yeah its a snz acc

I love when people draw Law with scars/vitiligo from his amber lead syndrome <3

The fingers of Tim’s left hand drum on the countertop as he quickly reads through the instruction leaflet he has splayed out on the counter, eyes skipping over words every sentence and forcing him to reread everything at least twice. He sighs, leaning forward in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose with a deep sniffle before he opens his eyes again and stares at the paper with renewed determination. He basically has it down, just another quick look at the instructions….aaaand he doesn’t remember anything. Dammit.

He sighs again, rubbing at a sore eye. This fever is really kicking his ass. When he opens his eyes again, he notices that there’s a new wet spot on the pamphlet, and curls his lip in disgust when he realizes that he snotted all over it. He’s quick to bring his finger to his nose, dragging it underneath his sore nostrils, and tries to sniffle up anything left behind. The congestion settling deep in his sinuses doesn’t really allow for it, and he pulls his sleeve over his wrist, dabbing at the rough skin of his upper lip to rid it of the excess moisture.

“So it wasn’t a tension headache.”

Tim jumps a few inches into the air at the voice behind him, his breath catching on his surprise and the mucus in his lungs. He buries his lower face in his elbow, giving into the chesty coughs that overtake him as he eyes his visitor.

It’s Kon, of course, the only person who lives at their base of operations full time. The mission must be completed, for him to be back, and once he has his lungs under control Tim looks around to see if there are any other team members present, but doesn’t see any evidence of them.

“Everyone else went home. Wanted to take advantage of the down time. Everything went well, by the way. Now what’s up with you?” Tim can’t stop the fond smile that overtakes his face. It’s all so very Kon, to let Tim know the basics before asking about his well-being. He knows Tim well.

“Probably the flu,” Tim says. His voice is rough and croaky, and he tries to clear it with little success. “Felt a little bad yesterday. Felt worse today.” It started with a headache a few days before, one that gave him a migraine so bad that the team went on a mission without him. It was little more than a milk run, but it still smarted when they left him behind at his own insistence. He was much happier with his decision to stay at their base when his condition only worsened. He’s been on planes with this level of congestion before. Not a pleasant experience.

“And you’re out of bed, why?” Kon saunters over to him, taking a look at what he’s working on. “You should see a doctor.”

Tim snorts, which is immediately a mistake. He raises the cuff of his hoodie to his nose again. “That’s what I’m trying to avoid. I feel shitty enough without having to leave to go sit in a doctor’s office.”

Kon lifts an eyebrow. “And this is for…?” He gestures at the table.

“Batman.” Tim might not want to go to a doctor, but he knows that antivirals will make this stupid flu a hell of a lot easier to get through. He’s also 80% sure that he has an ear infection in at least one ear. Luckily, Bruce and Alfred keep the Batcave well stocked. Unfortunately, Alfred won’t dole out any meds stronger than tylenol without proof. They all have Bruce and the Great Antibiotic Debacle of 2003 to thank for that one. Tim explains this to Kon in as few words as possible.

“Hence the rapid test,” he thrusts his open palm towards the setup. Kon makes a considering face, nodding.

“And then back to bed?”

Tim fantasizes for a quick moment of his comforter and a cold compress. “Yeah, then back to bed.” He woke up literally less than thirty minutes ago and he’s already exhausted. Stupid flu. He turns his head to track where Kon is making his way to the fridge, but the motion shifts something in his nose and the low, ticklish buzzing in his nostrils that’s been present all morning grows exponentially. He raises the cuff of his sleeve again, immediately failing at a stifle with a, “Heh-GkShu!” The surprise of it all makes wet droplets spray not only on his sleeve, but also his hand and the instruction pamphlet still spread on the table. Gross. The sneeze leaves him with a watery nose and eyes, and he reluctantly wipes his nose on his sleeve before standing.

“Hey, where are you going?” Kon is already at his side.

“Tissue box,” Tim says with a resigned air.

“I’ve got you covered. Sit back down and do your rapid test thing.”

Oh. Right. Tim still hasn’t done that. He sighs, eyeing the wet spots on the instructions disdainfully as he sniffles again. “Hiih’Nnxshh!” He hears Kon return, placing a box of tissues on the counter by his elbow. It’s the same box from his room, and both shame and embarrassment rise in him at the thought that Kon saw his bedroom. Last night had been rough, his nose running and cough starting up, and he had gone through at least a box of tissues and a bag of cough drops trying to calm his symptoms enough to fall asleep. He's sure his room looks like a tissue bomb exploded in it. A used tissue bomb.

“Thaggs,” Tim says around a tissue, blowing his nose unproductively into one. His nostrils are swollen, he can feel how hard it is for anything in them to move, and he sighs noisily. If he gets a sinus infection on top of everything else, he’s rioting.

He balls the tissue up around his nose, about to pull it off with a gross squelch when another sneeze overtakes him, unexpected and painful. “Ihhtschhieew!” Spit sprays across the countertop, Tim unable to cover his mouth in time. “God, that’s gross. Sorry.”

Kon shrugs, watching him with thinly veiled amusement. “Not like I can catch it. I already texted the team that this is a biohazard zone.”

“Ha ha.” Tim intones, but is grateful all the same that he won’t be spreading this to the other human members of the team. He does hate Kon just a little for never having to know what a flu is like, though. But it’s not like expending energy being jealous of literal Superboy is going to help him now, so he just pulls the instructions closer to himself, ignoring the new wet spots. He should probably burn these instructions when he’s done. Maybe he should burn this whole place down. Kon can stay with him in Gotham.

“Hey,” Kon says, knocking his fist on the tabletop. Tim looks up at him, thoughts hazy. “You good?”

Tim bites out a quick laugh, just an exhale of air that doesn’t set his lungs off again. “Yeah. Tired.”

The frown that greets him is more concerned than upset. “You zoned out for like five minutes there. Have you taken anything? Fever reducers or regular flu medicine? I know we have some somewhere.”

“Not yet.” Tim’s ear is getting uncomfortable now, stinging with every nose blow and sniffle. “I need to fill out Alfred’s questionnaire, and to do that I can’t have fever reducers. Needs base temperature.”

Now the frown morphs to upset. “Your family is kind of mad, you know that, right?” Tim just shrugs, and Kon sighs, going back to the fridge. It looks like he’s making breakfast or something, which is good. It gives Tim time to finish this stupid rapid test.

This time, he takes out one of the foil packets alongside the instructions. He’ll make it easier on himself and his fever-driven brain by going one step at a time. It should be easy enough. Step one is getting the swab out, so he peels back the packaging and produces a swab. Just looking at it already makes his nose ticklish. This isn’t the first time he’s had to have a swab done, and it won’t be the last, but he never looks forward to it. The sensation is probably in his top five least favorite feelings. Somewhere behind getting shot, but in front of electrocution.

Insert the entire soft end of the swab into the nostril, no more than 1.5cm. It also details how he needs to twist it ten times in each nostril. Each one. Kill him now. He brings the swab to his nose, hesitating. Should he have blown his nose beforehand? Nah, they need mucus anyways, right? Maybe he should…no, he’s just stalling at this point. Fuck it.

He sticks the swab in his right nostril, estimating the deepness, and immediately clamps his mouth closed. The ticklishness increases tenfold, but he holds his breath and starts the process of twisting the swab against the inside of his nose. One. Two. He starts hitching but doesn’t pause. The feeling of the swab at it quickly soddens is uncomfortable against his inflamed membranes, the swab brushing up against every nose hair and sticky string of mucus. He feels a droplet of something fall from his nose the same time a tear streams down his cheek, his entire face leaky and damp. Ugh.

The burning sensation is getting bad around twist seven, is unbearable by nine, and he has just enough time to yank the swab from his nose after the tenth twirl before he loses his composure completely, holding the swab in the air away from his body as he sneezes helplessly at his lap. “EHH’KSHH! EHSCHH’uu! EHHTCH’UU!” The spray is everywhere, his free hand coming up uselessly to try and block the barrage, though it does nothing in the face of his illness-ridden sneezes. The tickle is worse and a few more eke their way out through his swollen nostrils, desperate and ragged, punctuated by sharp, thick sniffles that vibrate the membranes in his nostrils and make him sniff harder to stave off another barrage of sneezes.

“Shit, bless you.” Kon holds out a few tissues to him, and Tim takes them with a hint of desperation, his spit-wet fingers brushing against Kon’s, though the other man doesn’t even flinch. Must be a byproduct of never having to worry about getting someone else’s virus. Tim thrusts the swab at him in favor of emptying his nose.

Tim buries his face in the tissues, giving a blow that’s somehow productive and completely congested at the same time. He tries again and gets nothing but a sad honk that leads to more coughing, and once he’s done he pulls the tissue away slowly and balls it up with a stuffy sniff, packing it into his hoodie pocket. When he looks back at Kon, there’s sympathy and disgust in equal measures on his face. He holds the swab back out to Tim, and Tim wrinkles his face at it in displeasure. The tip of it glistens with his own mucus, cold by now, and dread pools in his stomach knowing that he still has a whole other nostril to go. The temptation to just do the test with the one is strong, but he can hear Batman’s disapproval in his head and it’s enough that he reaches out and liberates Kon from the contagion-covered q-tip.

“Thaggs,” he says, congestion fully taking over his consonants. Whatever. Time to get this over with.

