Oh no! Sorry, Was My Snz Kink Showing Again? 👃🏻

I created my main OC, Remington (Remi) 13 years ago with my friend, @thekinkyleopard , owner of Levi, (she also owns Connie, Alistar, Biziil, Elex, and Sy) and have been using him ever since (he’s super fun and adorable to torture >:3)

Fun Fact!: I started going by Remington 9 years ago, because of my OC 🖤

I love to draw and otherwise make art, and sometimes I like to write, even if getting it perfect takes a little time. I frequently post my art of my main OC, Remington, and his mate, Levi, as well as the occasional fic when the creativity allows lmao. I do always have my requests open to anyone (any of my own, or Kezzie’s thekinkyleopard OCs only!)

Despite my name, I don’t have any allergies, and I honestly don’t snz very much (THOUGH I TRY, TRUST ME >:C) so WAVs aren’t my thing /: though I’ll probably appreciate yours 🫠

Tags include: #geezieart, #geeziefic, #geezierant, #geezieanswers, #geeziespeedpaint, #geeziegif

(Kezzie posts 98% of the fic content, and I draw the covers for her fics. She posts snzfics bc she loves me, and some vanilla, as well as full canon lore if you’re interested!)

What I’m Into:

Sneezing (obviously~) M & F

Whump (fever/illness/injury), otherwise H/C

Contagion

Stoic/Angry/Strong characters getting sick/injured and needing to be taken care of by someone they would usually be protecting (IM LOOKIN AT U REMI BBY)

Spray 🖤

Domination/Pushiness (BDSM dynamics)

Pet Play

Slight Embarrassment but nothing too crazy

Vulnerability

Being snzed on 🖤

What I’m NOT Into:

Excessive mess (I know.. 🤡)

Pedophilia [MINORS DNI! ]

Humiliation/kink shaming

Super loud/startling snzs

Emeto

If you’ve made it this far, thank you!

And thank you everyone for helping me reach 250 followers 🖤

It means the world to me honestly to have that many people interested in my art and love my snotty, grumpy boy Rem just as much as I do 😭😭😭

I really do not appreciate hate, and it will swiftly be deleted and you will be blocked. Thanks for your cooperation!

Levi didn’t open his eyes yet. He shifted his awareness instead, cataloging the way Remi’s chest rose and fell behind him, the weight of an arm slung low across his waist. It was loose, slack with sleep, but still there—anchoring, even unconscious.

Heat bled through the blankets.

Too much of it.

Levi frowned faintly and tilted his head just enough to register it properly. Remi was burning up again. Not the gentle warmth from earlier, but the kind that radiated, seeped, made the air between them feel thick. Levi could feel it along his back, along his shoulder blades, soaking through fabric and skin alike.

A quiet sniffle sounded behind him.

Soft. Wet. Almost swallowed before it finished.

Levi’s eyes fluttered open a fraction.

Remi lay close, face pressed somewhere near Levi’s shoulder, dark lashes resting against flushed skin. His nose was red, irritated at the tip, the bridge faintly pink like it had been rubbed too many times already. His lips were parted, breath coming through his mouth in small, tired huffs, the corners of his mouth slack with sleep.

Another sniffle followed a few breaths later, thicker this time.

Levi stayed still, waiting.

Remi shifted restlessly, brow drawing together as if whatever sleep he was clinging to had turned uncomfortable. His arm tightened without warning, pulling Levi closer by instinct rather than thought. Levi felt the tug at his middle, the quiet insistence of it, and let himself be drawn in.

Remi made a low sound in his throat—half whine, half breath—pressed directly into Levi’s shoulder. It wasn’t a word. Barely even a noise. Just something miserable and unconscious, leaking out of him as he sought warmth.

His breathing stuttered.

Not fully—not yet.

Levi felt it before he heard it: a hitch at the end of an inhale, a subtle tension pulling through Remi’s chest. The arm around Levi tightened again, fingers flexing weakly at his side.

Remi’s nose twitched.

Once.

Then again.

A breath pulled in, sharper than the others, chest lifting as if bracing for something that didn’t quite arrive. Levi felt the pause stretch—too long, fragile—the edge of a sneeze hovering undecided.

“Hh—” Remi’s breath snagged, caught high and thin.

Levi held his own breath without realizing it.

Nothing followed.

The tension broke instead into a shaky, stuffy exhale that puffed warm air against Levi’s collarbone. Remi sagged with it, shoulders dropping as the effort drained out of him. A faint, frustrated sound followed—more breath than voice—as if his body had expected relief and been denied.

He sniffed again, congested and quiet.

Levi shifted just enough to turn his head, careful not to jostle him. His hand slid back automatically, resting over Remi’s forearm where it lay across his waist. The skin there was hot—too hot.

“Hey…” Levi murmured, voice rough and low from sleep. Not meant to wake. Just… there.

Remi didn’t open his eyes.

But he pressed closer anyway, forehead nudging against the back of Levi’s shoulder, mouth-breathing deepening as if the contact alone made things easier. His arm tightened, possessive in the loosest, sleepiest way, drawing Levi flush against his chest.

Another sniffle. Softer this time.

Levi let his eyes close again, adjusting just enough to fit better against him. The closeness settled, inevitable and slow, not sudden or startled—just the natural answer to where they already were.

Late morning light continued to creep across the room.

And Remi, burning and half-asleep, held on like letting go hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Levi tried to shift.

It was barely an attempt, more a thought than a movement, the idea of rolling his shoulder or lifting his head just enough to breathe easier. The effort stalled halfway through, turning into a quiet, involuntary groan as his body reminded him exactly how bad an idea that was.

His limbs felt heavy, like they had been filled with sand. His throat scraped when he swallowed, dry and sore, and a pulse of dizziness washed through him the moment he tensed his core.

Behind him, Remi reacted instantly.

His arm tightened around Levi’s middle, no hesitation, no thought, just reflex. The loose, sleepy hold from before turned firm, pulling Levi back against his chest like a magnet snapping into place.

“Don’t…” Remi mumbled, voice thick and wrecked, the word barely making it past his lips. His face pressed harder into Levi’s shoulder, nose nudging clumsily as he burrowed closer. “…stay.”

Levi stilled.

He hadn’t said anything. Hadn’t warned him. Hadn’t even moved enough to justify the response, and yet Remi had felt it anyway. Tracking him through sleep and fever and congestion like letting go simply was not an option.

Levi exhaled slowly, the resistance leaving his body. “Okay,” he murmured hoarsely. “I’m here.”

