabbing her hand. “I’mb sorry.” Emily pressed her eyebrows together, confused.
“Why are you sorry?” she asked, taking his temperature and using the light on the otoscope to look into his ears and throat. Temp was high – 103.2 – but no ear infection, and it didn’t look like strep, so she put her tools down. “I can see why Greyson wouldn’t let you back, jesus,” she joked, hopping up on the bed to sit beside her boyfriend. “No need to apologize – I figured you’d probably end up sick, since Greyson is. You two are on top of each other like ninety percent of the time.”
Elijah shrugged, rubbing his nose and eyes – was he about to cry? Distraught, Emily started to say something, to take it back, when Elijah wrenched to the side, away from her.
“HHRDDTSCHH-ieuuu! RRTSCHH-uee! HTSZZZCHH-ieuu! Hh… hhITSZCCCH-uhhh!” Elijah folded in on himself over and over, the paroxysms so intense that they nearly moved the bed beneath them. Finally, Elijah sniffled, out of breath, and Emily jumped down to hand him a box of tissues.
“Bless you,” she said as he blew his nose. “That sounded… painful.” Elijah laughed as he wiped his nose.
“That’s exactly what I said to Grey yesterday,” he croaked. Emily smiled.
“And?”
“And they are. Paindful. He said as mbuch.” Elijah shrugged. “He didn’t lie.”
“Mmm,” Emily hummed, placing the earbuds of her stethoscope in her ears and listening to Elijah’s crackling lungs. “You need to rest, by the way,” she said, taking the buds out and slinging the stethoscope around her neck to hold with both hands. “Your lungs sound rough. That could easily develop into walking pneumonia.”
“I also said that to Greysond,” Elijah laughed. Emily smiled again, a little sadly.
“It sounds like both of you need a day off,” she said, pointedly. A nod, a shrug from Elijah.
“Probably,” he said. There was a beat, then, a moment of silence before Emily couldn’t help herself.
“So, I assume you didn’t get a flu shot, like I told you to?” she asked, trying to play it off as light and playful, despite her worry. If Elijah didn’t get a flu shot, this was about to be a rough week for him. She made a mental note to ask when his symptoms started, to see if she could get him on Tamiflu. Elijah cringed.
“Yeah,” he said, “that’s why I was apologizing. I, uh, actually wendt to go get onde this afterndoon. But… they turned mbe away.” He smiled goofily again, shrugging. “Said you cand’t have a fever and get it.”
Emily pressed her lips together. “I could’ve told you that,” she said, sitting next to him again. “If you just asked.” Elijah nodded, turned to look at her.
“I’mb sorry,” he said. “I didn’t wandt you to worry. Or thingk I don’t listen to you. It just slipped mby mbind. But I should’ve just done it. I’mb sorry.”
Placing her hands on either side of Elijah’s hot face, Emily gently massaged his sinuses, nodded before he closed his eyes in relief. “Do you remember the first time we met?” she asked. One of Elijah’s eyes opened, just a bit.
“How could I forget,” he said. “I thingk it was ind this very roomb.”
“It was room nine. But close enough.”
Elijah smiled, hummed. “Dond’t mbake mbe laugh,” he said, closing his eye again. “Hurts.”
“Sorry,” Emily said, continuing to massage. “Do you know what I said to Rhonda, after you left that first time I saw you?”
“Mmmb?”
“‘That’s the hottest sick man I’ve ever met. I’d hate to see him well. It would be too much for my heart to handle’.”
This time, both of Elijah’s eyes popped open. “Yeah?” he asked. Emily nodded. “Well, Grey was basically mbarrying us the whole rest of the day. Called mbe ‘Mbister Doctor Embily’.” Emily’s face flushed – what happened to ‘he’s married to the restaurant’? – and Elijah chuckled. “That whole saga was so embarrassing,” he said, leaning his face onto Emily’s hand. He looked at her earnestly, then. “But I wouldn’t change it for the world.”