He grimaces as he inserts the used swab into his left nostril much rougher than last time, hoping that the change in tactic will make it easier. One. Two. Three. Four. He makes it halfway through five when he starts hitching, but soldiers on. “Hehh’hiiihh-” Five. Si- “Hiiih-” -ix. S- “HaAAH’ASHIEEW!” The force of the sneeze hunches him over, swab still firmly in his nostril. Thick rivulets of mess drip down his nose and pendulum into the empty air. “IDGSHEUUH!” His fingers are coated in mucus now, the nastiest web of slime fanning out over the swab’s stick and multiple places on his hand and wrist. He needs to finish this, and now. He finishes the last three twists as quickly as possible, thick sneezes chasing the swab when he hastily pulls it out of his nose. “Huh’EHSHHCHH! Ih-CHISHHUH-xt! ‘TSHIEWW!”

There’s still an unfortunate strand of mess connecting the swab to his nose, and when he tries to break it, it just causes more tickling that leaves more mess dribbling down his face as he tries to sit upright again. He clamps his free hand over his nose, pinching it shut in an attempt to stop more sneezes. He’s very aware that he’s being watched, and although the audience is one of the people who knows him best, Tim is still mortified. The attempt fails horribly, and the squeaky, squelching sound of snot bursting from around his fingers and making a mess of his hand makes Tim feel even more sick and gross than before. He tries to sniffle and finds that he can’t, the wall of congestion in his abused nose too thick. He runs his tongue across his teeth, mouth dry from all of the breathing he’s been doing from it.

Unlike last time, Kon seems frozen in fascinated horror, so Tim takes it upon himself to pluck a tissue from the box with his free hand and mop at his face, wincing at how sore his nose is. When he got up this morning he had noticed that his nose was red all the way down to his upper lip, and the feeling persists now as a slow, steady burn. The tickle threatens to grow again, and he stubbornly sniffles. Again, nothing comes of it. Fuck being sick, for real.

“Are you okay?” Kon asks, and Tim decides to ignore him and his perfect immune system in favor of turning back to the instructions on the rapid test. He needs to twist the swab in the tube now, so he uncaps one from the metal foil package and twists it back and forth, fighting valiantly against his nostrils. They’re tickling like they know that this was what just happened to them and they’re remembering the sensation. His nose needs to shut the hell up.

He caps the tube with the dropper and drips three drops onto the rapid test sample well. The instructions say he won’t have results for at least 15 minutes, so he thunks his head on the table, spent. “Phodne, sedd a tibber for fifdeend middutes.”

“Timer set for fifteen minutes.” The phone parrots back at him.

He can feel Kon’s hand against his forehead. “Seriously, you good?”

“Mm,” Tim answers. Fuck, he still has to finish Alfred’s questionnare. He repeats this thought to Kon. “Can you get the thermometer? Bathroom. Shelf 2. Plastic box.” His throat is getting sore again, and he makes a pathetic sound against the countertop, wishing symptoms would start going away instead of popping up.

Kon returns with it after a few minutes, and Tim drags himself upwards. He tries to blow his nose before putting the thermometer in his mouth, but after another gross gurgle followed by a sad honk that doesn’t do anything to clear him out, he settles for placing the thermometer under his tongue on one side and breathing through a small slit in his lips on the other. If the reading seems super off then he’ll resort to more extreme measures (it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done rectal temp on himself, but he spends a lot of effort really, really trying not to think about the first time).

He sits there with snot slowly creeping from his nostrils, afraid to do anything about it lest he sneeze and need to redo the whole thing, and when the thermometer beeps without incident and he notes 102.1 degrees fahrenheit, he sighs with relief. That feels about right. No rear end stuff for him today, thank-you-very-much. He wipes his nose with his right hand while his left one reaches for his phone, where he pulls up the questionnaire and starts to fill it in.

Family member, Tim. Ailment, illness. He skips the subsection on what illness, noting that he still has another five minutes before the rapid test results. Temperature, 102.1. There’s a list of dozens of other complaints in a drop-down menu that he can select, so he selects ear infection, double, and deliberates for a moment before adding sinus infection for good measure. He enters his current location (both for the medicine shipment and to keep the family updated on his current whereabouts), symptom onset date, and current treatments (cough medicine, fever reducers, and an anticongestant once he finishes with this rapid test). There’s a section for Other at the bottom, and he looks up at Kon while his friend continues with his breakfast making. Tim can’t smell it, but he can hear something cooking in a pan.

“Hey, once I gedd approved, will you fly to the maddor to pick up mby mbedicide?”

Kon shrugs. “Sure. Will Alfred or Bruce interrogate me?”

“Mbaybe. But you’re faster thadd themb.”

“Batman.” Kon parries.

“But you…ha-..you, o-eh’nGKSHU!- owe me for Arizodda.” Tim takes the quick respite from the congestion that sneezing provides to blow his nose. It gurgles in a way that makes both him and Kon wince, his breath crackling so hard on an inhale he coughs wetly to be able to breathe out. He wipes at both his nose and mouth, mucus making the tissue soggy. He leans over and deposits it into the kitchen trash.

Kon pauses. “Alright. Fine.”

Tim smiles at his win, typing in that Kon would be retrieving the medicine. Then he watches the timer count down, feeling more and more miserable with every second. When it finally hits five seconds, he cancels it and pulls the rapid test towards him. The first line, the control one, is strong, which means the test worked. The rapid test has a few other slots without lines on it, and then two more: one on A and one on B.

Tim lets his head thunk back on the counter, really feeling sorry for himself now. “This sucks!” He yells hoarsely into his arms, the sound crackling and broken. Kon seems unaffected, and maybe even a little amused again.

“Not what you were expecting?”

Tim sniffles, turning his head to look at Kon. “What I was expecting timbes two. I have flu A and B.” Kon winces.

“That sucks.”

Tim blows out a breath. “At least I cadd get the antivirals. Add I don’t have to stick that stupid swab up mby ndose again.”

Kon puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, that was painful for all involved.”

“You wered’t eved idvolved!” Tim exclaims. He points an accusing finger at him. “Voyeur.”

Kon shrugs. “I’m picking up your medicine. And I’m making you lunch. You have to be nice to me.”

“And I’b dying of the plague,” Tim grumbles, but he is a bit touched about the whole lunch thing. He hasn’t been eating well since he started feeling shitty. He turns back to his phone and selects Flu A, Flu B from the illness dropdown and submits the form. Immediately, his phone chirps with a confirmation text. He nearly regrets teaching Alfred how to use the automated systems when it reads, You will receive a follow-up message within the hour. Feel better soon! And for mercy’s sake, call Superman this time if you’re dying, B. 🙂.

It doesn’t even take five minutes for Alfred’s follow-up text. Tim is in the middle of another horrifying nose blow when he gets the message.

Received: Are you well, Master Tim?

Sent: been better, alf. kon is w me tho.

Received: I shall expect him within the hour.

Sent: thx a

Received: Be well, my boy.

“Meds now?” Tim whines, and Kon sends him an amused smile, setting down a glass of water, pills, and a bowl of oatmeal in front of him.

“I’ll go get them. Bed or couch after you eat?”

Tim whines again, a wordless thing as he looks at the bowl of oatmeal. “Not hungry. Couch.”

“Eat a few bites!” Kon calls, already jogging to his bedroom and returning with his comforter and pillows. He throws them onto the couch, making it look like a particularly appealing nest. “I’ll be back soon.”

He was building up to a fourth when Aether grabbed hold of his wrist, startling him out of it.

"I care, because it was less than a month ago that you let Sandrone use your core." Aether said, "She left us a list of possible side effects you know, and most of it seemed like there was an extended period of time where you'd be-"

"What? Fragile?" The Wanderer would've laughed if he wasn't trying so hard to fight back the itch that still remained in his sinuses. "You're overthinking it. I'm. Fine."

"Still." Aether said, gently tugging the Wanderer's hand away from his face when it started to instinctively raise towards it. After a second of thought, he added on, "Would you stop if I told you it was for my own guilty pleasure?"

The Wanderer didn't answer.

After a second, Aether decided to shelve delving into that lack of response for a later date. He stared at the Wanderer, who was currently avoiding eye contact by looking off into the distance, though Aether could tell the Wanderer's need to sneeze was getting worse by the hazy look and brighter glow in his eyes.

Aether quickly glanced down at the flowers on the ground that had started this whole mess.

"...You know." He said, "If you keep refusing to sneeze normally, I might have no choice but to make you."

"And ho-how exactly would you plan on d...doing that?" The Wanderer's voice wavered ever so slightly, both his free hand and the hand in Aether's grip briefly twitching.

"Electro has quite the interesting effect on plant life you know."

"...Don't you dare."

"I won't. If you stop stifling, that is."

The Wanderer let out an annoyed groan- and then his breath caught again.

"Hh- h... hiH..."

Aether waited patiently. When the Wanderer's other hand started to raise towards his face, he grabbed hold of it too. Wanderer's eyes slipped closed for a second, before he visibly forced them open again. He tried to tug his hands free, but Aether's grip remained strong.

They remained stuck in that sort of limbo for a moment, before the Wanderer, with great effort, steadied his breathing for a moment to quickly say,

"H-hey, isn't that Paimon over there?"

Now, Aether was not for even a second about to fall for that.

He was, however, insanely curious about what on Teyvat the Wanderer's plan here was.

So, choosing to play along, he glanced over his shoulder.

Almost immediately,

"Hh-hH'nNxtii!! hEH’xNtiu! HN’xTii!"

Aether slowly looked back at the Wanderer, the most unimpressed expression he could muster on his face. Evidently, the Wanderer had thought he could get away with stifling hands free so long as the Traveler wasn't looking... but due to not being able to use said hands, he had utterly failed at keeping them silent as he usually did.

