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âŚ..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.Â
i reblogged this 16 hours ago and can confirm. this works. went to test drive cars today with the intent of purchasing, and on the way to the dealership got a phone call, turned around, ended up being gifted one from a coworker who was just getting rid of it.
CW â illness, fever, dizziness, sneezing. Takes place around 6 months after season 1, prior to season 2.
D/ennis has been cursed, heâs sure of it. With how terrible his day has been, it must be true⌠And if this âcurseâ just so happens to correspond with flu-like symptoms, so what? He doesnât know the internal workings of whichever etsy witch or wizard had been paid to target him. AKA D/ennis Wh/itaker gets called in to the ED on his first day off all week. He gradually realizes that the headache he sported the day prior was his bodyâs way of warning him that he had caught cold. As his day progresses, he makes a list of "things that are going wrong today."
After part one, which can be found here, the list is as follows:
Woken up early
Called into work
Empty tissue box
Ran to the bus-stop
No food
No keys
A curse
With that said, here's part two beneath the cut!
The average city block in the US ranges from 250 to 1250 feet, usually falling on the shorter end of the spectrum. Grid-based city blocks are typically around 330 feetâ not too long, not too short. A perfect Goldilocks of a block, if you think about it.Â
Pittsburgh blocks, on the other hand, are whatever the fuck they want to be. Dennis had done a fair amount of research about Pittsburgh when he first moved to the city. He needed to know the public transit systems, the walking time from shelter to ED, the easiest routes, and safest areas for squatting. So, naturally, heâd learned about the lack of a standard grid system. He vaguely recounts a report about the abnormally challenging, hilly topography of the cityâ too many inclines, rivers, and unnatural terrains for there to be much organization in the streetâs layouts. Itâs called a colliding grid, he thinks, or something along those lines.Â
To the ongoing list, he adds:
8. Colliding grid blocksÂ
Because of course the two blocks between the bus stop and the ED have to be the longest blocks imaginable, much closer to the 1250 feet range than the blessedly short 250. The slight uphill gradient doesnât help, nor does the uneven sidewalk with more cracks and bumps than flat surface.Â
Equally as unhelpful is his nose's inability to stop running. He has to stop every twenty or so paces to wipe at the appendage, refusing to blow it and forgo his last functioning tissue unless it proves to be absolutely necessary.Â
Sneaker-clad feet drag against the pavement, their ache increasing with every break he has to take. Dennis has grown rather fond of his shoes, even with Trinityâs teasing that he shares the same style as her deceased grandmother. âThey support my archesâ had been Dennisâs defense in buying them, stylish or not (definitely not). Afterall, heâs on his feet all day at work, he might as well make an effort to accommodate his body.Â
Despite these efforts to make his body more comfortable, he can feel it staging a full fledged protest to being upright. Every time his foot meets the ground, the force of the concrete reverberates up through his leg, pinching at every joint it meets. Then, his legs propel him forwards with a stilt-like, uncoordinated gate, only for his other foot to hit the ground. And so on and so forth.Â
Upon making it to the ED, Dennis plants himself on a bench just outside the ambulance bay. He knows he should buck up and go inside. People have it worse off than he does; heâs not bleeding, not broken, not needing medical attention. Heâs just⌠cursed.Â
The benchâs metal feels cool against his skin and he presses both of his palms to it, ignoring whatever germs are clinging to its surface. A brief reprieve from the heat works its way from his hands up his forearms, leaving a spattering of goosebumps that disappear after a few seconds. He shivers, and they reappear, intermixing with the light freckles speckled over his upper arms. For a second, he stills, and then another shiver sparks through his spine, his body caught in a dance between hot and cold.Â
Dennis internally groans, wishing heâd thought to put a long sleeve beneath his scrub top as his overstimulated system settles on another shiver and a sudden chill. He knows he needs to stop sulking outside, to pull himself together and clock in, but the idea of spending all day on his feet is enough to keep him seated. Just one more minute, he reasons. Whatâs the harm in taking one more minute for himself?Â
A distant ringing of sirens echoes through Dennisâs mind as it draws nearerâ is the ringing from the sirens? The sound isnât quite right, not the typical chorus of ambulance blaring, but something louder, harsher. It ricochets from one ear to the other before bouncing back, working its way through Dennisâs brain in piercing jolts.Â
âWhitaker?âÂ
Dennisâs eyes open, adjusting to the sight of a man standing in front of him. He hadnât realized his eyes had closed; they must have slipped shut of their own volition. After a painfully slow second, Dennis recognizes the figure that addressed him, mentally scolding himself for not having done so sooner.Â
âDr. Abbotâ whadt are you doing here?âÂ
âMassive MVC. Six incoming patients with severe injury, countless others still on scene.â Jack answers, recounting the medical details that had slipped from Dennisâs mind. âAll hands on deck.â
Right. There was a reason for Dennis having dragged himself out of bed and to the ED. Work. Heâs working. And yet his mind lingers for a second too long on the number six, the mention dredging up thoughts about the man from the bus and his evident curse.