Emily’s heart thumped in her chest, butterflies swimming in the pit of her stomach. Maybe he’s just done, she’d thought earlier, but that wasn’t true. This man, this passionate and stubborn man… he couldn’t be just done. She wasn’t sure how she’d thought he could. “Lij?” she said.
“Yeah?”
“I want to kiss you.”
Elijah looked into her eyes, his bloodshot and watery. His nose was running, just a little, his glasses askew from leaning on her hand. She’d spent all day annoyed at sick people, going from room to room to room wishing them all away, but somehow Elijah – sick Elijah, contagious and fluish Elijah – erased all of them, the whole day’s worth. Sick or well, she could look into his eyes all day long. “You’ll get sick,” he croaked out, sniffling. She nodded, brought his face close.
“I could use a day off,” she said, bringing his face close and pressing her lips to his, the kiss too warm and too wet and somehow perfect, the perfect kiss for the moment. He kissed back, hungrily, until he had to pull away to breathe.
“Thangk you,” he said. “And sorry. For giving you the flu.”
Emily pushed Elijah’s sweaty hair out of his face. “It’s okay,” she said. “It won’t be too bad. After all – I got my flu shot.”
This time, Elijah laughed in earnest, ending again in a crackly cough. “Touché, baby,” he said when he got himself back together. “Touché.”
🤩 - Is there any symptom/torture tactic/snz trigger that you haven't portrayed or seen yet that you'd like to try?
Answered here but since I got this one a few times I'll add on that I love writing laryngitis and strep/sore throat stuff and I very rarely see it (maybe I'm just not looking hard enough to be fair lol) so I'd love to happen upon more of that hehe
📖 - Recommend some media that has a good i&i/whump/snz scene
Well if we go back in the way way back machine, I used to be literally OBSESSED with the sick episode of two and a half men lollll. I can't remember the name of it, but it's super snz/cough/contagion heavy and I literally bought it with real money back before streaming was a huge thing which is so embarrassing lol but I do stand by the fact that it's a GREAT sick episode. God, what happened to good sick episodes??? We were eating good in the early 2000s.
🌟 - What illness symptom/torture tactic/snz trigger do you have the most fun portraying or reading?
Can I say all of them hahaha. No but really I think my favorite thing to both read and write is the beginning of an illness, the slow roll of someone coming down with something. When it comes to snz itself, I love love love writing false starts - like even more than reading them, though I do love to read them, too. Writing them just feels like foreplay lmao.
🤩 - Is there any symptom/torture tactic/snz trigger that you haven't portrayed or seen yet that you'd like to try?
👤💓🤩 for the ask game! (Or if you’ve gotten all of these, then sub in an emoji for a question you want to answer but haven’t been asked yet 💕)
thanks for the ask, dude!! <3
👤 - Describe your current favorite character (including OCs)
Answered here!
💓 - What is your favorite thing about this community?
The sheer number of talented writers and artists in this comparatively tiny community is definitely one of my favorite things. Everyone who posts their stuff clearly really cares about their craft, and that is so rare and beautiful. I also love how much everyone hypes each other up, and that there's such a community of commenting and reblogging people's stuff, like I think that's why we have so much great content is because most people actually give writers and artists here the feedback they're craving when they post. Also, in general it's just a kind and safe community, which I love. There's so little tolerance for creeps or AI shitheads or anyone being disrespectful. This is my favorite place on the internet haha
🤩- Is there any symptom/torture tactic/snz trigger that you haven't portrayed or seen yet that you'd like to try?
Oh there are a few haha, I'd love to write a full pneumonia fic but I get scared that people would be too freaked out by such intense illness and wouldn't want to read it lmao. I'd also love to write an adult chicken pox fic, but again that just seems too outside the realm of what anyone would want to read that I haven't found it in me to put pen to paper. So I guess let me know if you'd read either of those hahaha
THANK YOU FOR THE ASKS those two were actually the two I was most excited to answer hahah
👤 - Describe your current favorite character (including OCs)
I mean, I'm forever obsessed with my own OCs lmao they're who I think about when I have downtime or whatever. My forever fav is Greyson, and as I've started writing him getting older I've only grown to love him more. BUT I am also in the process of writing an Elijah-centric fic with Emily, the nurse in a past fic, as his girlfriend and exploring that early relationship is really fun. Writing a forty-something man who's never been in a committed relationship is...interesting lmao.