"Well." Aether said, "I did warn you."

A current of electro traveled down Aether's leg and into the ground, energizing the flowers surrounding them, causing them to release a burst of pollen.

The Wanderer's breath caught sharply, and he once again tried to pull his hands free from Aether's grip.

He failed.

"hiHh- h-hH'nxt! hiH'NXt!! ghh- heH, hH'nXtiu! 'NTt-'nnXt-xTii! hh-Hh-"

"C'mon now, you can do it..."

"hiH- nngh-" Wanderer clearly didn't appreciate Aether saying that if the faint flush that immediately appeared on his face was any indication. "Sh-shu- hH, hh-hEH'shKiu!!"

"Ah, there you go." Aether gently used his thumbs to rub circles on Wanderer's wrists as the Wanderer finally succumbed to his own body. "See? It wasn't that hard. Piece of cake, really."

Morning light streamed through the semi-transparent windows of their lab, Jayce blinked a little as the light fell across his face. 

He was tinkering with a Hexclaw prototype- they’d pretty much got it down but the cooling mechanism sometimes reacted with the pulse of energy that surged through the wiring from the Hexcore. Some more insulation around the central wiring perhaps…

The door creaked open and Viktor shuffled in, nodding his head in his customary hello.

Jayce watched as his partner walked over, he seemed a little stiffer today, weight pressing a touch heavier on his cane than usual. He’d ask about it later.

“Morning Vik, could you take a look at this, I’ve added insulation to the central wiring but I’m not sure if that will rub against the gears if they fully contract it.”

“Let me see.” Viktor leaned over his shoulder- smelling of mahogany and slightly of sleep still. He sniffed lightly as he took a look- murmuring under his breath as he rotated the the Hexclaw and extended it slowly.

“Hmm, I believe this will be fine. See here, even fully extended the cogs have full rotation. We can test it later.”

“Okay, I’ll get to work on the locking system then.”

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to speak to you ab–hhhh…” Viktor suddenly paused in his speech, eyebrows raised and eyes squeezed shut. He raised a finger to his nose, pressed lightly before the sensation seemed to abate and he shook his head softly to clear any remnants. “Sorry, err, yes I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that.”

Jayce studied Viktor’s face, had he needed to sneeze? Whatever it was, it didn’t paint an optimistic picture when coupled with just how exhausted Viktor looked. Even darker eye bags were swept beneath his eyes and there was a tired tension about his face, like when he was having one of his worser pain days.

“Because, whilst I agree the HexClaw must have some preventative measures-”

“Did you sleep okay?” Jayce butted in before he could help himself.

Viktor looked a little taken aback, slender fingers curling harder against the cane he was leaning on.

“Why– I… Yes. Why do you ask?”

It was Jayce’s turn to be sheepish. “You just look..you seem.”

“Tired?” Viktor supplied helpfully. “You’re right, except im always tired. And strangely it seems to hit me worst when in a room with you.” Viktor flashed a small, mischievous smile.

Throwing himself back in the chair, Jayce bent an elbow and jabbed it playfully into Viktor’s ribs.

But instead of tapping him back, Viktor was suddenly recoiling, twisting to the side and coughing heavily into a fist, his slender frame shaking with each one. 

“Fuck, Viktor I-,” stammered Jayce, getting to his feet and resisting the urge to grasp Viktor’s shoulder, “I didn’t mean-.”

Viktor shook his head through the fit, waving his free hand.

“It’s-,” he was cut off again by a gulping breath, desperately trying to draw air back into his lungs, “It’s okay. I’m okay. It just jolted me.”

Jayce was at a loss for words. That really hadn’t sounded good, if it were anyone else he’d urge them to go and rest.

But Viktor had told him he didn’t like being treated like some fragile porcelain doll, that sometimes days were hard but he wanted to push through anyways.

“I’ll…I’ll get you some water.” He finally rushed out. Something practical. Something with his hands. That made more sense.

He walked over to the tap, let the water run cold then filled a cup. 

As he turned back around, Viktor was already at his desk, glasses on and turning their formative blueprints for a filtration system over in his hands.

“Here.” He placed the cup down on the desk.

Viktor didn’t look up, just reached out and sipped some- “Thanks.”

The message was clear- we don’t need to talk about it.

Sighing, Jayce returned to his own desk and attempted to refocus back on his work.

A couple hours passed in pleasant quiet, the only sounds the slight hiss as he burnt away areas of the insulation that were potentially too thick and the scratch of Viktor’s pencil against paper.

Jayce, however, had found he hadn’t accomplished as much as he’d intended by now. He kept getting distracted- glancing over at Viktor as the sunlight fell across his cheek or his brow tensed in that way it always did moments before he’d figure something out. 

Fuck he was at it again.

But he’d also noticed, a few of the times he’d looked over, Viktor would raise a handkerchief, swipe it under his nose and blow gently, so quietly he couldn’t hear from where he sat.

Maybe it was the turn of the seasons?

He switched his gaze back towards the Hexclaw but as he did movement flashed in the corner of his eye. Viktor had raised the handkerchief again but this time he seemed frozen in place.

He held it up to his face, body tensed stiff, eyebrows raised and eyes scrunched closed before suddenly he let out a little, gasping breath and ducked forward into the handkerchief-

“HH’ungtx…Hh’etngx..” They were stifled into near silence and if Jayce hadn’t been surreptitiously watching him, he doubting he would have heard anything at all.

Viktor mopped up his nose with the handkerchief, this time using it to press against his nose as if to ward off any further, itchy sensation. He seemed to let out a tiny groan before putting the cloth away and picking the manuscripts back up again.

But just as he’d picked his pencil back up, the tip pressing against the corner of his mouth, the sensation seemed to ambush his senses once again and he hurriedly raised the back of a hand to stifle a breathy, practically soundless sneeze into it. And again.

Okay, Jayce was full on staring now, he’d have to look away soon else Viktor would take notice.

So with tremendous effort, he tore his eyes away. He’d perfected the insulation, now to adjust the mobility of the fingers- they were still deciding whether to let them move individually or as one…

Sometime later, with the sun cresting over the midday point, Jayce put the machine back down again.

“I’m gonna get some food,” he said, pushing up from the desk, “Want me to grab you something?”

Viktor looked up from his work and fuck if he was tired before, he looked downright weary now. Purple, shadowy discolouration hung beneath his eyes and his face looked even more drawn than usual. 

“I-,” he broke off to clear his throat thickly, “I’ll just have some sweetmilk if they have any.”

Again, with anyone else he would ask- ‘that it?’ but he’d learnt long ago not to question his partner’s eating habits. It was better than nothing- which was far too often the answer.

“Sure, I’ll be back in a bit.”

Half an hour later, sweetmilk in tow, Jayce pushed back through the lab doors.

Viktor was over by his station, peering down at the adjustments he’d made to the Hexclaw.

“Thoughts?” said Jayce, walking over and handing him the sweetmilk.

“Hmm, the insulation looks perfect but I’m thinking we compromise between full finger mobility and none at all.” his voice was thicker than earlier, congested perhaps, his accent even more pronounced than usual.

“What did you have in mind?”

“What if we introduce single-digit mobility but in ju–Hhhh.” he broke off, turned a little from Jayce and sniffled deeply, “sorry, in just the pointer finger.”

“Best of both worlds.” responded Jayce, nodding, “Okay, I can make the adjustments.”

“Hmm good. I made some changes to the filtration system too.”

The sniffing was getting more frequent now. Up close, rather than a few metres across the lab, the moisture that was beginning to settle in his nose and sinuses was evident.

“Just minor things like–HHh- like..exc–hH excuse me-”

Viktor twisted away from Jayce and hurriedly raised his, now rather worse-for-wear, handkerchief before taking two itchy, hitching breaths and tipping into the fabric-

“Hh’estchuuh–HH-Etsh’chuh..” they were wet and exhausting sounding. Jayce couldn’t help but cringe a little at the way they seemed to zap Viktor’s energy.

“Are you-”

Again, the wave of the hand, “Yes, yes. Come.” He motioned for Jayce to follow him to his desk, holding out the blueprints for him to inspect.

From what he could see, it seemed the efficiency of the system had been improved by heating the water to a lower but still effective temperature. In the Undercity, energy was precious- this would be a critical change.

“You’re brilliant, Viktor.” he breathed, mentally slapping himself for not noticing this potential improvement sooner.

“Yes, I though-HhHEH…sorry.. heh–H’ESt’Chuh.”

He’d fully twisted away from Jayce, hand gripping his cane as the force of the sneeze rippled through him. He slowly straightened up, rubbing the back of a hand against his nose which was starting to grow a touch pink around the nostrils.

This couldn’t go on, it was painful to watch.

“Bless you, Viktor. How are you feeling?”

“I-,” he was caught in a trap, there was no conceivable way he could wriggle out of this one. He cringed a little, shrugging his shoulders and mumbling- “Sorry, I think I may be coming down with something.”

Jayce wanted to reprimand him for apologising over something so normal and that that much was obvious but, pleased Viktor had let in him, however small, he held his tongue.

“You do look a little peaky, need me to get you anything? Maybe we can finish early tonight?”

Viktor shook his head, his eyebrows furrowing- “If anything, it’s just a cold Jayce.”

Then, reaching to take the plans back from Jayce’s hands and scribbling a note in the corner said- “See the meshing too? It’s just theoretical at the moment, but I think two layers would work just as well as three...” 

Hmm, so he was determined to push on anyways. It was like the admittance of not being well didn’t mean anything. Viktor wasn’t ‘well’ any day so why should this make a difference?