Remi made a small, satisfied sound in response, more breath than noise. His grip loosened just a fraction, enough to settle back into something exhausted rather than urgent. His face stayed tucked against Levi’s shoulder, mouth-breathing warm and uneven, each exhale damp against Levi’s skin.

A wet sniffle followed.

Then another, sharper this time.

Levi felt the subtle tension creep back into Remi’s chest, the way his breathing changed when his nose decided to make things worse. His arm tightened again, not around Levi this time, but at his own side, fingers flexing weakly like he was bracing.

“Hh… hhh…” Remi’s breath hitched, low and frustrated.

Levi didn’t move. He just waited.

Remi inhaled shallowly through his mouth, then tried, unsuccessfully, to draw a breath through his nose. His nostrils flared, red and irritated, the sound of it thick and blocked.

“Shit,” he muttered faintly, half-asleep and already annoyed.

The sneezes came without much warning.

“Hh’… hh—hEhTXSSHhh’ih! Hd’IZTSsHHhhh’ih!”

They were tight and congested, forced through swollen sinuses, snapping his head forward just enough that his forehead bumped Levi’s shoulder. He froze for a second afterward, breath stuck, then slumped back with a rough, embarrassed sniff.

“Fuckin’ A,” he muttered, voice low and wrecked, like the effort of the sneezes had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit.

Levi didn’t say anything at first. He just shifted closer and rested his hand over Remi’s where it lay against his ribs, thumb brushing once in a slow, grounding stroke. He smiled at him—soft, understanding, fond in that way that didn’t need words.

They lay there for a moment, neither of them moving, the room filled with the sound of their breathing. Levi became aware of his own symptoms again in the stillness, the ache in his joints, the pressure behind his eyes, the faint buzz in his nose that promised trouble if he tried too hard to ignore it.

He exhaled slowly, the truth settling into him without resistance.
“We’re clearly still not better yet,” he croaked, voice low and worn thin.

Remi didn’t argue. He didn’t even open his eyes. If anything, his body eased, the tension in his shoulders loosening as though the words had given him permission to stop holding himself together. He pressed closer, nose nudging into the warmth of Levi’s shoulder, breath heavy and uneven but calmer now.

“That’s okay,” he murmured, barely more than breath.

Levi tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean, ‘that’s okay’?”

“Means we don’t gotta get up,” Remi mumbled, words blurring together.

Another sniffle punctuated it, quieter this time, followed by a tired mouth-breathed exhale.

Levi reached back and threaded his fingers gently through Remi’s hair, feeling him melt at the touch. “Yeah,” he murmured. “No work. No plans. Just bed.”

Remi’s grip tightened once more, not desperate now, just content. His breathing evened out as much as it could with a blocked nose, warm and steady against Levi’s neck.

“Don’t have to convince me,” he whispered, already drifting again.

Late morning light continued to spill into the room, unhurried.

And both of them stayed exactly where they were, sick, exhausted, and quietly agreed on one thing.

Today could wait.

Levi shifted carefully, testing his own balance before he moved any further.

His head still swam, and his throat burned every time he swallowed, but Remi’s heat against his back had climbed from warm to concerning. The kind that lingered too steadily, too intensely, like it had no intention of breaking on its own.

“Hey,” Levi murmured, low and close. “Rem.”

Remi made a vague noise in response, something between a hum and a grumble. His arms tightened reflexively, drawing Levi back in like he hadn’t meant to let him go at all.

“Stay,” Remi muttered, nose brushing Levi’s shoulder. His voice sounded thicker than before, congested and dull. “M’fine.”

Levi turned just enough to face him, careful not to jostle his head. Up close, the signs were impossible to miss. Remi’s cheeks were flushed deeper than earlier, his skin hot and faintly damp. His nose was red at the tip, irritated and shiny, and every few breaths he sniffed quietly, like he was trying not to draw attention to it.

“You’re not,” Levi said gently. Not sharp, not teasing. Just certain. “I need to check your temperature.”

Remi cracked one eye open, then squinted at him. “Did already,” he mumbled. “Last night.”

“And it’s morning now.” Levi brushed his thumb along Remi’s jaw, grounding. “C’mon, Acushla.”

The nickname landed softly, familiar and steady. Remi’s resistance faded almost immediately. He sighed, long and tired, and loosened his grip enough to let Levi move.

“Don’t like it,” Remi grumbled as Levi reached for the thermometer on the nightstand. “Makes my mouth dry.”

“I know,” Levi said, calm and patient. “It’ll be quick.”

Remi let him guide the thermometer from the nightstand under his tongue with minimal fuss, lips closing around it obediently. He settled back into the pillows, eyes drifting half-shut again, one hand finding Levi’s sleeve and curling there like a tether.

For a few seconds, everything was still.

Then Remi’s nose twitched.

Levi noticed immediately.

Remi did too.

He froze, breath stalling halfway in, shoulders lifting just a little. His nostrils flared, red and irritated, the sound of his breathing turning thin and careful as he fought to keep the thermometer in place.

“Hh…” His breath hitched quietly through his nose, then he switched to his mouth, cheeks hollowing slightly. His brow furrowed in concentration, frustration flickering across his face.

Levi rested a steady hand against his chest. “Easy,” he murmured. “Almost there.”

Remi nodded faintly, jaw tense around the thermometer. His breathing grew shallow, controlled, like he was counting seconds in his head. Another tickle danced along his sinuses, obvious in the way his nose wrinkled again.

“Hh’… hhh…” He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting it, shoulders trembling.

The thermometer beeped.

Remi yanked it out immediately and turned his head away, breath snapping in sharp and helpless.

“hhEhh-! HhEHh’iiTShh’IIEW! hiiih’ISHHHh—uhH!! HAHH’IKKTsh—uhh!!”

The sneezes burst out tight and congested, snapping his head forward before he could stop them. He groaned afterward, dragging the back of his hand under his nose with a miserable sniff.

“Fuck,” he muttered hoarsely.

Levi smiled faintly and pressed a tissue into his hand. “Bless, Acushla” he said. “I’m impressed you held it back.”

Remi blew his nose quietly, embarrassed, then sniffed again. “Didn’t wanna spit it out,” he admitted, voice rough. “Figured you’d make me do it again.”

“I absolutely would have,” Levi said mildly, checking the reading.

Remi watched his face, eyes heavy and unfocused. “How bad?”

Levi hesitated just a fraction. “Still high,” he said honestly. “A little higher than last night.”

Remi closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillow. “Figures.”