Outside of my own OCs though, I'm still on the Heated Rivalry bandwagon with everyone else lmaoo and I'll always be an Ilya girlie.
🌡 - Giving your character a fever: yea or nay
Oh absolutely yea haha. There is very little I love more than a lil fever reveal forehead feel moment. Everything about a fever is so hot (pun intended) to me - how it takes a person down, fever babbling, the fact that it's a definitive sign of illness, I love it all.
🤧 - Do you prefer stoic characters or characters who complain?
Hmmm I'd say generally stoic characters are my favorite, and in real life a complainer is a huge ick lmao but I can also get down on some light, funny complaining.
there's something insanely sexy to me about not actually witnessing the snz.
what we are getting into: texting fic, mostly. the long game, hollanov. limited shane POV of ilya's flu.
Jane: practice over i’ve got time before our game
Jane: [image attached]
Lily: [missed FaceTime call from Jane]
Jane: [image attached] [image attached]
Jane: for you for later
__
Jane: they just announced you’re a late scratch tonight?
Lily: [2 missed calls from Jane]
Jane: call me when you can please
__
Lily: sorry was asleep
Lily: watching game now
Lily: saw your goal
Lily: good assist to u from Pike 🤮
__
Lily: going to sleep again
Lily: game is basically over so i will jinx it and say good win
Lily: will keep my phone on so you can call
—
The FaceTime request goes through and Shane squints as Ilya floods into view. Or rather, doesn’t. The screen is dark as Ilya murmurs a greeting.
“Hey, sorry — you were asleep? I can’t see you. Are you okay?”
“Sorry,” the dark screen sniffles and sheets shift. There’s some fumbling and then a click of bedside lamp and now Shane can see him.
Ilya’s adjusting to lie down on his side. He must have turned over once Shane called because he’s got pillow-lines on his cheek and his curls are angled flat, pressed against invisible surface in the air. His eyes are sleepy, visible even through a video call, and there’s a flush to his cheeks and around his nose.
He snuffles and itches two fingers under his nose, then coughs sharply. He doesn’t seem to be about to say anything else, even though Shane was waiting.
“Are you okay?” he repeats, watching as Ilya’s fingers move from under his nose to press at the corner of his eye socket, massaging in circles.
“Mmm. Will be fine,” he sounds hoarse, clearing his throat as he pauses, “just sick. I can sleep it off, yes?”
“How sick? They wouldn’t let you play?”
Ilya shakes his head, almost imperceptively. “You are asking information about players from other teams, Hollander? I will have to write the Commissioner about this.”
He coughs, and Shane’s view shifts, presumably being placed down as he stares at Ilya’s ceiling.
The sound of a tissue being pulled from a box, the flash of an arm across his screen, and then a muffled sneeze. It’s loud through the tinny speaker of his phone, and Shane hurries to turn down his volume as Ilya sneezes more, devolving into a fit offscreen.
A relieved gasp for breath as Shane sees Ilya’s face for a second. His upper lip is shiny and the corners of his eyes are wet. Then all sound cuts out and he’s got a nice view of the ceiling again. Crown moulding him and Mom liked for Ilya’s place.
“Bless you,” Shane says to the silence. He’s pretty sure Ilya muted his end of the call.
Another tissue flashes across the screen.
Then, the bottom of a glass. Clear liquid. Shane hopes faintly it’s water and not vodka.
A beat and then the screen is tilting to Ilya’s face again as he settles back against his pillows.