Well, if he wasn’t going to look out for his health, Jayce would just have to. Though as discreetly as possible- the energy his partner was giving off right now was like a honey badger- go on, try to coddle me- I dare you.

“Keep exploring that and we’ll test it later.” he said instead, trying not to let his exasperation leak into his voice.

Viktor just hmmed his confirmation, sat back down at his desk and and kept scribbling away.

The light was beginning to dim now, casting a warm orange glow through the lab. It was beginning to grow a chilly too and, as he looked over at Viktor, he was hunched in upon himself in his usual, awful posture perhaps attempting to keep the heat in.

Jayce turned the radiator on and sat back at his desk. Viktor had said it was just a cold and everyone got a bit sniffly every now and then right? He’d be okay if he just kept an eye on him right?

So with renewed determination he turned back to his work. He’d fixed the four fingers in place- now to make the pointer move…

They slipped into quiet again, though this time it was interrupted more frequently by Viktor sniffling or trying to clear his throat without sparking a coughing fit.

Try as he might to focus, he couldn’t help looking over a few times. Once, he’d since Viktor circling his temples with his knuckles as if trying to knead away a growing headache. 

Another time he’d stifled a fit into utter stillness once again (ducking into his elbow again and again and again) but Jayce had called out ‘bless you’ either way- which had earned him a glare through tired, hazy eyes.

But, at last, he’d finally finished the new mobility adjustments so, rising to his feet and stretching, he paced over to see what Viktor was up to.

He had put away the manuscripts and was now fiddling with a rudimentary, first-draft model of the filter machines- his fingers shaking slightly as he twisted and tightened the bolts.

“All done?” Viktor asked softly, sensing Jayce approaching.

“Mhmm. You mentioned earlier about the locking mechanism too, I was thinking it should be a key and code system.”

Viktor sighed, raising a palm to pummel at his forehead- “Ahh yes I’d completely forgotten about that.”

He raised his head from where it was hunched over at his work, turning to face Jayce properly.

Jayce’s couldn’t help the little squeeze of his chest as he looked down at his partner- the rapidly fading light hiding the redness around his eyes and nostrils but deepening the shadows.

And oh, bless him, he couldn’t help but notice the moisture that was collecting at the base of his nose. Poor guy, it was probably running like a tap.

“Give me a sec.” he blurted suddenly and hurried back to his own desk. He rifled through the drawers and produced what he was looking for.

As he turned back around, as suspected, Viktor was trying (and failing) to clean himself up using the sleeve of his jacket- his handkerchief likely well beyond the point of use.

“Want to borrow this?” Jayce asked- holding out one of his own handkerchiefs.

A flash of embarrassment rippled across Viktor’s face but then he sighed with resignation and extended a hand, turning fully away from Jayce to mop up his nose.

He didn’t blow it properly though, and as he turned back around to speak about the questions- his voice was thick with the congestion he hadn’t cleared.

“A key is likely to be lost and codes learnt. I think just a code but change it daily.”

How his mind was still coming up with the best solutions when he even looked miserable was beyond Jayce.

“Good idea. Should we test the filter?”

Vitkor glanced back at the machine he’d been tinkering and nodded “Yes, it is ready for a preliminary test.”

“Great!”

Jayce lifted it to the testing corner of their lab- hooking it up with a tap that ran there and placing a bucket for the clean water on the other side. He turned a tap that would add a drop of dye to the running water- allowing them to see how much would come through.

“Ready?” he asked Viktor who was leaning on his cane behind him, tiredly but pleasantly looking on.

“Ready.”

Jayce switched on the machine- it whurred to life- clear water spilling into the bucket. He turned to smile at Viktor when there was a loud whirring. The machine coughed and sputtered before suddenly pumping out thick vapour- slightly blue from the dye.

The vapour quickly dispersed, cloaking the two men in warm mist. Jayce heard the sounds of someone quickly stumbling backwards.

“Shii-Hhht…,” Viktor had tried to distance himself from the steam as much as possible but it had done its work. His hand was raised to his face in anticipation, breath hitching widely and audibly, nose and eyes tightly scrunched.

“Shit I’HhM g-gonna–Hhh!! HH’ Hgh’hSCHhiew…Hheh- HH’EACHEW! 

With each itchy sneeze he dipped desperately forward, hands tented over his nose and mouth to catch the mess.

“Fu–hhHH Jayce, t-turn ihHH-heh. Turn it off!”

Oh right. The machine was still on.

Hurriedly, Jayce fumbled through the steam to switch off the filtration device- hearing Viktor’s desperate, gasping breaths and wrenching sneeze after sneeze tear through him.

“Vik, are you okay?”

But Viktor was too heavily wrapped up in unbearable, itchy limbo, chest rising and expanding with fast, catching breaths.

“hh-! eH’SSCHIEW…..Hh’AESSCHuhh-! Fuck I ca-HHh, can’t sto-HH’EH’ESthciew…”

Jayce hurried over, wrapping an arm around Viktor’s shoulder and guiding him to his desk chair so he didn’t topple himself over with the force of his own sneezes.

The man continued to gasp and twitch beneath him with every step- they sounded harsh- exactly the opposite of what Viktor’s headache and no doubt sore throat needed.

“Try and breathe, you’re okay. You’re okay.” said Jayce, rubbing a hand up and down Viktor’s arm.

Viktor seemed to rally himself- forcing his breathing to calm though it was still interrupted by the occasional gasping inhale.

“That’s it.”

Viktor went stiff, breath stopping short before toppling over itself again- air rushing into the lungs with a final- “ Heh’GtSCHhh-!!”

They were both quiet for a moment- Jace suddenly became aware of his palm still pressed gently against Viktor’s upper arm, gave him a last little squeeze and withdrew it.

“That was…” he began slowly.

But, clearing his throat thickly and with a voice like tar, Viktor interjected- “I am sorry. That must have been… I.. well that must have been gross.” he seemed to grimace as he said this- turning his back to Jayce and reaching for the borrowed handkerchief laid on the desk. This time he had no choice but to properly blow the gunk from his nose.

“Hey it’s fine, don’t worry. We’ll fix the filtration device in no time too.”

Viktor just nodded back tiredly- “We can take a look at the formula later.” 

“Later? Technically we ‘clocked out’ 30 minutes ago.”

“I’ve still got some things I want to take a look at.”

Unable to stop the exasperation leaking into his voice, Jayce said- “You’re clearly not well Viktor, please, let’s just leave it here for today?”

Viktor stiffened in his seat, fingers curled tightly around his cane.

“You can get some rest and then we’ll tackle this tomorrow.” Jayce continued.

Viktor looked at him through red-rimmed, amber eyes- his expression unreadable.

“Jayce,” he began slowly, “I can look after… snfff… myself.”

“I know that but if you just-”

Viktor raised up a hand, “I’m not fragile,” he looked at him sternly now, willing him to understand, “I can work for a bit longer.”

Worry and frustration snaked around Jayce’s chest like thorns. On the one hand, Viktor only seemed to be getting worse and rapidly so. On the other, there was such hurt in those eyes. He wanted more than anything to simply be normal, be well.

Jayce wanted to reach out, take his partner in his arms and tell him none of that mattered to him, why would it?

But the urging in those eyes made him bite his tongue.

“Just a couple more hours.” he finally sighed.

“Good.” 

They both went back to work but Jayce wasn’t really doing anything. How could he when all he could think about was the slender form to his left, hunched and sniffling and yet determined no matter the cost to pledge on for the sake of Piltover?

He saw Viktor’s frame shake and rattle through another set of silenced sneezes, his shoulders drawing in on themselves as he groaned through a shuddery exhale.

Fuck this.

Jayce stood up, grumbling something about getting food and marched out of the lab. He couldn’t bare to watch anymore. 

He stomped off in the direction of the mess hall, footsteps echoing down the cool, shadowy doorways.

“Jayce?” he heard from behind him.

He swivelled around to face Mel, cloaked in a golden robe, eyeing him suspiciously.

His frustration must have been written on his face because she asked gently- “Is everything okay?”

He sighed heavily, running a large palm down the side of his face- “It’s Viktor. He’s sick as a dog but refusing to rest. He won’t listen to me and I-”

Mel stepped forward and placed a warm hand on his forearm, she smiled soothingly up at him- “It’s going to be okay. You know what he’s like but he’ll pull through.”

“I know he will in the end but why put himself through this pain in the process?”

She sighed, glancing out of a window, the flickering lights of Piltover shimmering against the midnight sky- “Sometimes we believe the pain is what we deserve.”

“Deserve? He deserves the world well, he deserves-”

She smiled, a flash of something, almost knowing, passing across her expression- “I know that, Jayce.”

They stood in silence for a few seconds, the sounds of wind as it slid against the Academy walls filling the lull.

“You should go to him.” she said at last.

And he did.

Jayce pushed back through the door to their lab, armed with a steaming cup of tea, another handkerchief and some pain meds he’d nabbed from the medical bay.

It was dark inside, the only light the one illuminating Viktor’s desk.

“Viktor?” he called out softly.

There was no reply.

As he stepped closer to the man’s desk he noticed his form was slumped forward, forearm on the table and his head flopped against it.

Oh, for God’s sake. 

“Viktor?” he tried again. He placed down the things bundled in his arms and hurried over. As he drew nearer he could hear the slow, ragged breaths coming from his slender form. 

“Vik?”

 He held a hand out and shook his partner’s shoulder’s softly. There was no response. 