Jackâs eyes flick over Dennisâs form, scanning him head to toe. The older manâs lips curve into a slight frown as he catalogues the obvious signs of illness afflicting the other doctor; Dennis remains oblivious to the expression. Heâs too busy willing himself to stand, silently egging on his legs to do the things theyâre supposed to doâ such as taking more than one step without stumbling and functioning non-mechanically.Â
    9. Legs
When Dennis finally does stand, he chances a quick glance at Jackâ the timid, hesitant kind of glance that he reserves for the twice-his-age-attendings that he finds particularly attractiveâ and, to his surprise, is met with Jackâs unfaltering gaze. An embarrassed flush blooms over Dennisâs cheeks, mixing with the previous fever pink tint and making him look even more overheated than he previously had.Â
âSo⌠shall we?â He gestures towards the ambulance bay doors, silently cursing himself for saying âshall weâ to his attending; he hasnât even entered the ED yet and heâs already proven himself socially incompetent.Â
âWe shall.â Jack juts his chin towards the doors, a small movement, but one that Dennis reads clearly enough as a prompt for him to enter first.Â
The chaos of the ED hits Dennis all at once, sending a surge of adrenaline through his body the second he steps inside. As always, thereâs a chorus of medical equipment beeping, blaring, and ringing, but thatâs just the undercurrent to the swell of shouting. Everyone is working over one another, weaving around gurneys with clusters of doctors and nurses working to the MVC patientsâ at least, those who have already arrived.Â
Across the room, Dennis catches a glimpse of Trinity performing CPR on a seemingly unresponsive patient, but he doesnât have the time to give her a second thought. Jackâs hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing firm before he disappears into the mess of medical professionals.Â
Dennis joins the frey too, his bodyâs autopilot winning over his brainâs fever muddled antics. He jumps onto a case with McKayâ a 25 year old male, responsive at the scene, car shrapnel penetrating the chest, broken ribs from the crashâs impact, lung sliding on the left. The patient crashes twenty minutes into treatment; Dennis reclaims his title as the EDâs resident LUCAS machine.Â
Robby swoops into the patients room just as they get the patient back, his pulse thready but present. âWhoâs this?â He asks, already slipping a pair of gloves over his hands as he approaches the patientâs bedside. His eyes flick from the patientâs vitals, over their chest and abdomen, to McKay, and then to Dennis. Itâs only when his gaze reaches the younger doctor that he faltersâ not from the protruding foreign body in the patientâs chest, nor the blood soaked sheets, but rather the sight of Whitaker sweat soaked and swaying beside the patientâs bed.Â
âMarcus Haynes. 25,â McKay rattles off the patientâs known demographics before diving into his physical traumas, symptoms, and treatment. Robbyâs hands work their way over the patientâs torso, carrying out an exam as if by instinct as he listens.Â
âGood. Page surgery again.â Robby peels off his gloves with a snap. âTell them itâs urgent. This patient canât afford to wait for their hour-long stroll down the stairwell.â
The sharp sound of the gloves breaks through Dennisâs reverie. He had been standing idly by, barely cognizant of McKayâs words in the wake of exerting himself to perform CPR. Beads of sweat slip down the center of his back, pooling above the waistband of his scrub pants and slowly seeping into the fabric. Sweat collects on his face too, threatening to form full drops and roll over his flushed cheeks; he swipes absentmindedly at his forehead before they can reach that point.Â
âWhitaker. You alright?âÂ
Dennis looks towards Robby, nodding belatedly. âYeah.â Another nod. âYes, Iâm good.âÂ
The attending pauses, eyebrows raised as he watches Dennis wipe his forehead again. âAlright. Youâre with me then. Another rig is four minutes out.â
Dennis nods once more, trying to ignore the evergrowing sinking sensation in his stomach. Whatever spurt of adrenaline had carried him through the first patient has left him high and dryâ or, rather, feverish and sweat soaked. He follows Robby towards the ambulance bay, weaving through the crowd with much less coordination than necessary. He bumps into at least three people on the way, nearly trips over his own feet, and lets his hip collide with a passing gurney. If he was in a contest for socially and professionally inadequate doctors, heâd win by a long shot, heâs sure of it.Â
By some miracle, he manages to make it to the ambulance bay without completely humiliating himself. He didnât faceplant in front of the nurses station, at the very least. Plus, the air is cooler outside, fresher, less suffocatingly sterile. As the automatic doors slip shut behind him and Robby, they leave a pleasant quietness in their wake. Sure, the sounds of ambulance sirens are ebbing closer with every passing second, bringing with them the promise of more chaos, but at least thereâs a pleasant breeze, right?
âSo, called in on your day off, huh?â Robbyâs tone is conversational, but his eyes narrow as they take in Dennisâs appearance.Â
âYeah, I guess soâ er, well, I know so. Otherwise I wouldnât be here, obviously.âÂ
     10. Making conversation with my boss while feverish cursed
Robbyâs eyes soften slightly, a fondness easing his evident concern; heâs always enjoyed how easily Dennis blushes.Â
âHopefully youâre not here for too long. Except I canât make any promises, theseââ
âkzXCHh!âÂ
The sneeze takes the two doctors equally by surpriseâ Robby at having been interrupted and Dennis at having absolutely no warning for the expulsion. He raises a hand to his face, catching the second, âisXSchâew!â against his wrist.Â
âshifts tend toââ,â Robby resumes, continuing his sentence in the brief gap before another âhâtxChâitSch!â double gets muffled by Dennisâs sleeve.Â
ââdrag on much longer when our systems get bogged down,â this time, Robby pauses his speech rather than being interrupted, allowing just enough time for Dennis to hitch twice and sneeze another fittish triple, âhihâhhHâksxchâschâtzch!â
âBut for all we know,â Robby stretches his arms above his head, though his eyes remain trained on Dennis, âwe might both make it home in time for dinner.â
Dennis buries his nose in his elbow, once again wishing heâd worn an undershirt beneath his scrubs as he feels a bead of moisture press to his skin. He waits, the tickle dancing just beyond his reach, enough to make his breath hitch and eyes water, but not enough to heighten the sensation into anything more than irritation.Â
Dennis teeters on the edge, remaining tucked in the same position as he waits. He can feel Robbyâs gaze on him and it makes his cheeks flush a darker shade of pink.Â