Levi set the thermometer aside and climbed back into bed, pulling the blankets up around them again. Remi immediately turned toward him, pressing close, forehead resting against Levi’s collarbone as if drawn there by instinct.

“…Feels weird,” Remi said quietly after a moment.

Levi stilled, listening.

“Not bein’ the one,” Remi continued, voice low and unsteady. “Not… holdin’ everything together.”

The words were barely there, more confession than complaint. He didn’t look at Levi when he said it. Just breathed against him, warm and uneven.

Levi wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held him firmly. “You don’t have to,” he said softly. “I’ve got you today.”

Remi’s breath shuddered out of him, relief easing through his posture. He nodded once, small and tired, and tucked his face into Levi’s shoulder again.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Just for today.”

Levi kissed his hair and let him cling.

Outside, the late morning light held steady.

The day made everything louder.

Not in sound, exactly, but in sensation. The room had warmed with the sun climbing higher, the stale air growing thick and close, clinging to skin and lungs alike. Even the light felt heavier now, pale gold spilling across the bed and catching on dust that had no business being there.

Remi shifted restlessly beneath the blankets.

His nose had been bothering him for a while now, Levi realized. Not all at once, not dramatically, but in the small ways that always came first. The faint redness at the tip. The way he kept breathing through his mouth between shallow sniffs. The barely-there wrinkle of his nose every few breaths, like his body was arguing with itself.

“Hh…” Remi sniffed, frustrated, rubbing his nose once against Levi’s shoulder before stopping himself. “Damn it.”

Levi lifted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Remi said automatically. Then, quieter, more honest. “No.”

His breath hitched without warning.

“Hh’… hih…”

Levi felt the tension coil through him, the way his chest tightened as he tried to hold it back. Remi turned his face slightly into the pillow, shoulders lifting as he braced.

“hh'IETSH’UE! Hhh—! HI’DTSCHIEW!”

The sneezes snapped out of him, tight and congested, barely clearing anything. He groaned softly afterward, sniffing hard.

“Shit,” he muttered immediately.

He barely had time to breathe before it happened again.

“Hh’… ihH’ktdSHhh!!”

This one made him jerk forward slightly, hand flying up too late to be useful. He sniffed again, wet and irritated, then scrubbed at his nose with the heel of his palm.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, more reflex than thought.

Levi frowned and shifted closer. “Hey. Stop that.”

Remi blinked at him, bleary. “Stop what?”

“Saying sorry.” Levi reached up and brushed his thumb gently under Remi’s nose, grounding. “You’re sick. You don’t need to apologize for existing.”

Remi huffed a weak laugh that turned into another sniffle. “Hard habit t’break.”

The warmth in the room did not help. If anything, it made the congestion swell tighter, heavier. Remi’s nose twitched again, sharper this time, and he let out a low, warning sound.

“Oh no…”

“Hh’… hih—hih—”

Levi stayed still, letting him ride it out.

“Hh'IISHH! —hd’ISCHhh!! —h’dtTISHh! ”

The cluster hit fast, three quick sneezes back to back, both short and miserable. Remi sagged afterward, breathing through his mouth, eyes squeezed shut.

“Gods,” he muttered hoarsely. “That’s gettin’ old.”

Levi smiled faintly and handed him a tissue. “You’re doing great.”

Remi took it, blew his nose quietly, then sniffed again to check. “Liar.”

Levi chuckled, but the sound faded into a soft cough he couldn’t quite suppress. He turned his head away instinctively, coughing again, dry and shallow, like his throat was scraped raw.

Remi noticed immediately.

“Hey,” he murmured, concern cutting through his fog. “You’re not doin’ great either.”

Levi shrugged weakly. “I’m fine.”

Remi gave him a look that said he did not believe that for a second. He shifted carefully, wincing as the movement sent another tickle through his nose, but he pushed through it anyway.

“C’mere,” he said quietly.

Before Levi could argue, Remi adjusted the pillows with deliberate care, propping them up just right. He eased Levi back against his chest instead, reversing their positions with surprising gentleness. His arms wrapped around Levi slowly, intentionally, like he was afraid of jostling him.

Levi sighed as the new position settled, the weight off his own aching body. “Rem…”

“Shh,” Remi murmured, pressing his face briefly into Levi’s hair. “Your turn.”

He held him there, careful despite the tremor in his hands, one arm snug around Levi’s middle, the other resting over his chest. His breathing was still thick, still congested, punctuated by the occasional sniffle, but he seemed calmer like this.

Another tickle flickered through his nose. He scrunched it, sniffed once, then managed to suppress the sneeze with a quiet huff.

“M’Sorry,” he started again, then stopped himself.

Levi smiled into his chest.

Remi exhaled and leaned down just enough to press a soft kiss to Levi’s temple. No comment. No hesitation. Just warmth, and choice, and care given on purpose.

They settled there together, daylight heavy around them, sickness loud in small ways, and love louder than all of it.

The quiet that followed felt earned.

Not empty, not heavy—just settled. The kind that came after effort, after deciding not to push anymore. Sunlight warmed the edge of the bed, and somewhere beyond the room a day was happening without them. Neither seemed particularly interested.

Levi shifted carefully, starting to reach for the thermos on the nightstand. The movement was slow and deliberate, like he didn’t quite trust his body to cooperate if he rushed it.

Remi noticed immediately.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice rough and thick. “Don’t, that’s been there for hours.”

Levi paused and glanced back at him. “I was just gonna get some broth.”

Remi shook his head once, already pushing himself upright. The motion made him wince, shoulders slumping forward as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“I’ll heat you up some soup from the fridge,” he said, stubborn even through the congestion clogging his voice.

Levi frowned. “Rem, you feel awful. You don’t need to get up.”

“I know,” Remi replied. He sniffed hard, then rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, irritation flickering across his face. “Still gonna.”

He stood slowly, pausing for balance. The room seemed to tilt just a little, enough to make him breathe out through his mouth and steady himself against the bedframe.

Levi watched him with concern written plainly across his face. “You really don’t have to.”

Remi glanced back over his shoulder, eyes dull with fever but steady. “Your throat’s wreckin’ you,” he said quietly. “Soup’ll help. Just stay.”

Levi hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. But if you start feeling worse, you come back. Deal?”

Remi gave a vague nod and shuffled toward the kitchen, shoulders hunched slightly as if the air itself felt heavy. The fridge light washed over him as he opened it, blinking against the brightness. He pulled out a container of leftover soup, sniffed once, then turned his head sharply away.