Viktor’s sleeping face, though relaxed, was pale and sweaty, his hair plastered against his forehead. A sliver of moisture had collected under the chapped skin of his nose, drool gathering at the side of his mouth as he breathed craggedly through his mouth.

Jayce placed the back of his hand against his forehead to confirm his suspicions. Fuck. Dry heat emanated from his skin, sinking into the back of his hand.

“Fuck Viktor,” he said, voice hoarse, “You’re really burning up.”

There was still no response. Jayce was tempted for a moment to just let him sleep but, knowing Viktor’s medical needs to some extent, he knew it was bad for him to sleep in his back brace- especially not in this twisted position.

Plus, he needed to get some medicine in him for that fever. He didn’t think he’d ever felt someone that hot.

So he shook him again, more forcefully this time.

“Can you wake up for me?” he said softly, leaning closer.

Groggily, Viktor’s eyelashes fluttered open before suddenly his breath caught and he was snapping forehead with too desperate sneezes, too hazy and out of it to cover or care where they were directed.

“Hheh’’Estgnx…H’ESTCH–uhh.”

“Bless you, here.” And before Jayce really knew what he was doing, he’d turned around, fetched the clean handkerchief and had placed it around Viktor’s nose, mopping up the mess for him.

And, for once, Viktor let him.

He sniffled deeply, woozily raising his head to face Jayce. 

“Jayce I-”he began slowly before his features crumpled again and he tiredly raised the back of a wrist to collapse into with a-

“EHh’’etshcuhh…hH’Eh..”

His shoulders stayed raised in anticipation for a second sneeze but it never came and he let out a shaky, irritated exhale before looking back up at him with bleary, tear-strewn eyes.

“Jayce I….snffff..guh… I really don’t feel good.”

He must be really out of it to actually admit that.

“I know.” Jayce said gently, moving to lock an arm around Viktor’s shoulders, “I’m here though, you’re going to be okay. Let’s get you too bed, yeh?”

“I’m not sure I-” his voice trailed off, “I’m not sure I can make it myself.” he admitted quietly.

Jayce almost laughed- “You won’t be going alone. I’m here.”

And slowly he helped Viktor to his feet, feeling the feverish heat pulsing from his partner as his arm wrapped around his shoulder.

Slowly, they began to head towards the exit. Jayce’s room was nearer- they’d go there.

“One step in front of the other.” he said softly as Viktor struggled to keep himself upright. He took hold of his weight more firmly- it was scaring him, just how much Vitkor was relying on him to walk. 

As they stepped out into the hallway, Viktor suddenly halted.

“HHH-hhold on a se-Hh second.” He’d raised his free hand to his face and was gasping softly, chest heaving in and out.

“It’s okay Vik, just let it out.”

“H’EHH’’echuhh… EH’EH’ngx…guhh, sorry I can’t-”

Jayce ran a hand up and down his back, soothing him softly- “There’s nothing to apologise for. Come on, we’re almost there.”

They trudged forwards, Viktor’s breath’s coming in as tight wheezes. How on earth had he gotten so sick so fast? Jayce supposed it was properly the meds he was on in an attempt to fight his disease- his immune system was shot.

Finally, they reached the doors to Jayce’s room. 

“Wait… this is…”

“Yes, my room. I’m not letting you walk any further.”

And ignoring Viktor’s mumbling protests he guided him through the apartment to his bedroom.

“Jayce.. This is too much, I can’t”

“That fevered brain of yours sure knows how to talk some bullshit huh? Come on.”

And gently he lowered Viktor onto the bed, tenderly removing his clothes and flicking the buckles that kept his leg brace in place. Slowly, he moved to Viktor’s back.

“Wait I-.” Viktor said hoarsely, jolting back, his body shaking as his skin was exposed to the cool air, “I can do it.”

“Please, Viktor, just let me do this for you.”

“It.. I-”

Jayce sat down on the bed. He couldn’t hide it any longer. He slipped an arm around Viktor’s side and pulled his clammy, heated body into his own. He tucked Viktor’s head under his chin, his hair smelling of sweat and grease but mainly of him.

Viktor initially tensed but then sunk into the contact, burying himself into Jayce’s chest.

“You’re not weak, Viktor,” he said gently, raising a hand to sink into the brown locs of his partner’s hair, “I have never and will never see you that way.”

Viktor shook beneath him, with what could’ve been a sniffle or a silent sob.

There was so much more he wanted to say. How Viktor was the strongest, most determined person he knew. How his disability, his illness, was all part of him. And how he admired all of it, all of him.”

But it was too raw, too much. Not yet.

So instead he said- “So please, let me do this one thing for you and get you into bed.”

Viktor’s head was so close, he could just reach down and kiss it. But he didn’t- he’d already said to much.

Slowly, Viktor uncurled himself from him and nodded softly.

Fingers fumbling, Jayce went though the many clasps of the back brace before, with a pop of air, it slid off.

He guided Viktor under the covers- marking the goosebumps that that sprouted across his shaking frame.

He’d go and fetch the blankets and tea and meds in a moment but for now- he simply gazed down at the clammy, gorgeous face of his lab partner. 

Oh what the hell.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Viktor’s damp forehead.

“Get some rest, okay?” he said, sitting up, trying to calm the nerves that were somersaulting around his chest and stomach.

[A video recording. The Anderson Cottage attic, midday. Jonah squeezes the clamp of the black capo, and brings it down from the sixth fret to the third fret. His eyes drift toward the ground, and slowly, he begins to pluck out a melody on the guitar. In a soft voice, he starts to sing. ‘It’s her that brings me there She’ll say welcome back to earth It’s been far too long for me to bear…’]

It wasn’t quieter, just more chilly. Things in the world seemed to slowly acquire rougher edges - there was the rustling of trees and stacks of dog-eared papers that were important.

[‘Dig my body from the dirt, Gentle, so the roots wouldn’t tear…’]

The width of each day was gradually compressing. Their evening walks had been happening earlier to catch the sunset. And Lily was more often tired, and into September, Jonah tended to work late nights. It seemed he’d exchanged sunsets for a covered pot on the stove in the empty kitchen. Memes sent without additional text. A warm hand ran gently down the back of a thick sweater, a whistling kettle, and curated canisters of vitamins and such that mysteriously appeared on the cluttered counter.

“heeihhHh, HUHdt’EEISSCHHIEWWW!!!” 

Jonah’s long form bent double with a sudden violent, desperate sneeze. His hand quickly gripped onto the edge of the kitchen sink and held tightly, as the force of the expulsion shuddered through his shoulders and threw him forward. It was like a clap of thunder following far behind a streak of lightning - seeming to coming out of no where. He straightened and gave his head a small shake.

His perpetually rosy nostrils flared as he sniffed gently. His long, dark hair seemed to be behaving a bit more than it had just a few days ago, as the temperature subtly began to drop. And that was the bittersweet gateway to autumn. The end to one type of suffering, and onto various others - but with it, came a tradition of compiled solutions by humanity to maintain warmth. Life. Spirit.

He’d chalked up his usual congestion these days to the pollen, although it was trickier to tell for sure, since it had been rather cold. The temperature shift often gave his sinuses grief on its own. Nonetheless, he had work to do. One of his favourite parts of the day was making himself a tea before playing piano, which usually helped with the congestion.

“huht’JSCHH!!-unhh…” He muffled a sneeze into his shoulder, his hands occupied with a bottle of honey and a tablespoon. He sucked in a damp sniffle and sighed softly. 

This game of ‘is this a cold or allergies?’ was getting tiring. He supposed as long as he had the ability to get things done, he’d be fine. But still, “-Ah’TDSCHHhh-!!!” it might be kinder on his sinuses if he was able to tell which was the cause.

Shit. Honey dripped down the side of his mug of tea, as did his nose, dripping into his moustache and onto dry lips. He sucked in a harsh, frustrated sniffle, and reached for the roll of paper towel.

“Bless you.” Jonah heard Lily approaching down the stairs.

“*hsnff!* Thagk you.” Jonah set down the bottle of honey on the counter. As he gently wiped his face with some folded paper towel, he turned to see her enter the kitchen. 

“You doing okay?” she asked softly, lifting a hand and gently running it over his back.

“Just sdeezi’g,” he exhaled. 

“Ah, right on time.” Jonah gave a small, exhausted chuckle. Lily smiled, and reached up to brush his hair out of his face. “You had your meds?” she murmured. Her sea blue eyes stared into his earthy, moss-coloured ones. Jonah grew a bit flustered - every now and then he would forget, but this time he actually did.

“Yes, love,” he said with a gentle grin.

“Yeah? When’d you last use the nose spray?”

Jonah barked a soft, wheezy laugh, then tried to stop as she kept her strange, flirty gaze. He knew that she’d worry. Lily’s eyes ran over his impossibly handsome features. As she moved closer, his hands gently found her waist.

Jonah’s eyelashes fluttered as he gazed down at her. “This morning,” he mumbled hoarsely. 

“Take some now, it should be at least twice a day, right?”

“Once I’ve made my tea,” Jonah replied.

“Let me,” Lily said, gently touching his hand.

“Lil, I’ve got it,” he said gently, his hands still in the task of wiping the side of the mug.

“‘Kay,” Lily breathed. She ran her hand over his back once more, then went to get a glass for herself.

Jonah sniffled gently, but liquidly. The way he cleared his throat again, gruffly, had Lily’s spider sense on guard.

“What time’s the dinner tomorrow?” she asked, once she’d poured herself some water.

“Uh, *snrff!* Seved, I believe. *snrk!*” he said, turning to lean back against the counter.