Finally, his breath snags in something more than just a breathless gasp, spurring a light cough and then a half-stifled, âhâgtch!â He hadnât intended on stifling, but the sneeze gets caught behind the wall of congestion solidifying in his nose. The following sneeze makes more of an effort to escape, but it still gets stuck behind his teeth, failing into a breathy, soft end: âigâksst!â Â
Unsatisfied with the unexpelled half-sneezes, he shakes his head lightlyâ a bad idea in retrospect, it does nothing more than make him dizzy. Then, his head bobs forwards with a final vocal, âikâtSSHh-ue!â that leaves the crook of his elbow dusted with a light spray.Â
Dennis gives an involuntary sniffle afterwards, the pent up congestion now threatening to run over his lip like some post-fit humiliation ritual.Â
    11. Sneezing in front of my boss
âYou done?â Robbyâs voice falls somewhere between amused, endeared, and concernedâ not upset though, miraculously. Dennis nods and emerges from his elbow, remembering the crumpled excuse of a tissue he has shoved in his pocket from this morning and fumbling to retrieve it. âBless you.â
     12. Being blessed by my boss
âThangk you.â
The tissue does a poor job at cleaning him up. Already crumpled from inhabiting his pocket, its structural integrity isnât nearly as strong as he needs it to be. He resorts to half sniffling, half wiping his nose with his body turned away from Robby as the sirens draw nearer.Â
Robby watches, mentally toeing between the ideas of pointing out Dennisâs illness or giving him the benefit of the doubtâ although itâs becoming evident to him that the younger doctor doesnât know when to call it quits. âSo,â he begins, but heâs interrupted. Heâd underestimated how close the ambulance was to the bay; heâs been at the pitt long enough to be able to identify when a rig is going to pull up to the second, but heâs been uncharacteristically distracted.Â
The sirensâ sound grows tenfold as they approach at haphazard speeds, spinning around Dennisâs head as he stares loosely in the direction of the ambulance. He shoves his sodden tissue unceremoniously back into his pocket and finds a pair of gloves held just before his eyeline. With a quick nod of thanks to Robbyâ a disjointed, slow jerk of his headâ he accepts them and starts fumbling to pull them over his clammy hands.Â
âWhatâve we got?â Robby snaps into action, meeting the paramedics at the rigâs back door and immediately beginning his examination of the patient. Dennis tries to keep up, rushing to follow Robbyâs lead and nearly bumping straight into his back in the process. Smooth, Dennis, he mentally chides.Â
â50 year old female. She was an unrestrained passenger in the vehicle whenââÂ
Dennis prays that his adrenaline will take the reins again, silently willing his body to listen, to move, to attend to his surroundings, and to practice medicineâ easy, right?Â
âDana, we need a room!â Robby calls across the ED once they make it past the entrance, his hands already carrying out a partial exam.Â
âTrauma Twoâs open!â Dana bellows back. As always, sheâs working in the center of the chaos, acting as the pillar that keeps the whole damn place upright.Â
âAlright. Whitaker, youâre with me,â Robby casts a quick glance around, âMcKay! JavadiâÂ
The resident and student doctor join them in the trauma room at record speed, immediately getting the patientâs run-down, which, admittedly, was helpful for Dennis to hear again. A portable ultrasound is shoved into his hand, his other clutching loosely at a bottle of gelâ when had he grabbed that?â âDennis!â Javadi whispers, giving his elbow a slight nudge and snapping him out of his reverie.Â
âRightâ uh. Checking for lung sliding,â he spurs into action, his medical knowledge still miraculously intact despite his growing fever. âNo lung sliding on the left,â he reports as the other doctors attend to Robbyâs instructions, âthe rightâs clear too. Checking the abdomen next.âÂ
Robby steps back, allowing Dennis to take his place by the patientâs abdomen and position himself for the ultrasound. The room swirls around him for just a moment, its white walls blurring into a bright haze that forces Dennis to blink a few times to right his vision. One of Robbyâs hands settles on his shoulder, squeezing gently.Â
As distracting as Robbyâs touch can be, it brings Dennis back to his body for a moment, back to the fact that heâs actively treating a patient. âUhâ the gelâs a bit cold, sorry,â he announces to the (unconscious) patient out of habit as he begins the ultrasound. McKay and Javadi exchange a look of concern.Â
Dennis glides the ultrasound wand across the patientâs stomach, eyes straining to focus on the screen, âthereâs free fluid in the belly.â That gets Robbyâs attention immediately. He peers at the screen, reaching over to adjust Dennisâs hand ever so slightly before nodding.Â
âYep. It looks like a splenic injury. Javadi, what are our next steps?â
Dennis stares downwards, watching as Robbyâs hand once again steers his own to get a different angle. He shouldnât need help with an ultrasound, but his hand melts under Robbyâs, suddenly incapable of moving without guidance. A tingling sensation pools in the tips of his fingers, and Dennis is unable to decipher if itâs from the fact that Robbyâs hand is dwarfing his or if it's from the dizziness tugging at his consciousness.Â
Another nudge to his elbowâ harder this timeâ makes Dennis jerk his head upright. All three of the doctors have their eyes trained on him, so he sputters out a quiet, âsorry!âÂ
Before anyone can acknowledge Dennisâs behavior, Mohan opens the door in a rush, âRobby! We need you in Trauma One!â and with that, the attending is gone and McKay takes the lead.Â
Luckily, she knows to delegate most of the tasks to Javadi, giving Dennis simpler instructions and double checking his work. Within thirty minutes, the patient is stable and awaiting surgery, and heâs off the case.Â
Within the same thirty minute period, however, his symptoms start hitting him over the head like bricks one after the other: dizziness, headache (which makes the dizziness worse), congestion (which makes the headache worse), and body aches (which make the whole damn day worse).Â
    13. Worsening symptoms of my cold curse
As Dennis finally steps out of Trauma Two, heâs met with a resurgence of the pittâs chaos. More rigs have arrived since heâd last been in the bay, bringing with them emergent patients, some of whom were overflowing into the main halls.Â
His eyes flick from patient to patient, his brain lagging as he tries to deduce who to help first. The decision is made for him when Abbot spots him standing idly by, âWhitaker!â