“Hh’… hih—”

He barely had time to angle himself aside before the sneeze tore out of him.

“hhh’ISCHih!”

It snapped his head forward, tight and congested. He groaned quietly afterward, rubbing at his nose before sniffing again, thick and irritated.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

He straightened, poured the soup into a bowl, and slid it into the microwave. As it hummed to life, he leaned back against the counter, eyes closing briefly. His chest rose and fell unevenly, mouth-breathing the way he had been all morning.

Another tickle built too fast for him to ignore.

“Hh… hhh…”

He turned away again, sneezing once more, “iH’tSSH!”, shorter this time, followed immediately by a rough, chesty cough that doubled him over slightly. He braced himself on the counter, coughing into his fist until it eased, breath rasping when it finally stopped.

By the time the microwave beeped, he looked exhausted. Flushed, nose red, eyes glassy. He stirred the soup slowly, waiting for the steam to settle, then carried it back toward the bedroom with careful steps.

Levi was waiting, propped up against the pillows, watching the doorway like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

Remi set the bowl down on the nightstand and sat beside him with a tired sigh. “Told you,” he murmured. “Easy.”

Levi reached out, fingers brushing Remi’s hand. “You okay?”

Remi shrugged faintly. “I lived.”

Levi smiled, soft and grateful, and leaned in to take the spoon. The warmth hit his throat almost immediately, easing the ache there. He looked up at Remi after the first bite.

“Thank you.”

Remi nodded once, already leaning back against the headboard, eyes closing as he listened to Levi breathe a little easier. Despite how miserable he looked, there was something settled in his posture now. Like doing this had been worth the effort.

He reached out and rested his hand against Levi’s knee, grounding himself there.

“Eat,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

And for once, Levi didn’t argue.

Remi watched closely, brows knit in focus like this was a critical operation.

“Too hot?” he asked.

“It’s perfect,” Levi said. He took another bite, then paused to huff a content sigh. Only then did Remi relax back into the pillows, eyes drooping.

Levi turned the bowl slightly and held up a spoonful. “Your turn.”

Remi hesitated. His nose was still red, breathing thick and uneven, and he sniffed before leaning forward.

He took a small sip from the outstretched spoon.

The steam hit his face just right.

“Oh—shit—”

His breath hitched sharply, shoulders tensing as he froze mid-sip, trying desperately not to spill or choke.

“Hh—hih—”

Levi stilled instantly, steadying the bowl, his other hand already bracing Remi’s shoulder.

“Hh…h’dtTISHh! Hihh’ISSHh! H-hihh! heh’iTTSHH’IEW! Ugh…”

The sneezes tore out of him, sharp and wet, broth sloshing dangerously close to the rim as his head snapped forward. He groaned afterward, breath ragged, nose running immediately.

“Dammit,” he muttered hoarsely. “Sorry—”

Levi didn’t say anything.

He set the bowl aside without fuss, reached for a tissue, and wiped Remi’s face gently, catching the mess with practiced ease. His touch was slow, unhurried, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Remi went very still.

Levi dabbed under his nose, wiped his upper lip, then brushed his thumb lightly along Remi’s cheek. Only then did he speak.

“You okay?”

Remi nodded, throat working as he swallowed. “Yeah.” A pause. “…Thanks.”

Levi picked the bowl back up and held out another spoonful, this time guiding it closer. “Small sips,” he said softly. “I’ve got it.”

Remi let him.

He leaned forward just enough, letting Levi tilt the spoon, taking a careful mouthful this time. It took him a second to swallow, congestion making everything harder, but when he did, his shoulders dropped a fraction.

“There you go,” Levi murmured.

Remi made a quiet, noncommittal sound that might have been a complaint if it didn’t come paired with him leaning closer, resting his forehead briefly against Levi’s shoulder. He didn’t pull away right away.

“You’re enjoyin’ this,” he grumbled weakly.

Levi smiled, just a little. “Maybe.”

Remi didn’t argue. He stayed there, breathing through his mouth, eyes closed, letting Levi hold the bowl and the moment and him.

When Levi offered another sip, Remi took it without protest.

And afterward, when Levi set the bowl aside and eased him back against the pillows, Remi didn’t fill the quiet with jokes or apologies. He just stayed close, overwhelmed in the softest way, fingers curling into Levi’s shirt like he needed to anchor himself to something solid.

Levi wrapped an arm around him and held on.

Something warm, at last, settled between them.

Remi stayed quiet longer than usual.

It wasn’t the peaceful kind of quiet that came with settling or sleep, but something tighter, more aware. Levi felt it in the way Remi’s arms stayed wrapped around him without loosening, in how his grip adjusted every few breaths like he was checking to make sure Levi was still there.

Eventually, Remi let out a breath that sounded like it scraped on the way out.

“Feels like I’m… takin’ up too much space today,” he murmured, voice low and worn thin. Not a joke. Just an observation. “Can’t stop holdin’ onto you. Can’t do much else.”

Levi shifted slightly, enough to meet his eyes. He didn’t rush to contradict him.

Remi sniffed, frustration tightening his jaw. “S’posed to be better than this,” he added quietly. “Instead I’m just—” He faltered, mouth pressing into a thin line as he searched for the word. “Heavy.”

His arm loosened, not pulling away entirely, just easing like he was giving Levi the option to leave if he wanted it.

Levi noticed immediately.

He caught Remi’s wrist with gentle certainty, thumb pressing into the warm skin there. “Hey,” he said, calm and steady. “Stay.”

Remi blinked at him, unfocused. “I’m not—”

Levi leaned in before the thought could finish forming, resting his forehead against Remi’s. Their breaths mingled there, warm and uneven, close enough that Remi had to breathe through his mouth.

“You don’t have to disappear just because you’re sick,” Levi said quietly. “Or because you need me.”

The words landed without force. Just truth.

Remi’s breath hitched. His shoulders sagged, the tension bleeding out of him in a slow collapse. He didn’t argue. Didn’t deflect. He just nodded once, tired and small, and let himself lean forward until their foreheads pressed more firmly together.

“…Feels safer like this, anyway,” he admitted, voice barely there.

Levi didn’t hesitate. He shifted closer, sealing the space Remi had almost given up.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”

Remi let out a breath that sounded like relief finally finding somewhere to land. His arms tightened again, not frantic, not desperate, just sure. He stayed there, breathing through his mouth, nose pressed lightly against Levi’s cheek, eyes closed.

They didn’t rush the moment.

They didn’t need to.