Following a sip from the hot mug of tea, Jonah let out a soft, shaky exhale. Watery mucus ran down his upper lip, and he sniffled thickly. He held the breath, his chin turning to the side.

“Oh,” he huffed softly, and quickly set down the mug of tea. He lifted his other hand and pinched his sniffly nose, half-stifling a wet sneeze. “KGCHH-!! -unh, *snrff! sdrf!*”

“Bless you,” Lily breathed, and gently rubbed his back. 

“'Scuse mbe, thagk you.”

Lily wandered off to the study corner of the living room to double check her schedule. The dress she’d planned to wear was hung on the door of her closet. She hadn’t worn it in a while, and perhaps it had seen better days, but it was plain, elegant, and reliable.

[‘Eyes above the chasm where the golden hour illuminates her hair… And I’m stood there…’]

There was a heavy ceramic thud against the hardwood floor, the jingle of a teaspoon, and Jonah crying out at full volume.

“Ah-! Fuck…”

Lily straightened quickly like a meerkat, hearing Jonah’s muffled grumblings from the kitchen. From the desk chair in the living room, she tried to peek around the doorway to the dining room.

“Jonah?” she called. She stood and went to the doorway. “You okay, sweetie?”

“I’b fide,” he mumbled as she spotted him in the kitchen, crouching to pick up his empty mug and teaspoon from the puddle of tea on the floor. He had to reign in his temper, it was just a minor inconvenience…

“Oh,” Lily couldn’t help but say, her heart sinking a little. “Did y-“

“AAESSCHIEWW!! -ESSCHIEWW!!-sshieww!!” Before she could get a question out, he dissolved into another rapid, itchy spell of sneezes. “*snnnrgk!* EEEISSCHH!!! *hsddrff* God, I’b soh… *sddrffh!* I’b so sorry, *sdDDRFF!* Jesus,” he murmured hastily, struggling to sniffle back the abundance of mess oozing from his red, dripping nose. His expression was still hazy with desperation.

“Bless you, darling. Here, I got it.” Lily set the mug and teaspoon down in the sink, then tore some paper towels from the roll. She couldn’t help but continue to eye Jonah. “Are you hurt? Did you spill any on yourself?”

“*sdrff!* D-Doe, just… hh-! just- *sddrffh!* hh’just od by- hh’odbypadts-ISSCHIUE-!! HRR’ISSCHIEWWw!!” Jonah barely choked out an answer before the burning irritation overwhelmed him. He groaned softly, sounding stuffy and miserable.

“Bless you. Here, baby love, blow your nose, okay?” Lily offered him a spare handkerchief that she found in the drawer of the phone table. With bleary eyes, Jonah accepted the handkerchief, and rose up from crouching.

“Hh-haH-! Hehh!” Eyelids fluttering, he quickly leaned a hand on the counter before letting out a rapid, itchy triple. “HAAD’SCHHIEWW!!-sshieww!! ESSCHHIEWW!!!”

“Bless you,” Lily said soothingly.

“EEIY’ESSSCHHIEWWW!!!” Oh. Yikes, that sounded like it hurt. He bent double over the sink with that one, and let out a couple of chesty coughs.

“Bless you, love.”

“Thadk you…” Jonah mumbled wearily into the cloth. 

He turned and began to blow his nose. It was heavy, gurgling, sounding much needed. As Lily wiped the last of the spilt tea on the floor, she heard him pause for breath and blow again, producing congested honks. She felt sympathy as he panted for breath, sucking in several sniffles that didn’t seem to be moving much.

After a bit, he turned back around to find that Lily had finished cleaning up his mess.

“Oh,” he said softly. He stared at her, still making a few itchy rubs at his pink nose with the folded hanky. He let out a hoarse, timid chuckle. “Thagk you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Lily stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and lifted a hand to rub his back.

“I’b sorry, I’b such a klutz, *snrgk!*”

“You’re okay,” she said firmly. Lily switched to gently scratching his back instead. Jonah leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Your poor tea, though. Let’s make you another one.”

“Hh’I- hhh’oh, I still deeh- huhh, Gods sakes, *gsdrff!*” he muttered breathily, turning away again. “haaH! HAAASSCHHIEWW!!-Ohh, hih-! RR’AASSCHHIEWW!!! -AASCHIEWW!! …haht’Chieww-!! … g’nhh. *sdrff!*”

“Bless you.”

“*snrgk!* Pardod be, thagk you, *snnrk!* Hold od,” he uttered with defeat, and went to the living room. 

More sad, honking blows could be heard as he walked away. Lily poured more water into the kettle. The switch made a satisfying click as she turned it on, and again, the pot began to heat up.

-

[‘Rendered speechless by silence of it all, And with it all, I’m taken-‘]

Jonah’s noisy, drawn out snores were interrupted by some itchy coughs, ones that came so fast that they startled Lily as she’d begun to nod off. His big torso expanded as he took a wheezy, shuddering gasp, then came a sneeze so vicious that it jerked his head and shoulders forward from the incline of pillows.

“hhHAAASSCHHIEWWW!!!” It was explosive, too - Lily could see the spray in the low light, and hear the wet bursting of thick mucus as the sneeze came at full force.

“Oh, bless you love,” Lily hummed, and reached over to rub her hand soothingly over his thigh.

“HAADSSCHHIEWWw!!!” Just as he was getting his bearings, another wet, thick-sounding sneeze forced its way out of him. 

“Bless you.”

Jonah rolled over, facing away from Lily and feeling dizzily around the bedside for the box of tissues, or a hanky, anything there to catch the sudden abundance of mess he’d just sneezed all over himself. His entire head felt heavy, and his sinuses were aching. Sitting up made his head hurt. He felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Here, babe,” she said softly. Soon his long fingers were squeezing around a handkerchief.

“RRAAHh’CHHIUEWW!!!” Lily winced a little. The one had just sounded so wet, and any attempts to sniffle did nothing, leaving him to sigh and hurry to lift the handkerchief over his swollen, dripping nose. “AASSCHhiu!!-EEISSCHHhh!!”

“Bless you.”

Jonah sat there, panting. The poor thing. A bead of sweat rolled down his face. Lily could hear his weary, heavy breathing as he wiped his face. She lifted the backs of her finger to feel his forehead.

“-hhhh… hHehhhh… HAAAESSCHHHhh!!!”

“Bless you. Ohh, dear. Yup, that’s a fever.”

“HRR’AASSCHHIOOO!!! ....ngh..” 

“Bless you. Here. Breathe in for me.”

Jonah took in a tight, shaky breath. His sore, sensitive sinuses were burning. He needed to blow his nose badly, or his head was going to burst. The attempt at it made an awful noise - the congestion that sat heavily in his sinuses was restricting, and there was so much mucus, an ungodly amount. The handkerchief was damp by the time he finished blowing. 

“ahh’CHIEWW!!hhh….” God, he shouldn’t have blown that hard. The sneeze that it triggered was sudden and scraped across his throat. 

“Bless you, poor thing,” Lily murmured.

“*sngk!* D-Deed- hUHt’CHIEWWw!!!” He winced and rubbed at his nose with the hanky. “g’hh… h-heiHhh?? HAAEESSSCHHiuhh!!-’ISSCHH!!!-CHH!!-TCHHhh!!!”

Oh no. They were coming rapidly again. And they still sounded wet, if not wetter, soaking the humble handkerchief in his hands. Lily reached toward the bedside table and opened the drawer. She found a good, thick handkerchief and touched it to Jonah’s hand. He took it eagerly and shakily lowered the soaked cloth in his hands. Lily caught a glimpse of his red, chapped nostrils, which flared wide again before pitching forward into the fresh cloth.

“YY’AASSCHHIEWW!!!”

“Bless you, sweetie.”

“*snrgk* Thagk you,” he barely croaked. He blew his nose again, cautiously, then emerged with a sniff.

Lily ran her fingers through his loose, frizzy curls. “Want ice?” she breathed.

Jonah nodded. Lily moved towards the other bedside table and reached for the thermos. She opened it and shook some ice into an empty cold pack she’d left there just in case.

“hdt!‘CHIUEWW!!! *snrk! snnnrk~*”

“Bless you.”

“rr’SSCHHIEWWw!! -nnh, *sddrff!*”

“Bless-“

“EEEISSCHHIEWWww!!! *snNrgk!* ‘b so sorry, 'scuse be.” Jonah kept sniffling liquidly. His poor nose just kept running, gushing mess with each itchy sneeze.

Lily gave his thigh a small rub. “Shhhh, you’re okay.” 

He gave another thick, flooding blow into the hanky, and lowered it, panting softly. His eyes were still sunken and hazy with sleep. He looked ready to return to his slumber - then Lily turned to him with the ice pack.

“Here, hun.” Jonah snuffled softly and peeked over at her. “Lie down?”

He did just that, exhaling heavily as his back flattened onto on the mattress. Lily placed the small ice pack on his forehead, and watched his flushed features loosen.

“That good?”

Still panting slightly, he nodded. It felt so good that he could’ve fallen asleep then and there, but-

“I’ll grab you some Tylenol, okay?” Lily leaned down to kiss his warm temple. His bleary eyes followed her as she got out of bed. She came back to the bed and sat by him. “Here. Can you sit up?”

[‘I’m taken, taken, taken…’]

“It’s just a moment, and you can go back to sleep.”

A soft groan of effort tickled Jonah’s scratchy throat, as he pushed his aching body into an upright position. There was some ease as Lily’s hand touched his shoulder. Her thumb grazed over the fabric of his shirt as he downed the two pills in a wrenching gulp. 