Dennis crosses the sea of gurneys, nurses, and doctors to where Abbot is treating a tearful patient.Â
âShe has an anterior shoulder dislocation. Youâre going to help me reduce it,â Abbot instructs, eyes narrowing as he meets Dennisâs gaze, âgot it?â
Dennis nods, looking over the patient's dislocation before recounting, âthereâs skin tenting, most likely due to a bone fracture, so⌠traction-counteraction is needed. Then we can treat the break after.â
Abbot gives Dennis a onceover before bracing himself by the patientâs head and getting into position. âYouâre going to provide counteraction. Make sure youâve got a sturdy stance.âÂ
He tsks at Dennis, tilting his head to the side and gesturing with a nod of his head for Dennis to shift. âSpread your legs wider. Your feet shouldnât be aligned with your hips.âÂ
Dennis adjusts, earning a nod of approval as he tries desperately not to think about the way Jackâs voice had sounded when he instructed him to spread his legs; fever or not, his attraction to his attending persists.Â
The reduction itself goes relatively smoothly all things considered, but it seems to zap Dennisâs remaining energy. Sweat is still dripping down his back and pooling in his scrubs, and heâs certain that the pitt has never been hotter. He swipes his wrist across his forehead, collecting an embarrassing amount of sweat and wiping it against his scrubsâ thank God theyâre dark. He doesnât need everyone to know just how incapable his body is at regulating its temperature right now.Â
To make things worse, Dennisâs sinuses prickle angrily as he inhales, enough to make his eyes water. The sensation takes root in the left side of his nose, worsening with the next inhale, which stutters halfway through and falls into a fluttering exhale. Still standing by the patientâs bedside next to Dr Abbot, Dennis stalls; his feet plant themselves stubbornly in place, refusing to move until the itch is attended to. Two soft hitches build on one another and Dennis presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth.Â
He can feel his brows knitting together, eyes slipping shut just as the third and fourth hitches make it past his lips. The final hitch is determined, filling his chest with its inhale. Nose buried in his elbow, Dennis shudders with a congested stifle, ânâkGXt!âÂ
His head bobs down hard and quick, the action unplanting his feet and causing him to stumble towards Jack a few steps. The attendingâs hands land on Dennisâs sides, bracing him with a surprised, âJesus, kid.â
Dennis leans into the touch, his body overwhelmed byâ âhnâgxXt!ââ the itch thatâs now searing through his sinuses, having traveled from just the left side to what feels like his entire noseâ âihângXCch!âÂ
By instinct, Dennis tries to stifle, but his attempts just worsen his bodyâs need to expel the cold from its system, resulting in a quick gasp and then a cluster of sneezes that tumble out over one another, âigâksSst! ngXch-ksch!iihâksSCHh! kKâtTsSCHhyâw!â
The fit leaves Dennis panting, dizzy, and with his nose running into the crevice of his elbow. He keeps his head bowed and hidden, but an embarrassed blush reddens his ears and neck.Â
âBlââ Jack begins, but Dennis cuts him off with a belated, âtâsSXchâehw!â to which an older man raises an eyebrow. Abbot hesitates for a second, letting any final sneezes make themselves known before attempting to bless the younger doctor again.Â
âBless. You trying to set a record or something?âÂ
âNo, Iâmâ sorry. Iâm nodtâ,â Whitaker begins, words falling from his mouth without any real coherence. The itch lingers in the back of his throat, each word egging it on until, âhnGjXch! S-hihhâiSZSHh!âsorry!âÂ
A liquid sniffle follows Dennisâs apology, and he shoves his free hand into his pocket in a vain hope that it would contain a tissue. No such luck. He sniffles a second time, then a third, his nose still tucked into the crook of his elbow. Luckily, the sniffles are lost to the chaos of the ED, stamped out by sounds of medical machinery and a chorus of voices.Â
Dennis pointedly avoids Jackâs gaze, his eyes skirting around for the nearest exit from the overcrowded room. He can feel the attendingâs hands over his scrubs, bracing him with a sturdiness that he desperately needs.Â
The nurses station is crowded as ever, as is the rest of the pitt. An overflow of patient beds lines the hallways, blocking the exit nearest to Dennis. Fine, thatâs fine. He just has to cross by South 15, pass the breakroom, and take a few minutes in the stairwell by the family room.Â
âSorry,â Dennis offers again, his brain churning out the same useless apology as it works through the molasses clouding his judgement.Â
âWhitaker.â Jackâs hold on Dennisâs waist continues, his grip growing firmer as the student doctor takes a step forward.Â
Dennisâs fever-addled brain miscalculates. Lifting just a few inches off the ground, his foot collides clumsily with Abbotâs sneaker, missing the ground entirely and instead landing on the toe of his prosthetic.Â
Fumbling to find his footing, Dennis feels the room spin as he tries to lift his leg again; the limb shifts off of Jackâs foot, landing on solid ground by some miracle.Â
The heat thatâs been sitting dormant beneath Dennisâs skin now sears to the forefront of his mind, blurring his vision. His body practically wilts: legs shaking, posture slumping, and head swimming.Â
Oh. Shit.Â
He just barely registers, âAlright kid, stay with me. Youâre alright.âÂ
Dennis tries to nod, to get his tongue to do anything more than sit like a rock in his mouth. He wants to agreeâ yes, I am alrightâ but all he manages is another whispered apology as he slumps further towards Abbot.Â
âFuck!â Jack hooks his arms beneath Dennisâs, keeping the youngerâ surprisingly buffâ doctor upright. He barks, âRobby!!â as he casts a glance over his shoulder, catching his fellow attending in his line of sight.Â
that's all for now ~ any and all comments/tags are appreciated :) thank you for reading!
also I think it's funny the places that snzfic brings me because I spent a good amount of time looking up Pittsburgh colliding blocks as well as info about shoulder dislocations... whoops
CW â illness, fever, dizziness, sneezing. Takes place around 6 months after season 1, prior to season 2.
D/ennis has been cursed, heâs sure of it. With how terrible his day has been, it must be true⌠And if this âcurseâ just so happens to correspond with flu-like symptoms, so what? He doesnât know the internal workings of whichever etsy witch or wizard had been paid to target him. AKA D/ennis Wh/itaker gets called in to the ED on his first day off all week. He gradually realizes that the headache he sported the day prior was his bodyâs way of warning him that he had caught cold. As his day progresses, he makes a list of "things that are going wrong today."