Outside, the day continued on without them. Inside, wrapped in warmth and sickness and trust, Remi stayed exactly where he was.

Levi didn’t realize how bad he was getting until his body reminded him all at once.

It started with a shiver.

Not a dramatic one, just a subtle tremor that ran through him as he leaned into Remi’s chest, like his muscles had forgotten how to hold warmth on their own. He inhaled to steady himself and felt the scrape in his throat flare sharply in protest.

He swallowed.

Winced.

Remi felt it immediately.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice still thick but alert now. His hand slid up Levi’s back, rubbing slow, grounding circles between his shoulders. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I’m—” Levi tried, then stopped when the tickle bloomed suddenly behind his nose. He barely had time to draw a breath before it hit.

“Hh… Eh’schh’iue!! H'ptschu! H-hhih! Hhih’eeshiew!! H’etshhiEW!”

The fit slipped out small and quiet, muffled directly into Remi’s shirt where Levi had leaned forward without thinking. He froze afterward, embarrassed, breath hitching as he sniffled softly.

“Sorry—”

Remi tightened his arms around him at once.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Bless you, kitten.” His hand kept moving, steady and warm. “You okay?”

Levi nodded, though his nose buzzed uncomfortably now, congestion creeping in to join the ache and fatigue. He coughed a little, shallow and dry, turning his face away instinctively.

Remi followed him without complaint, shifting just enough to keep Levi supported. He rubbed Levi’s back more firmly now, the motion deliberate despite the tremor in his own hands.

“Easy,” Remi murmured. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Another shiver ran through Levi, stronger this time. He curled closer without meaning to, shoulders tucking inward as he tried to contain it.

Remi noticed.

Without a word, he pulled the blankets higher around them, tucking them in with surprising care. He pressed his chin lightly to the top of Levi’s head, mouth-breathing warm and steady, sharing what heat he could.

Levi coughed again, a little rougher.

“Sorry,” he rasped automatically.

Remi huffed softly. “Nope. Not doin’ that.” He tipped Levi’s chin gently, just enough to keep him from curling too far in on himself. “You don’t apologize either. You hear me?”

Levi smiled faintly, exhausted. “Right.”

He sniffed again, quieter this time, understanding his body’s limits a little too late. His breathing grew heavier, slower, fatigue settling deep in his bones.

Remi held him through it all.

He kept rubbing Levi’s back, murmuring small, steady things under his breath—nonsense words, encouragement, quiet reassurances meant more for rhythm than meaning. Every so often, he pressed a gentle kiss into Levi’s hair or temple, grounding both of them.

“You’re doin’ good,” Remi whispered. “Just rest. I’ve got you.”

Levi let himself believe it.

He sagged into Remi’s chest, breathing shallow but calmer now, letting the warmth and the touch hold him together. Remi adjusted instinctively, arms firm but gentle, cradling Levi like this was exactly where he belonged.

Neither of them said anything about fairness.

They didn’t need to.

Care moved back and forth between them without being counted, without being questioned. One breath, one touch, one quiet moment at a time.

And together, sick and tired and held, they stayed exactly where they were.

The afternoon didn’t announce itself.

It simply kept going.

Light shifted across the room in slow, patient increments, the sun climbing just enough to warm the foot of the bed before drifting higher. The air felt different now, less tight, less oppressive, like the room itself had decided to loosen its grip. Outside, something moved faintly, wind or distant life, but it never pushed its way in.

They hadn’t meant to sleep.

It happened anyway.

Levi’s breathing was the first thing to change. The shallow hitch in his chest softened, the dry scrape in his throat easing into something steadier. Each inhale came slower than the last, his shoulders gradually losing the tension they had been holding onto all morning.

Remi noticed.

He always did.

His fever hadn’t broken, not fully, but it had eased enough to leave him clear-headed in brief stretches. Enough to register that Levi’s weight had gone slack against him, that the restless fidgeting had stilled. Enough to shift carefully, adjusting without waking him.

Levi ended up half sprawled across Remi’s chest, one leg tangled with his, cheek resting just below Remi’s collarbone. It wasn’t neat. It didn’t need to be. Remi draped an arm around him instinctively, palm settling warm and sure against Levi’s back.

His breathing stayed open-mouthed, soft and slow, brushing gently over Levi’s hairline with each exhale. It stirred the fine strands there, a steady rhythm that grounded them both.

Levi stirred faintly, then settled again.

His fingers moved without thought, tracing slow, absent shapes along Remi’s arm. Circles. Lines. Nothing with meaning beyond the comfort of motion. Remi felt it and didn’t interrupt, only leaned his cheek lightly against Levi’s temple, eyes drifting closed again.

The room grew quieter.

Not empty, just complete.

Light crept higher along the wall, then slid away as clouds passed, the warmth shifting with it. Time blurred into something gentle and unimportant. They existed in the space between breaths, between moments, held together by heat and weight and the simple fact of choosing to stay right where they were.

Remi’s arm tightened once, just enough to reaffirm the hold.

Levi didn’t wake, but he leaned in closer anyway.

And in the soft drift of afternoon, with sickness still lingering but no longer loud, they rested there together, choosing each other again, quietly, without needing to say it out loud.

The apothecary woke slowly, the way living things did.

Early morning light slipped in through the front windows in pale gold bands, catching on floating dust motes and turning them into drifting sparks. Shelves crowded the walls from floor to ceiling, packed tight with jars, corked vials, folded cloth packets, and bundles of herbs hung upside down from twine. The air was thick with scent, dried leaves and crushed roots, sharp citrus peels and something bitter underneath it all.

Meeko moved through it barefoot, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, the sleeves so long they swallowed her hands entirely. She padded across the wooden floor in socked feet, humming to herself as she went, a quiet, cheerful tune that bounced lightly off the walls. Her bright red hair was twisted up into its usual twin space buns, the long length of it tucked away, white bangs falling into her eyes as she leaned over her workbench.

An old book lay open in front of her, its spine cracked and its pages yellowed with age. The ink was faded in places, the margins crowded with notes written by hands long gone. Meeko had copied the recipe down twice already, once carefully into her notebook and once more onto a scrap of parchment she’d tucked beside the mortar and pestle.

A lung tonic, according to the book. Rare, experimental. Meant to soothe inflammation, ease breathing, calm the chest. The irony of it wasn’t lost on her, but she smiled anyway, excitement buzzing through her as she lined up the ingredients.

“Okay,” she murmured to herself, tugging one sleeve back with her teeth so she could measure properly. “Easy. Simple. I’ve got this.”