Not saying much else, her hand moved to brush back his hair. She left a kiss on his clammy forehead, and murmured for him to lay back down.

“It should. And you know, this is a temple,” Meryl continues as Wolfwood approaches his weapon. “They probably have a real cross lying around somewh—”

The clang of the Punisher against the stone table up front echoes against the shelter’s high ceilings and shabby wooden walls. Vash jumps, and Meryl shuts her mouth. Wolfwood steps back with his arms extended forward, prepared to right the cross should it tilt.

“I’m just saying. Some people want things done a certain way, depending on the branch of religion they’re practicing,” Meryl insists, and Wolfwood gestures grandly to the empty seats around them.

“You see anyone complaining?” he challenges.

“I don’t see anyone at all, yet,” she says. “Maybe consider asking for a little info on the departed, out of respect?”

“Look, shortie, you wanna get your head outta the gift horse’s ass for a second? They asked for a funeral. If they didn’t specify anything else, it’s on them.”

“I’m just trying to make sure we get paid. Not like we’re swimming in cash or anything.”

“What do you mean ‘we’? Last I checked, I was the only one working today.”

“I’m sorry, whose car have you been riding in these past two months?”

“Consider it payback for the fee you still owe me. Now leave the job to the professional before I take you under next.”

“That a threat, burial boy?”

“Guys.”

They both look over their shoulders at Vash, who has a thumb pointed at two of the temple patrons standing behind him. Neither one of them looks happy.

Meryl yields with a huff, returning to one of the splintering pews and sitting with her arms crossed.

“…Sorry for your loss,” she says to them lamely.

Roberto sits next to her and whispers, “Do we even know who died?”

“Uh,” Meryl says, which is the extent of her intel.

“Thought so,” he replies. It’s doubtful whether Wolfwood knows either.

Apparently someone does, because the rows behind them start to creak and bend with the weight of the covenant. There can’t be more than a dozen of them, but the air in the room shifts as their hushed murmurings fill the space.

Vash’s voice is among them, on Meryl’s other side, close to the inner-aisle with the best view of Wolfwood’s clumsy off-mark eulogy. With his hand shielding half of his face from the townspeople, Vash says to his crew, “I think his name was Artemus.”

-

Despite Wolfwood’s obvious ineptitude at her old friend’s funeral, the innkeeper offers to rent him and his rag-tagalongs a couple of rooms above her tavern in exchange for a discount on his exorbitant fee. She throws in a few meals and begs him to stay until Sunday.

He agrees with a grin, the desert sky dark enough to hide the playful malevolence in his eyes. Meryl knows it’s there regardless, and once they’ve reached the safety of their upstairs quarters, she says, “You don’t feel bad about scamming these poor people?”

Wolfwood shrugs and says, “If there’s a hell, I was headed there anyway.”

“My god,” Meryl says, and retires behind her door. 

Roberto is shacking in the suite next to her, his seniority having earned him the privacy, and Vash drops his things on the floor of the room across the hall. It’s the last one left, and he and Wolfwood are sharing. It’s been the standard since early on; Vash had insisted upon the arrangement, but it had been on Wolfwood’s behalf. He’s never quite gotten used to sleeping alone, especially behind a closed door.

Politely, Vash refrains from interrupting as Wolfwood surveys the sparse, tight quarters. He did this last time, too, insisting it was in the best interests of everyone that he check for traps, as though the townspeople he’s taking advantage of are already trying to retaliate. He calls it precaution, but Vash calls it guilt.

“You take the bed, okay?” Vash says as Wolfwood begins to shake the grit from his jacket.

“The hell’re you talking about?” Wolfwood says. “Thing’s big enough for two. Quit it with the sacrificial crap. It bums me out.”

“Your throat hurts,” Vash says with the matter-of-fact seriousness of somebody’s boss reciting a business itinerary, stern tonality without room for nonsense. “I heard it while you were up there.”

Wolfwood blinks at him. 

“Huh?” he says. “So?”

“If you’re getting sick, you should have the bed. That’s all,” Vash says. “Don’t wanna lose your voice before Sunday mass, right?”

A crooked grin becomes Wolfwood in lieu of the argument he might offer to any of the others. His chest bounces once with a cocky chuckle.

“You watchin’ me that closely, Blondie?”

“I guess I am.”

“Well knock yourself out,” Wolfwood says with a grunt, clearing his throat. “I’m just fine.”

It’s hard to tell which one of them is the cat and which is the mouse, but the back and forth has been there since the beginning and its fiery undercurrent had grown quickly until it engulfed the both of them. Wolfwood teases, ready to pounce, and Vash flips him belly-up and bats him around happily. There’s satisfaction in knowing Wolfwood enjoys it. He wouldn’t keep provoking the game if he didn’t.

So Vash watches Wolfwood, not only because he’d promised but because he’s nice to look at, too, and Vash’s reward comes when Wolfwood turns his head away and Vash’s prophecy comes true.

He’s seen it before. Wolfwood has the kind of sneeze that demands one’s attention, even for those unlike Vash, disinclined to snap ravenous eyes toward him upon that first desperate, penultimate gasp. His sneeze overwhelms the senses of his company in volume and visual, loud and intense with so much of his voice in it, always pushing him around with antagonistic tenacity that would probably show beautifully on his face if he didn’t have the manners to bend forward with behind a tight hand or loose sleeve.

Wolfwood chooses the sleeve this time, holding his arm in place by gripping his shoulder with the opposite hand. It wrings him out with a loud, pronounced “HD’IHZSHH’yu!” and deflates his shoulders when he’s done.

It’s cute on him, because despite all of the brazen renegade costume he wears, Wolfwood doesn’t seem to prefer the commentary that it pulls. Vash shudders, positive that he realizes everyone else on the floor must have heard him through the cracks in the walls.

“Sure you’re not sick?” he asks.

“Never said I wasn’t,” Wolfwood replies irately before he sniffs once, testing. “Just said I was fine. Can’t kill a mission for a little cold.”

“Huh. Is that what it is?” Vash replies.

“Guess we’ll see.” Dressed down to the comfort of an undershirt, Wolfwood gestures to the bed. “So. You comin’, or you wanna look me up and down all night instead?”

Vash can happily do both. Fifteen minutes later, he’s shifting Wolfwood from his back onto his side to try and quell the disruption of his snoring.

-

Morning swats its ruthlessness all over them. Wolfwood squints at the scratchy light prying deep into his eye sockets, and Vash frowns when he hears the damp, squeaky grumble of congestion in Wolfwood’s sinuses. Whatever he’d been coming down with has obviously taken hold.

He isn’t even vertical when the first sneeze hits, and the most he can do is roll away from Vash and contain the worst of it in his hand.

“H’EHNDZSHhyue!”

Vash feels the entire thing shake Wolfwood down to his bones and the mattress down to its springs.

“Bless you,” Vash says.

“My line this week, Blondie,” Wolfwood says, then sniffles and sighs out with a groan. “Fuck. Uh, thanks.”

Vash watches him get out of bed and fumble with his shirt, which should probably be washed and ironed before he goes on display this weekend. Wolfwood presses a palm against one side of his nose, then inhales shoddily and coughs.

“You said you’ve been to this town before,” he says.

“Uh, yeah,” Vash says. “A long time ago. But it was pretty different back then.”

“They got a drugstore anywhere?”

Vash frowns. “What do you need? Medicine, or…?”

“Nah, just…” Dismissively, Wolfwood flaps his hand and says, “Don’t worry about it.”

Uninterested in taking orders from Wolfwood and concurrently wishing to avoid riling up while he’s sick, Vash lies and says, “All right.” He can justify his worry eventually. Wolfwood would do the same, and Vash isn’t above taking an eye for an eye when it’s for the sake of somebody’s well being.

-

For ten minutes, Wolfwood avoids sneezing in front of Vash again. He finishes arming himself with enough accessories to dupe the fools downstairs, down to the rosary beads hanging out of his pocket like a sloppy wallet chain. A couple of used handkerchiefs sit in a pile next to his only other shirt, waiting to be laundered by the innkeeper’s family, none of his belongings extraordinarily filthy but still swamped with sweat from the bleakest hours of desert sun.

Wolfwood stalls behind Vash when they head downstairs, allowing him to walk in front and waiting with his hand against the wall after he turns the corner to the tavern’s dining area.

“HD’IHZSHeuh!” Whoever is in the other room can hear him anyway, but Wolfwood is at least unattended to as he staggers half an accidental pace forward with his head bent toward the ground. 

He waits so as to not make an entrance of it, and to ensure that a second sneeze won’t barge through his sensibilities. The reflex feels sensitive and is stubborn in all directions. He expects the whole thing to be a pain in his ass until he can shake the cold for good.

Aside from Meryl, Roberto, and the innkeeper herself, the tavern is unoccupied. There’s a spread set up family-style in the center of one of their wooden tables, along with a metal pitcher of what’s hopefully beer and more likely water. He sits down next to Vash, whose plate is still empty.

“You waited for me?” Wolfwood asks.

“I wanted to make sure everyone got enough first,” Vash says. Wolfwood scoffs.

“Didn’t need to,” he grouses, then reaches for a slab of skillet bread, crudely rips it in half, and thunks it onto Vash’s plate. He takes the rest for himself and rains crumbs onto the tabletop in front of him with his first tasteless bite.

No one says much for the rest of their meal. It’s easy to get caught up in good food, and the innkeeper’s is decent, although the tavern’s divey impression suggests that it’s not the kind of place people seek out when they’re hungry. She minds her business while they replenish themselves, stopping by once to drop off a plate of dried fruit and offer a stack of napkins.