After part one, which can be found here, the list is as follows:
Woken up early
Called into work
Empty tissue box
Ran to the bus-stop
No food
No keys
A curse
With that said, here's part two beneath the cut!
The average city block in the US ranges from 250 to 1250 feet, usually falling on the shorter end of the spectrum. Grid-based city blocks are typically around 330 feetâ not too long, not too short. A perfect Goldilocks of a block, if you think about it.Â
Pittsburgh blocks, on the other hand, are whatever the fuck they want to be. Dennis had done a fair amount of research about Pittsburgh when he first moved to the city. He needed to know the public transit systems, the walking time from shelter to ED, the easiest routes, and safest areas for squatting. So, naturally, heâd learned about the lack of a standard grid system. He vaguely recounts a report about the abnormally challenging, hilly topography of the cityâ too many inclines, rivers, and unnatural terrains for there to be much organization in the streetâs layouts. Itâs called a colliding grid, he thinks, or something along those lines.Â
To the ongoing list, he adds:
8. Colliding grid blocksÂ
Because of course the two blocks between the bus stop and the ED have to be the longest blocks imaginable, much closer to the 1250 feet range than the blessedly short 250. The slight uphill gradient doesnât help, nor does the uneven sidewalk with more cracks and bumps than flat surface.Â
Equally as unhelpful is his nose's inability to stop running. He has to stop every twenty or so paces to wipe at the appendage, refusing to blow it and forgo his last functioning tissue unless it proves to be absolutely necessary.Â
Sneaker-clad feet drag against the pavement, their ache increasing with every break he has to take. Dennis has grown rather fond of his shoes, even with Trinityâs teasing that he shares the same style as her deceased grandmother. âThey support my archesâ had been Dennisâs defense in buying them, stylish or not (definitely not). Afterall, heâs on his feet all day at work, he might as well make an effort to accommodate his body.Â
Despite these efforts to make his body more comfortable, he can feel it staging a full fledged protest to being upright. Every time his foot meets the ground, the force of the concrete reverberates up through his leg, pinching at every joint it meets. Then, his legs propel him forwards with a stilt-like, uncoordinated gate, only for his other foot to hit the ground. And so on and so forth.Â
Upon making it to the ED, Dennis plants himself on a bench just outside the ambulance bay. He knows he should buck up and go inside. People have it worse off than he does; heâs not bleeding, not broken, not needing medical attention. Heâs just⌠cursed.Â
The benchâs metal feels cool against his skin and he presses both of his palms to it, ignoring whatever germs are clinging to its surface. A brief reprieve from the heat works its way from his hands up his forearms, leaving a spattering of goosebumps that disappear after a few seconds. He shivers, and they reappear, intermixing with the light freckles speckled over his upper arms. For a second, he stills, and then another shiver sparks through his spine, his body caught in a dance between hot and cold.Â
Dennis internally groans, wishing heâd thought to put a long sleeve beneath his scrub top as his overstimulated system settles on another shiver and a sudden chill. He knows he needs to stop sulking outside, to pull himself together and clock in, but the idea of spending all day on his feet is enough to keep him seated. Just one more minute, he reasons. Whatâs the harm in taking one more minute for himself?Â
A distant ringing of sirens echoes through Dennisâs mind as it draws nearerâ is the ringing from the sirens? The sound isnât quite right, not the typical chorus of ambulance blaring, but something louder, harsher. It ricochets from one ear to the other before bouncing back, working its way through Dennisâs brain in piercing jolts.Â
âWhitaker?âÂ
Dennisâs eyes open, adjusting to the sight of a man standing in front of him. He hadnât realized his eyes had closed; they must have slipped shut of their own volition. After a painfully slow second, Dennis recognizes the figure that addressed him, mentally scolding himself for not having done so sooner.Â
âDr. Abbotâ whadt are you doing here?âÂ
âMassive MVC. Six incoming patients with severe injury, countless others still on scene.â Jack answers, recounting the medical details that had slipped from Dennisâs mind. âAll hands on deck.â
Right. There was a reason for Dennis having dragged himself out of bed and to the ED. Work. Heâs working. And yet his mind lingers for a second too long on the number six, the mention dredging up thoughts about the man from the bus and his evident curse.
Jackâs eyes flick over Dennisâs form, scanning him head to toe. The older manâs lips curve into a slight frown as he catalogues the obvious signs of illness afflicting the other doctor; Dennis remains oblivious to the expression. Heâs too busy willing himself to stand, silently egging on his legs to do the things theyâre supposed to doâ such as taking more than one step without stumbling and functioning non-mechanically.Â
    9. Legs
When Dennis finally does stand, he chances a quick glance at Jackâ the timid, hesitant kind of glance that he reserves for the twice-his-age-attendings that he finds particularly attractiveâ and, to his surprise, is met with Jackâs unfaltering gaze. An embarrassed flush blooms over Dennisâs cheeks, mixing with the previous fever pink tint and making him look even more overheated than he previously had.Â
âSo⌠shall we?â He gestures towards the ambulance bay doors, silently cursing himself for saying âshall weâ to his attending; he hasnât even entered the ED yet and heâs already proven himself socially incompetent.Â
âWe shall.â Jack juts his chin towards the doors, a small movement, but one that Dennis reads clearly enough as a prompt for him to enter first.Â
The chaos of the ED hits Dennis all at once, sending a surge of adrenaline through his body the second he steps inside. As always, thereâs a chorus of medical equipment beeping, blaring, and ringing, but thatâs just the undercurrent to the swell of shouting. Everyone is working over one another, weaving around gurneys with clusters of doctors and nurses working to the MVC patientsâ at least, those who have already arrived.Â