She worked with confident hands, crushing dried roots into fine powder, measuring petals by weight, pinching small amounts between her fingers and sprinkling them into the bowl. Each movement was practiced, gentle, precise. This was her space, her craft. Healing came naturally to her, as instinctive as breathing.

The first hint of trouble was easy to miss.

A faint tickle brushed the bridge of her nose as she leaned closer to the mortar. She blinked once, then twice, eyes watering just slightly before she rubbed at them with the back of her sleeve. Her nose wrinkled, a tiny twitch she didn’t consciously register.

Dust motes thickened in the light as she ground the roots finer, powder puffing up in soft clouds before settling again. The scent in the room shifted, sharper now, biting faintly at the back of her throat.

Meeko paused, straightened, and sniffed once.

Then again.

Her fingers drifted up automatically, brushing her septum ring. She flipped it lightly, rolling the metal back and forth between her thumb and forefinger, a nervous little habit she’d never quite broken. The cool touch grounded her, gave her something to focus on.

“It’s not allergies,” she muttered under her breath, more reflex than thought.

She bent back over the bench.

The tickle lingered, teasing now, sliding deeper. Her eyes stung faintly, lashes clumping together with moisture. She blinked hard and flipped her septum ring again, a little more insistently this time.

“It’s just strong,” she said aloud, as if the shop itself needed convincing. “That’s all.”

She scooped the powder into a small bowl and reached for the next ingredient, dried leaves so brittle they crumbled at the slightest pressure. The moment she touched them, they broke apart, releasing a fine haze into the air.

Meeko froze.

Her breath hitched, barely audible. Her nose twitched again, sharper this time, and she squeezed her glowing yellow-green eyes shut for a heartbeat. Her fingers tightened around the leaves, knuckles whitening beneath the oversized sleeves.

She flipped her septum ring down, then back up.

“I work with this stuff every day,” she insisted quietly, stubborn warmth creeping into her voice. “I’m fine.”

The shop smelled brighter now, harsher, the air thick with powdered plant matter and steam from the kettle warming on the stove behind her. Sunlight caught the particles drifting lazily through the room, and for just a second, Meeko stood very still, breathing shallowly through her mouth.

Then she exhaled, shook it off, and went back to work.

Confidence settled back into her posture, shoulders straightening as she reached for the next step in the recipe. The book lay open, waiting, its ancient pages whispering promises of healing and relief.

Meeko smiled down at it, unaware of how her nose twitched once more as she leaned in, or how her fingers lingered at her septum ring just a little longer than before.

The shop hummed softly around her, warm and alive.

And somewhere beneath the herbs and the sunlight and her quiet humming, trouble was already stirring.

Meeko should have stopped ten minutes ago.

Instead, she leaned closer to the workbench.

The mortar was warm beneath her palms as she ground the dried roots into finer and finer powder, the pestle moving in steady, practiced circles. Each turn released another faint puff of dust into the air, pale and almost glittering as it drifted upward through the sunlight.

She didn’t pause.
Didn’t open a window.
Didn’t even hold her breath.

She reached for the next ingredient: a bundle of pale blossoms, dried but still dangerously fluffy. Pollen clung to them stubbornly, coating her fingertips as she pinched them apart.

The moment she crushed them, the air bloomed.

Meeko’s throat prickled instantly, a dry, itchy sensation that made her swallow hard. Her eyes stung, moisture gathering at the corners as she blinked rapidly, lashes fluttering.

Her nose twitched.

Once.
Twice.

She froze mid-motion, pestle hovering above the bowl.

“…Mm,” she hummed, low and uncertain.

Her fingers drifted up again, flipping her septum ring with a practiced flick. The metal clicked softly as she rolled it back and forth, grounding herself while her breathing turned shallow.

“Okay,” she muttered. “Okay, that’s—”

She sniffed.

It was a mistake.

The scent hit sharper this time, bright and green and invasive, crawling straight up into her sinuses. Her nose wrinkled hard, twitching again and again like it couldn’t decide what it wanted to do.

“Hih—”
She sucked in a breath through her mouth, eyes squeezing shut.
“…Nope.”

The sensation lingered anyway, coiling higher, tighter. Her breath hitched once, then again, chest rising sharply.

“Hh… hhh…”

She stood there, shoulders tensed, waiting for it.

Nothing.

The tickle slipped away at the last second, leaving her blinking in frustrated disbelief.

“Oh come on,” she whispered, flipping her septum ring down, then back up. “Don’t do that.”

She went right back to work.

Next came dried leaves—thin, brittle things that shattered at the slightest pressure. They disintegrated in her hands, collapsing into a cloud of fine dust that puffed up around her face.

Meeko squeaked softly as she waved a sleeve through the air, eyes watering now in earnest.

Her throat itched worse.
Her nose buzzed, full and sensitive.
Her breathing went uneven.

“Hh… hihh…” she breathed, voice wobbling.

She bent forward slightly, bracing one hand on the counter as the build-up teased her mercilessly. Her lips parted, breath trembling as it climbed and climbed—

“Hih—ih—”

Nothing.

She let out a small, frustrated whine under her breath, blinking rapidly as tears spilled over.

“Rude,” she muttered.

She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve and sniffed again, thick and wet this time. Her nose twitched so hard it almost hurt.

She hesitated only briefly before opening the next jar.

The scent that escaped was sharp and unmistakable, green and musky and wrong. The reaction was immediate.

“Oh—oh no—”

Her breath snapped in sharply, chest tightening.

“Hh—hih—hihh—!”

She barely had time to straighten before the sneeze tore out of her.

“HA’AETTCCCHH’uh!!”

The sound cracked through the apothecary, loud and startling, echoing off the shelves. Meeko jerked forward with the force of it, completely uncovered, the blast sending the mortar skidding across the counter.

It clattered to the floor, rolling away.

Meeko froze.

Then she sniffed loudly, blinking at the sudden silence.

“…Wow,” she said faintly.

She rubbed her nose with the back of her sleeve, cheeks already flushing. “Okay. That was a little much...”

She sniffed again, nodded to herself.

The apothecary remained thick with pollen and powdered leaves, sunlight still catching the haze she’d kicked up.

Meeko bent down to retrieve the mortar, her nose twitched once more.

She smiled stubbornly to herself.

And kept going.

Meeko knew.

Logically. Clinically. Academically.

She knew that certain plants irritated her sinuses. She knew that pollen-heavy blossoms made her eyes burn. She knew that anything even adjacent to feline herbs sent her nose into open rebellion.