Once she walks away, Wolfwood can’t help sneezing again. The napkins, peaceful and still, mock the way the urge freezes him in place too much to grab one in time.

He turns away with a slow, silent inhale, then jerks his upper body toward his arm. Painfully, the sneeze scrapes against his throat, tight and loud. “IIH’DZSHh’yu!”

Roberto speaks before Wolfwood can recover.

“Got a cold, undertaker?” he says. His tone is gruff and dry but his eyes are jeering, like he’s getting a kick out of it.

“That or a bad omen,” Meryl adds.

“Nah. I heard him at it all last night,” Roberto reports. “He’s sick.”

“Guess so,” Wolfwood acknowledges with phony indifference, then clears his throat. “Don’t twist your face up like that. It’s a head cold, you ever had one before?”

“Too many times, so don’t get the rest of us sick too,” Meryl says. She thins her lips. “Though I guess Vash might already be a lost cause, with the both of you sharing a bedroom.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Vash placates. “I’m pretty sturdy.”

“Yeah, sure,” is Meryl’s flat reply. She pushes herself up off of her chair and says, “Either way, I wasn’t planning to spend much time with either of you today – there’s some stuff I wanted to pick up in town.”

“Stuff?” Vash says. “What stuff?”

“We’re low on supplies,” Meryl explains. “Detergent, especially, if we’re going to use their laundry machine. Do you guys need anything?”

“Uh…” Vash says. He turns to look at Wolfwood, who makes hazy, expectant eye contact with him over the napkin tented around his nose. “Hey, you said you wanted something from the store, right?”

“–hhIEDSHyu! Fuck me,” Wolfwood replies blearily. “…What’d?”

“From the store in town,” Meryl repeats with a grimace. “Bless you.”

“Maybe some cold medicine? Or tissues?” Vash says. “Is there anything that makes you feel better when you’re sick?”

Roberto and Meryl remain silent while Wolfwood stares at him, trying to figure out whether Wolfwood is confused, insulted, or something else. Vash holds the eye contact comfortably.

At last, Wolfwood says, “No.” 

He pulls two bills from his pocket and passes it to Meryl, who manages to take it without touching his hand.

 “Just, ah. Whatever they got,” he concedes. He makes a show of pulling out an extra bit of currency and waving it in the air before he sets it down in front of her. “And get yourself something pretty for the trouble.”

“Yeah right,” Meryl says. “As if we can afford any luxuries right now.”

Wolfwood shrugs, then blows his nose. Meryl gathers the money carefully and wraps it up alongside the rest of their budget for the week.

She waits for him to finish, then tilts her head. “I am keeping the change, though.”

-

“You really are okay, aren’t you?” Vash says when they return to their room an hour later, after sorting out the itinerary and scheduling a round of confessions in the chapel booth for the evening. Apparently the devout in the village are aplenty, and they’ve been without a priest long enough to forget what religion is supposed to look like.

They wouldn’t have bothered with Wolfwood otherwise.

“Good god, you people care too much,” Wolfwood says. “Yeah. I’m…”

When he looks over at Vash’s post on the bed, it clicks for him what Vash has been trying to do all morning. He looks like an angel sitting there, but his expression is rotten with mischief.

“Can’t believe I fuckin’ forgot,” Wolfwood says. “You’re pretty filthy, Stampede, are you all right?”

With fond eyes shut, Vash laughs.

“I don’t know,” he says contemplatively. “It’s not really that weird, is it?”

“Sorry to get you so riled up.” Wolfwood snuffles against the back of his wrist, then squints half of his face up in a wince when it squeezes the pressure in his head. “Though I don’t think I could’ve done anything different if I’d remembered, anyway.”

Vash takes him by the wrist and pulls, careful to move himself to the side so that they don’t crash into each other before he’s ready. He lays on his side, ankles crossed, head propped up on his hand as he looks Wolfwood up and down.

“I know,” he says. “You’re so loud, though, a guy can’t help but wonder.”

“Shut up.” Wolfwood shoves him, and Vash retaliates until Wolfwood’s flat on his back. The movement shifts some congestion and he sniffles to keep his nose from running, which devolves into a sneeze. He turns his head to the side. “HEHT’DZSHh’iuh!”

“Yeah, like that,” Vash says with saccharine, teasing gratitude as Wolfwood glides the back of his wrist underneath his septum. Vash arrests Wolfwood’s hand, curving their fingertips into the spaces between each other’s knuckles, holding it hostage. “Let me see next time.”

Wolfwood grins, eyebrows askew, and says, “Never met anyone like you in my life, man.”

“You don’t think so?”

Wolfwood can’t answer, both because it’s too much to think about and because he has to sneeze again. It swirls out his breath in a set of quiet, uneven gasps, tingling all the way up to his eyes.

He squeezes Vash’s hand with the intensity of it, and bows his head into his shoulder.

“hhEHDZSHH’ue! –fuck…” He reclaims his breath with a heavy sniff, the kind that can’t quite haul in what it needs to, so he sniffles once more and clears his throat. He distracts himself by feeling up Vash’s leg until he reaches the firmness he’s looking for. “Nope. You’re easy.”

“That’s not always true,” Vash says. “Bless you.”

“Thanks.” Wolfwood indulges in more sniffling, more moving his hand. The excitement in Vash’s pulse is damp under Wolfwood’s palm. “Shortie’s right, you’ll probably catch this.”

“Maybe. It’s weird that you’re sick and nobody else is,” Vash says.

“Yeah, lucky you, huh?”

“Lucky me.” Vash runs his thumb near the puffy ridge under Wolfwood’s eye, wiping away moisture. “Do you always sneeze this much when you have a cold?”

“I could,” Wolfwood says, irritated at the reminder until Vash’s body heats up against him and invites his own blood to rush south in kind. “It never really goes away. Best I can do is…”

He blinks, eyes unfocused, brows crinkling together. His free arm starts to rise out of reflex, and Vash gently urges it back down.

“HD’IZSHyue! …stave it off.” Wolfwood sniffles before nodding back up to search Vash’s face, immediately reacting to the arousal there and the way it matches the expression in his groin.

“Good,” Vash says warmly. He mirrors Wolfwood’s touch. “Bless you.”

“Uh-huh,” Wolfwood gasps, twitching his hips into the pressure with a stuffy groan. “Ghh. Thank yhhhhhh—”

Freely, he caves to the insistence of the sensation, jolting in place and rubbing himself against Vash as a welcome byproduct.

“hddIHZSSHHiuh! Damn it,” he mutters, also out of reflex, embarrassed as he realizes his nose is running. “Dunno how I’m supposed to run a confession unless it lets up.”

“Poor Father Nicholas,” Vash chuckles.

Wolfwood’s face freezes and his entire body trembles with a shudder that knocks the wind out of him. “Fuck,” he says.

“Oh – did you like that?” Vash says. He releases Wolfwood’s hand and reaches up to tilt his chin so their gazes can reconvene. “Hey. It’s okay. Show me.”

“Pushy,” Wolfwood comments, but he meets Vash’s eyes. They maintain the connection, answering the challenge as Vash slides his hand down further and further, in time with the crescendo of Wolfwood’s lungs. When Vash stops at the hem of his pants, Wolfwood says, “What, you shy all of a sudden?”

“No,” Vash replies pleasantly, and lifts himself backward when Wolfwood tries to bite at his throat. “You sound like you’re about to sneeze again.”

“Yeah, get used to it.” Wolfwood sniffles, blinks, and looks down and to the side in estimation. “I said it’s always on the cuhhh– the cusp, when I catch these things.”

“Aw, jeez, don’t say stuff like that,” Vash whines, admiring and delighted.

“hhEHDSCH!– hh-! huhEDZSHHyue! Jesus.”

“Bless you,” Vash praises. He takes one hand regrettably off of Wolfwood’s body and slips it into his own pocket. “Are you okay? Here.”

After snatching the handkerchief for himself, Wolfwood cleans up his face and says, “Hope you don’t want it back. Uh, unless…”

Vash’s next laugh is stuttered, short and playful and humble and self-conscious. “No, that’s okay. We’re doing laundry later anyway, but… you should probably hold onto it.”

“htDZSHHIU! Jesus. Yeah, okay.” Wolfwood sniffs, averts his eyes away, then coughs into the borrowed cloth. “Thanks.”

“Uh-huh. Look at me again?” Vash catches the shadow of awkward insecurity as Wolfwood emerges from the cage of white and crawls his eyes upward. “Good. Thank you. Sorry, just– you look nice like this.”

“Dunno if the masses would agree with you, there, Needle,” Wolfwood says.

“Good thing they’re not the ones in bed with you, then,” Vash says. He risks cupping his hand around Wolfwood’s cheek, thumb barely missing the edge of his nostril as it flares. Wolfwood keeps eye contact from below, unblinking even as he struggles to squeak wet breaths through the swollen tissue in his sinuses. His mind seems clear even if his head isn’t, seemingly trying to decide something, so Vash says, “What is it?”

Wolfwood squints. “Just tryin’ to figure you out, Stampede,” he says.

Vash shrugs and says, “There’s not much you don’t already know.”

He gestures downward, between their bodies, indicating at the pause they’ve taken just to talk.

“Doubt that. But I’m a quick study,” Wolfwood says.

“Yeah?” Vash says.

“Yeah.” 

Wolfwood pulls Vash on top of him, squashing the emptiness and eliciting an agreeable hum. Wolfwood moves his face up closer, craning his neck and offering the vulnerability of his throat. His voice is thick in several measures, rasping and hungry as he speaks.