Across the room, Dennis catches a glimpse of Trinity performing CPR on a seemingly unresponsive patient, but he doesnât have the time to give her a second thought. Jackâs hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing firm before he disappears into the mess of medical professionals.Â
Dennis joins the frey too, his bodyâs autopilot winning over his brainâs fever muddled antics. He jumps onto a case with McKayâ a 25 year old male, responsive at the scene, car shrapnel penetrating the chest, broken ribs from the crashâs impact, lung sliding on the left. The patient crashes twenty minutes into treatment; Dennis reclaims his title as the EDâs resident LUCAS machine.Â
Robby swoops into the patients room just as they get the patient back, his pulse thready but present. âWhoâs this?â He asks, already slipping a pair of gloves over his hands as he approaches the patientâs bedside. His eyes flick from the patientâs vitals, over their chest and abdomen, to McKay, and then to Dennis. Itâs only when his gaze reaches the younger doctor that he faltersâ not from the protruding foreign body in the patientâs chest, nor the blood soaked sheets, but rather the sight of Whitaker sweat soaked and swaying beside the patientâs bed.Â
âMarcus Haynes. 25,â McKay rattles off the patientâs known demographics before diving into his physical traumas, symptoms, and treatment. Robbyâs hands work their way over the patientâs torso, carrying out an exam as if by instinct as he listens.Â
âGood. Page surgery again.â Robby peels off his gloves with a snap. âTell them itâs urgent. This patient canât afford to wait for their hour-long stroll down the stairwell.â
The sharp sound of the gloves breaks through Dennisâs reverie. He had been standing idly by, barely cognizant of McKayâs words in the wake of exerting himself to perform CPR. Beads of sweat slip down the center of his back, pooling above the waistband of his scrub pants and slowly seeping into the fabric. Sweat collects on his face too, threatening to form full drops and roll over his flushed cheeks; he swipes absentmindedly at his forehead before they can reach that point.Â
âWhitaker. You alright?âÂ
Dennis looks towards Robby, nodding belatedly. âYeah.â Another nod. âYes, Iâm good.âÂ
The attending pauses, eyebrows raised as he watches Dennis wipe his forehead again. âAlright. Youâre with me then. Another rig is four minutes out.â
Dennis nods once more, trying to ignore the evergrowing sinking sensation in his stomach. Whatever spurt of adrenaline had carried him through the first patient has left him high and dryâ or, rather, feverish and sweat soaked. He follows Robby towards the ambulance bay, weaving through the crowd with much less coordination than necessary. He bumps into at least three people on the way, nearly trips over his own feet, and lets his hip collide with a passing gurney. If he was in a contest for socially and professionally inadequate doctors, heâd win by a long shot, heâs sure of it.Â
By some miracle, he manages to make it to the ambulance bay without completely humiliating himself. He didnât faceplant in front of the nurses station, at the very least. Plus, the air is cooler outside, fresher, less suffocatingly sterile. As the automatic doors slip shut behind him and Robby, they leave a pleasant quietness in their wake. Sure, the sounds of ambulance sirens are ebbing closer with every passing second, bringing with them the promise of more chaos, but at least thereâs a pleasant breeze, right?
âSo, called in on your day off, huh?â Robbyâs tone is conversational, but his eyes narrow as they take in Dennisâs appearance.Â
âYeah, I guess soâ er, well, I know so. Otherwise I wouldnât be here, obviously.âÂ
     10. Making conversation with my boss while feverish cursed
Robbyâs eyes soften slightly, a fondness easing his evident concern; heâs always enjoyed how easily Dennis blushes.Â
âHopefully youâre not here for too long. Except I canât make any promises, theseââ
âkzXCHh!âÂ
The sneeze takes the two doctors equally by surpriseâ Robby at having been interrupted and Dennis at having absolutely no warning for the expulsion. He raises a hand to his face, catching the second, âisXSchâew!â against his wrist.Â
âshifts tend toââ,â Robby resumes, continuing his sentence in the brief gap before another âhâtxChâitSch!â double gets muffled by Dennisâs sleeve.Â
ââdrag on much longer when our systems get bogged down,â this time, Robby pauses his speech rather than being interrupted, allowing just enough time for Dennis to hitch twice and sneeze another fittish triple, âhihâhhHâksxchâschâtzch!â
âBut for all we know,â Robby stretches his arms above his head, though his eyes remain trained on Dennis, âwe might both make it home in time for dinner.â
Dennis buries his nose in his elbow, once again wishing heâd worn an undershirt beneath his scrubs as he feels a bead of moisture press to his skin. He waits, the tickle dancing just beyond his reach, enough to make his breath hitch and eyes water, but not enough to heighten the sensation into anything more than irritation.Â
Dennis teeters on the edge, remaining tucked in the same position as he waits. He can feel Robbyâs gaze on him and it makes his cheeks flush a darker shade of pink.Â
Finally, his breath snags in something more than just a breathless gasp, spurring a light cough and then a half-stifled, âhâgtch!â He hadnât intended on stifling, but the sneeze gets caught behind the wall of congestion solidifying in his nose. The following sneeze makes more of an effort to escape, but it still gets stuck behind his teeth, failing into a breathy, soft end: âigâksst!â Â
Unsatisfied with the unexpelled half-sneezes, he shakes his head lightlyâ a bad idea in retrospect, it does nothing more than make him dizzy. Then, his head bobs forwards with a final vocal, âikâtSSHh-ue!â that leaves the crook of his elbow dusted with a light spray.Â
Dennis gives an involuntary sniffle afterwards, the pent up congestion now threatening to run over his lip like some post-fit humiliation ritual.Â
    11. Sneezing in front of my boss
âYou done?â Robbyâs voice falls somewhere between amused, endeared, and concernedâ not upset though, miraculously. Dennis nods and emerges from his elbow, remembering the crumpled excuse of a tissue he has shoved in his pocket from this morning and fumbling to retrieve it. âBless you.â
     12. Being blessed by my boss
âThangk you.â
The tissue does a poor job at cleaning him up. Already crumpled from inhabiting his pocket, its structural integrity isnât nearly as strong as he needs it to be. He resorts to half sniffling, half wiping his nose with his body turned away from Robby as the sirens draw nearer.Â