“Sorry. Thought you would not want to hear that,” he says, voice and background noise flooding back in. He sniffles again. Shane doesn’t think he’s imagining a glassy look, even through the screen.
“Are you okay?” Shane repeats again, distinctly annoyed somewhere under his concern; he hears how it leaks into his voice.
Ilya groans, “I am fine, Hollander. Just sick, okay? Fever was what they would not let me play because.”
He sounds so sick. His English is coming apart. Shane knows exactly what he means, but it’s something he flags sometimes. Sometimes he worries that Ilya intentionally or carelessly fumbles his words when he’s trying to keep him out. He can be very closed off like that.
And he looks so sick. Shane’s heart aches. I’m Shane. Call me Shane. I love you.
“I just wish I could be with you,” he whispers. He knows Ilya isn’t about to reply honestly right now, because Shane’s too far away to help. (That’s the easiest one to blame.) And Ilya hurts all the time, but hates to feel it.
Ilya’s glance flicks back to the screen, face unexpectedly open. He rubs at his nose. “Me too, Shane.”
Then he breathes, shaking off sentimentality forcefully, scrubbing his nose with a click click, “But you would hate to be with me. You would complain about me getting you sick and —“ he shakes his head harder, “—you know. You don’t miss me right now.”
I would still miss you. I miss you right now so badly I’m afraid I might explode. But Shane isn’t sure he can say that. He’s worried it will make Ilya more sad. And it will make him more sad, too.
He swallows. “Okay, just — sorry for calling, then. Get some sleep. I love you.”
“Love you. Я Тебя Люблю.”
Ilya looks at him for another long second, and Shane can’t hang up, even though that’s the social cue where he’s supposed to.
After a brief eye-scrunch, Ilya gasps, “G – ghdd – nigh– hh–”
And then the call ends abruptly.
Shane takes a look at his reflection in his phone screen, blinks. Okay.
He can’t help texting him after.
__
Jane: Goodnight.
Jane: I love you and feel better.
Jane: I’m sorry you’re sick.
__
Jane: I really wish I could hold you.
__
The next morning, Shane is awakened before his alarm.
“Hi?” he asks blearily in response to Ilya’s call.
“Hi,” Ilya coughs down the other end of the line, “was just saying good morning. Couldn’t sleep that well. Sorry.”
Shane starts to reply, but Ilya has hung up. Well, fuck. He might as well get up.
__
An couple hours later –
Lily: fever broke now
Lily: sorry about this morning, wanted to hear you
Jane: I like to hear you. I’m glad you’re feeling better.
Lily: 🥹🥹
__
Jane: you were sneezing a lot last night.
Jane: and how is your cough?
Lily: better
Lily: kind of
Shane watches his screen bounce with ellipses from Ilya for much too long. He watches anyways.
Lily: i hate being sick
Jane: me too
Jane: i hate seeing you sick
Lily: sorry
Jane: no
Jane: i mean i guess i miss you a lot
Jane: fuck
Lily: i miss you too 😙
__
Jane: i’m trying to say i hate when you’re sick because i want to make it better and i can’t because i’m far away
Jane: but i really want to.
Jane: i don’t like
Jane: wrong phrasing, sorry.
Jane: i’m anxious about how you won’t tell me your symptoms and stuff
__
Lily: well, what would you like or
Lily: in your words, be anxious to know about?
Lily: i cannot stop sneezing at all
Lily: i am coughing up half the lung i have left
Lily: you know because i smoke, not much there to work with
Lily: i feel gross and sick and i miss you
Lily: i miss you so much i cried to sleep last night. thats why i called.
hiii which of these scenarios do we prefer as a team (snzfuckers/coldfuckers)
someone getting turned away from getting a flu shot bc they're clearly sick
someone gets a flu shot & is cockily lax about contagion & ends up super sick
i like both equally
i hate both of these (what are you doing here lmao)
Voting ended onJun 10
im thinking of an Elijah fic and I want to use one of these scenarios. if you have offshoot ideas from these you want to see pls feel free to let me know!!