She also knew she was not, under any circumstances, allergic.

Sensitive, maybe. Reactive. Dramatic, if you asked Remi. But allergic implied weakness, and Meeko Cheyenne Connors did not do weakness. She healed people. She fixed things. She made remedies that worked.

For everyone else, she was meticulous.

For herself, she did none of it.

She wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve, sniffed hard, and leaned back over the counter.

“Okay,” she told the open book. “Round two.”

The next jar came down from the shelf with a soft thump. Fine, pale powder coated the inside, clinging stubbornly to the glass. She tipped a measured amount into the bowl, and the air bloomed again, thick and unmistakable.

Her throat itched immediately.

Her eyes watered, lashes sticking together as she blinked fast, breath catching high in her chest.

Her nose twitched so hard it almost made her dizzy.

“Hih—”
She sucked in a breath.

“…No,” she whispered firmly.

The build-up coiled anyway, tightening behind her nose, tugging insistently.

“Hh… hihh… hih—”

She bent forward, one hand braced on the counter, shoulders rising as the breath climbed and climbed.

“Ah—hih’KKSSSHHHuh!”

The sneeze tore out of her, loud and ringing, snapping her forward. She barely stayed upright, the force of it knocking a small jar off the edge of the counter.

It shattered on the floor, bursting open in a soft explosion of powdered petals.

“Shit,” Meeko said faintly.

She barely had time to inhale before it happened again.

“Hiiih—HA’AETTCCCHH’uh!!”

The second sneeze echoed off the shelves, sharper than the first. Powder puffed up around her ankles, rising into the light like smoke.

She sniffed hard afterward, eyes glassy with tears, nose bright pink.

She crouched to clean up the mess, sleeves dragging through the powder as she swept the broken jar aside. Her fingers came up dusted white and yellow, coated in the fine residue of crushed herbs.

Without thinking, she wiped her nose again.

The sensation hit immediately.

Powder smeared across her upper lip, dust clinging to her septum ring as she flipped it nervously back into place. The tickle exploded outward from the center of her nose, sharp and invasive, lighting up every nerve along her septum.

“Oh no,” she breathed.

Her breath snapped in, shallow and fast.

“Hh—hih—hihh—!”

She barely made it upright before the fit hit her.

“Hih’AESSSHH’ue!!”

She lurched forward, completely uncovered, the sound bouncing off the walls. Her hands flew up too late, sleeves flapping uselessly as she sucked in another desperate breath.

“Hiiih’AETTCHHuh!!”

The third sneeze came hard on the heels of the second, rocking her on her feet. She staggered back against the counter, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving.

“Hh—hih—”

“Okay, okay, okay,” she gasped, voice wobbling as she sniffed thickly.

She flipped her septum ring again.

The powder smeared further.

The tickle intensified.

“Oh come on,” she whined, breath hitching helplessly. “I’m not allergic, I’m just… hih—”

“Hih’KKSSSHHHuh!!”

She sneezed again, loud and unrepentant, the sound echoing through the shop. Another jar rattled on the shelf above her, teetered, then fell.

Powder everywhere.

Meeko slumped against the counter, chest rising and falling, nose streaming, eyes red and watering. She sniffed hard, wiped her face with both sleeves, and laughed weakly at the sheer absurdity of it.

“I’m just enthusiastic,” she declared hoarsely to the empty room.

She looked down at her hands, now thoroughly dusted with powder, and flipped her septum ring one more time without thinking.

The tickle sparked again, immediate and vicious.

“Hh… hhh…”

Her shoulders tensed.

“…Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

The shop waited.

And Meeko, stubborn to the core, stayed exactly where she was, surrounded by herbs, dust, and undeniable proof that her own craft was winning this fight.

The kettle began to steam.

At first, it was gentle. A low hiss, barely audible beneath the quiet clink of glass and Meeko’s uneven breathing. Then the steam thickened, curling upward in lazy white ribbons that carried the sharp, green bite of crushed herbs with them.

The air grew warm.

Too warm.

Meeko leaned over the brewing pot, hoodie sleeves pushed up just enough to keep them from dipping into the liquid. She stirred carefully, eyes narrowed in focus, even as her nose burned and throbbed at the center of her face.

Her voice, when she spoke aloud to the recipe, came out rougher than before.

“Okay… simmer, don’t boil,” she muttered hoarsely. “You’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

Her throat scratched painfully as she swallowed. Her nose felt swollen now, packed tight, the earlier tickle compressed into a dense, miserable pressure that made breathing through it nearly impossible. She sniffed, the sound thick and wet, and immediately winced.

“Hhh—”
She inhaled, breath catching halfway up her chest.
“…Don’t.”

The steam brushed her face, carrying particulates straight into her sinuses. Her eyes watered harder, lashes clumping as she blinked rapidly. The sensation crept upward again, slower this time, heavier.

“Hh… hhh… hih…”

She froze, spoon hovering over the pot.

Her breath hitched.
Her shoulders rose.
Her mouth opened—

Nothing.

The sneeze stalled, stuck behind the congestion, leaving her trembling and frustrated.

“Oh, that’s bullshit,” she snapped, slamming the spoon down onto the counter. “Either do it or don’t.”

She sniffed sharply, hoping to force it.

The result was worse.

Her nose flared helplessly, pressure spiking as the sensation twisted tighter.

“Hh—hih—hh—!”

She bent forward, hands gripping the edge of the counter, breath shuddering.

“…Please,” she whispered to the empty air. “Just—one good one.”

The elixir bubbled softly, steam rising thicker now.

The tickle crested.

“Hh—hih’KK—!”

The sneeze burst out half-formed and miserable.

“—tSSHHh!”

It was tight, unsatisfying, barely clearing anything. Meeko groaned, frustration breaking through as she sniffed hard, nose still buzzing angrily.

“Oh, come on,” she whined, flipping her septum ring again with powder-dusted fingers. The metal scraped faintly, reigniting the irritation along her septum.

Her breath snapped in again immediately.

“Hh—hih—no—no, wait—”

She staggered backward as the sneeze took her by surprise.

“HAA’AETTCCCHH’uh!!”

The sound cracked through the shop, loud and sudden. The force of it knocked her off balance, and she yelped as her heel caught on the edge of the rug.

“Whoa—!”

She landed hard on the stool behind her, wood scraping loudly against the floor as it tipped. She clutched the counter to steady herself, chest heaving, eyes watering freely now.

“Hh… gods…” she panted.