Robby watches, mentally toeing between the ideas of pointing out Dennisâs illness or giving him the benefit of the doubtâ although itâs becoming evident to him that the younger doctor doesnât know when to call it quits. âSo,â he begins, but heâs interrupted. Heâd underestimated how close the ambulance was to the bay; heâs been at the pitt long enough to be able to identify when a rig is going to pull up to the second, but heâs been uncharacteristically distracted.Â
The sirensâ sound grows tenfold as they approach at haphazard speeds, spinning around Dennisâs head as he stares loosely in the direction of the ambulance. He shoves his sodden tissue unceremoniously back into his pocket and finds a pair of gloves held just before his eyeline. With a quick nod of thanks to Robbyâ a disjointed, slow jerk of his headâ he accepts them and starts fumbling to pull them over his clammy hands.Â
âWhatâve we got?â Robby snaps into action, meeting the paramedics at the rigâs back door and immediately beginning his examination of the patient. Dennis tries to keep up, rushing to follow Robbyâs lead and nearly bumping straight into his back in the process. Smooth, Dennis, he mentally chides.Â
â50 year old female. She was an unrestrained passenger in the vehicle whenââÂ
Dennis prays that his adrenaline will take the reins again, silently willing his body to listen, to move, to attend to his surroundings, and to practice medicineâ easy, right?Â
âDana, we need a room!â Robby calls across the ED once they make it past the entrance, his hands already carrying out a partial exam.Â
âTrauma Twoâs open!â Dana bellows back. As always, sheâs working in the center of the chaos, acting as the pillar that keeps the whole damn place upright.Â
âAlright. Whitaker, youâre with me,â Robby casts a quick glance around, âMcKay! JavadiâÂ
The resident and student doctor join them in the trauma room at record speed, immediately getting the patientâs run-down, which, admittedly, was helpful for Dennis to hear again. A portable ultrasound is shoved into his hand, his other clutching loosely at a bottle of gelâ when had he grabbed that?â âDennis!â Javadi whispers, giving his elbow a slight nudge and snapping him out of his reverie.Â
âRightâ uh. Checking for lung sliding,â he spurs into action, his medical knowledge still miraculously intact despite his growing fever. âNo lung sliding on the left,â he reports as the other doctors attend to Robbyâs instructions, âthe rightâs clear too. Checking the abdomen next.âÂ
Robby steps back, allowing Dennis to take his place by the patientâs abdomen and position himself for the ultrasound. The room swirls around him for just a moment, its white walls blurring into a bright haze that forces Dennis to blink a few times to right his vision. One of Robbyâs hands settles on his shoulder, squeezing gently.Â
As distracting as Robbyâs touch can be, it brings Dennis back to his body for a moment, back to the fact that heâs actively treating a patient. âUhâ the gelâs a bit cold, sorry,â he announces to the (unconscious) patient out of habit as he begins the ultrasound. McKay and Javadi exchange a look of concern.Â
Dennis glides the ultrasound wand across the patientâs stomach, eyes straining to focus on the screen, âthereâs free fluid in the belly.â That gets Robbyâs attention immediately. He peers at the screen, reaching over to adjust Dennisâs hand ever so slightly before nodding.Â
âYep. It looks like a splenic injury. Javadi, what are our next steps?â
Dennis stares downwards, watching as Robbyâs hand once again steers his own to get a different angle. He shouldnât need help with an ultrasound, but his hand melts under Robbyâs, suddenly incapable of moving without guidance. A tingling sensation pools in the tips of his fingers, and Dennis is unable to decipher if itâs from the fact that Robbyâs hand is dwarfing his or if it's from the dizziness tugging at his consciousness.Â
Another nudge to his elbowâ harder this timeâ makes Dennis jerk his head upright. All three of the doctors have their eyes trained on him, so he sputters out a quiet, âsorry!âÂ
Before anyone can acknowledge Dennisâs behavior, Mohan opens the door in a rush, âRobby! We need you in Trauma One!â and with that, the attending is gone and McKay takes the lead.Â
Luckily, she knows to delegate most of the tasks to Javadi, giving Dennis simpler instructions and double checking his work. Within thirty minutes, the patient is stable and awaiting surgery, and heâs off the case.Â
Within the same thirty minute period, however, his symptoms start hitting him over the head like bricks one after the other: dizziness, headache (which makes the dizziness worse), congestion (which makes the headache worse), and body aches (which make the whole damn day worse).Â
    13. Worsening symptoms of my cold curse
As Dennis finally steps out of Trauma Two, heâs met with a resurgence of the pittâs chaos. More rigs have arrived since heâd last been in the bay, bringing with them emergent patients, some of whom were overflowing into the main halls.Â
His eyes flick from patient to patient, his brain lagging as he tries to deduce who to help first. The decision is made for him when Abbot spots him standing idly by, âWhitaker!â
Dennis crosses the sea of gurneys, nurses, and doctors to where Abbot is treating a tearful patient.Â
âShe has an anterior shoulder dislocation. Youâre going to help me reduce it,â Abbot instructs, eyes narrowing as he meets Dennisâs gaze, âgot it?â
Dennis nods, looking over the patient's dislocation before recounting, âthereâs skin tenting, most likely due to a bone fracture, so⌠traction-counteraction is needed. Then we can treat the break after.â
Abbot gives Dennis a onceover before bracing himself by the patientâs head and getting into position. âYouâre going to provide counteraction. Make sure youâve got a sturdy stance.âÂ
He tsks at Dennis, tilting his head to the side and gesturing with a nod of his head for Dennis to shift. âSpread your legs wider. Your feet shouldnât be aligned with your hips.âÂ
Dennis adjusts, earning a nod of approval as he tries desperately not to think about the way Jackâs voice had sounded when he instructed him to spread his legs; fever or not, his attraction to his attending persists.Â
The reduction itself goes relatively smoothly all things considered, but it seems to zap Dennisâs remaining energy. Sweat is still dripping down his back and pooling in his scrubs, and heâs certain that the pitt has never been hotter. He swipes his wrist across his forehead, collecting an embarrassing amount of sweat and wiping it against his scrubsâ thank God theyâre dark. He doesnât need everyone to know just how incapable his body is at regulating its temperature right now.Â