Her nose streamed openly, congestion thick and relentless. She wiped at it with both sleeves, leaving faint smears of powder behind, and sniffed again, sounding utterly defeated.

She slumped forward, elbows on her knees, steam curling around her like a taunt.

“…Okay,” she said quietly, voice hoarse and rough. She paused, swallowed, then sighed.
“…Okay, maybe a little allergic.”

The admission hung in the warm, herb-saturated air.

The elixir bubbled on behind her, victorious and unapologetic.

Meeko sat there for a moment, breathing through her mouth, septum ring resting untouched for once as she glared at the pot like it had personally betrayed her.

Her nose twitched again.

“…Don’t,” she warned it weakly.

The shop, unbothered, smelled like trouble.

The shop went hazy around the edges.

Steam still curled from the pot, but Meeko no longer had the energy to glare at it. Her eyes burned too badly, lashes soaked through as tears kept spilling no matter how hard she blinked them back. Her nose ran freely now, congestion packed tight behind it, making every breath through her mouth feel thick and unsatisfying.

She sniffed again, wet and sharp, then stopped herself with an irritated huff.

“Nope,” she muttered hoarsely. “That’s it.”

She turned away from the counter and immediately had to brace herself against it, palms flat on the wood as her head swam. The pressure in her sinuses pulsed dully, heavy and unyielding, like her face was packed full of damp cotton.

Meeko slumped forward, forehead resting against her crossed arms.

Her nose dripped.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders rising with a shaky breath, then reached blindly for the box of tissues she kept tucked under the counter for customers. She pulled one free, hesitated for half a second, then blew her nose hard.

The sound was loud in the quiet shop.

She winced immediately, groaning under her breath as the pressure shifted but did not fully ease.

“Ugh,” she grumbled, voice thick and congested. “Gross.”

She dabbed at her nose, cheeks flushed darker now, then blew again more carefully, sniffing afterward to test the damage. It helped a little, just enough to make breathing possible without feeling like her head would split.

She stayed slumped there for a long moment, eyes watering, breathing through her mouth, septum ring untouched for once.

Eventually, she pushed herself upright and shuffled toward the stove.

The tea kettle was already warm, something she had set aside earlier for a customer who never showed. She poured herself a mug with trembling hands, the steam fogging her vision. She carried it back to the counter and wrapped both sleeves around it, letting the heat seep into her fingers.

“Not an allergy,” she muttered automatically, even now. “Just… a sensitivity.”

She took a cautious sip, sighing softly as the warmth settled her throat. Her voice was nearly gone at this point, roughened by sneezes and mouth breathing.

She reached into the drawer beneath the counter and hesitated.

Inside, tucked away and rarely used, was a small charm wrapped in twine. Protective, grounding, meant to soothe inflammation and calm the body. She made them for other people all the time.

Meeko stared at it for a few seconds, then clicked her tongue in mild annoyance and picked it up.

“Don’t get used to this,” she told it, tying it loosely around her wrist. “This is a one-time thing.”

She leaned back against the counter again, tea cradled in her hands, and let herself breathe.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden.

Remi had taught her how to be tough. How to keep going. How to grit her teeth and power through things that hurt. He had taught her that stopping meant weakness, and weakness got you hurt.

He had also taught her, accidentally, how to ignore her own limits.

She sniffed again, quieter this time, eyes still glassy.

“Yeah,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “That tracks.”

The shop was still warm. Still full of herbs. Still hostile to her sinuses.

But for the moment, Meeko stayed exactly where she was, wrapped in a hoodie, clutching a mug of tea she had not meant to drink herself, breathing through her mouth and pretending very hard that this was all perfectly manageable.

Just a sensitivity.

Nothing more.

The elixir finished brewing without asking her permission.

Meeko watched it from her perch at the counter, eyes narrowed, nose red, tea cooling forgotten in her hands. The liquid in the pot had settled into a clear, softly glowing green, steam finally thinning as the herbs surrendered whatever magic they’d been hoarding.

Annoyingly… it smelled good.

She sniffed, experimentally. The pressure in her chest eased just a fraction, breathing coming a little less tight. The itch in her throat faded to a dull echo.

Her nose, however, remained deeply offended.

“Of course,” she muttered hoarsely. “Works perfectly. Just not for me.”

She stood, wiped her hands on her hoodie, and moved on sheer muscle memory. Bottles came down from the shelves. Corks lined up. Labels already written in her careful, looping script. She worked through a lingering haze of congestion, pausing only to sniff hard or wipe her nose with the back of her sleeve.

Powder still coated her fingers. Herbs still littered the floor. The shop looked like it had lost a fight with a pollen bomb.

She didn’t care.

She ladled the elixir carefully, corked the last bottle, and set it aside with a satisfied nod.

Then her nose twitched.

Once.

Twice.

Meeko froze, bottle still in hand.

“…No,” she warned it quietly.

The sensation climbed anyway, sudden and intense now that the worst of the pressure had loosened. Her breath hitched, sharp and unavoidable, chest lifting as she barely had time to straighten.

“Hh—hih—hihh—!”

She sucked in a breath, eyes squeezing shut, septum ring flipping reflexively as her fingers brushed her nose.

“Ah—HA’AETTCCCHH’uh!!”

The sneeze exploded out of her, loud and uncontained, echoing off every wall in the apothecary. The force rocked her forward, knocking a stack of dried herbs off the counter in a cascade of leaves and petals.

She staggered, caught herself, and immediately inhaled again.

“Oh—oh no—”

“Hiiih—AETTCCCHH’uh!!”

Another one followed, just as loud, snapping her head forward. She wheezed afterward, blinking through tears as her nose ran freely.

“Hh… gods—”

She barely had time to breathe before the third hit.

“Hih’AESSSHH’ue!!”

The sound rang through the shop, final and emphatic. Meeko bent over at the waist, hands braced on her knees, breathing hard as the fit finally broke.

Silence settled.

Herbs lay everywhere. Powder dusted every surface. Steam curled lazily from the pot like it had won.

Meeko straightened slowly, sniffed, and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

“…Bless me,” she said automatically.

She looked around the wrecked shop, at the finished bottles gleaming neatly amid the chaos, and smiled—small, stubborn, deeply satisfied.

“Worth it,” she decided.

She nudged a fallen bundle of herbs aside with her foot, flipped her septum ring one last time, and glanced toward the door.

“Next time,” she added, voice still rough but amused, “I’ll wear a mask… probably.”

The apothecary glowed softly around her, tiny and warm and completely unapologetic.

Just like its owner.