To make things worse, Dennisâs sinuses prickle angrily as he inhales, enough to make his eyes water. The sensation takes root in the left side of his nose, worsening with the next inhale, which stutters halfway through and falls into a fluttering exhale. Still standing by the patientâs bedside next to Dr Abbot, Dennis stalls; his feet plant themselves stubbornly in place, refusing to move until the itch is attended to. Two soft hitches build on one another and Dennis presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth.Â
He can feel his brows knitting together, eyes slipping shut just as the third and fourth hitches make it past his lips. The final hitch is determined, filling his chest with its inhale. Nose buried in his elbow, Dennis shudders with a congested stifle, ânâkGXt!âÂ
His head bobs down hard and quick, the action unplanting his feet and causing him to stumble towards Jack a few steps. The attendingâs hands land on Dennisâs sides, bracing him with a surprised, âJesus, kid.â
Dennis leans into the touch, his body overwhelmed byâ âhnâgxXt!ââ the itch thatâs now searing through his sinuses, having traveled from just the left side to what feels like his entire noseâ âihângXCch!âÂ
By instinct, Dennis tries to stifle, but his attempts just worsen his bodyâs need to expel the cold from its system, resulting in a quick gasp and then a cluster of sneezes that tumble out over one another, âigâksSst! ngXch-ksch!iihâksSCHh! kKâtTsSCHhyâw!â
The fit leaves Dennis panting, dizzy, and with his nose running into the crevice of his elbow. He keeps his head bowed and hidden, but an embarrassed blush reddens his ears and neck.Â
âBlââ Jack begins, but Dennis cuts him off with a belated, âtâsSXchâehw!â to which an older man raises an eyebrow. Abbot hesitates for a second, letting any final sneezes make themselves known before attempting to bless the younger doctor again.Â
âBless. You trying to set a record or something?âÂ
âNo, Iâmâ sorry. Iâm nodtâ,â Whitaker begins, words falling from his mouth without any real coherence. The itch lingers in the back of his throat, each word egging it on until, âhnGjXch! S-hihhâiSZSHh!âsorry!âÂ
A liquid sniffle follows Dennisâs apology, and he shoves his free hand into his pocket in a vain hope that it would contain a tissue. No such luck. He sniffles a second time, then a third, his nose still tucked into the crook of his elbow. Luckily, the sniffles are lost to the chaos of the ED, stamped out by sounds of medical machinery and a chorus of voices.Â
Dennis pointedly avoids Jackâs gaze, his eyes skirting around for the nearest exit from the overcrowded room. He can feel the attendingâs hands over his scrubs, bracing him with a sturdiness that he desperately needs.Â
The nurses station is crowded as ever, as is the rest of the pitt. An overflow of patient beds lines the hallways, blocking the exit nearest to Dennis. Fine, thatâs fine. He just has to cross by South 15, pass the breakroom, and take a few minutes in the stairwell by the family room.Â
âSorry,â Dennis offers again, his brain churning out the same useless apology as it works through the molasses clouding his judgement.Â
âWhitaker.â Jackâs hold on Dennisâs waist continues, his grip growing firmer as the student doctor takes a step forward.Â
Dennisâs fever-addled brain miscalculates. Lifting just a few inches off the ground, his foot collides clumsily with Abbotâs sneaker, missing the ground entirely and instead landing on the toe of his prosthetic.Â
Fumbling to find his footing, Dennis feels the room spin as he tries to lift his leg again; the limb shifts off of Jackâs foot, landing on solid ground by some miracle.Â
The heat thatâs been sitting dormant beneath Dennisâs skin now sears to the forefront of his mind, blurring his vision. His body practically wilts: legs shaking, posture slumping, and head swimming.Â
Oh. Shit.Â
He just barely registers, âAlright kid, stay with me. Youâre alright.âÂ
Dennis tries to nod, to get his tongue to do anything more than sit like a rock in his mouth. He wants to agreeâ yes, I am alrightâ but all he manages is another whispered apology as he slumps further towards Abbot.Â
âFuck!â Jack hooks his arms beneath Dennisâs, keeping the youngerâ surprisingly buffâ doctor upright. He barks, âRobby!!â as he casts a glance over his shoulder, catching his fellow attending in his line of sight.Â
that's all for now ~ any and all comments/tags are appreciated :) thank you for reading!
also I think it's funny the places that snzfic brings me because I spent a good amount of time looking up Pittsburgh colliding blocks as well as info about shoulder dislocations... whoops
CW â illness, fever, dizziness, sneezing. Takes place around 6 months after season 1, prior to season 2.
D/ennis has been cursed, heâs sure of it. With how terrible his day has been, it must be true⌠And if this âcurseâ just so happens to correspond with flu-like symptoms, so what? He doesnât know the internal workings of whichever etsy witch or wizard had been paid to target him. AKA D/ennis Wh/itaker gets called in to the ED on his first day off all week. He gradually realizes that the headache he sported the day prior was his bodyâs way of warning him that he had caught cold. As his day progresses, he makes a list of "things that are going wrong today."
After part one, which can be found here, the list is as follows:
Woken up early
Called into work
Empty tissue box
Ran to the bus-stop
No food
No keys
A curse
With that said, here's part two beneath the cut!
The average city block in the US ranges from 250 to 1250 feet, usually falling on the shorter end of the spectrum. Grid-based city blocks are typically around 330 feetâ not too long, not too short. A perfect Goldilocks of a block, if you think about it.Â
Pittsburgh blocks, on the other hand, are whatever the fuck they want to be. Dennis had done a fair amount of research about Pittsburgh when he first moved to the city. He needed to know the public transit systems, the walking time from shelter to ED, the easiest routes, and safest areas for squatting. So, naturally, heâd learned about the lack of a standard grid system. He vaguely recounts a report about the abnormally challenging, hilly topography of the cityâ too many inclines, rivers, and unnatural terrains for there to be much organization in the streetâs layouts. Itâs called a colliding grid, he thinks, or something along those lines.Â
To the ongoing list, he adds:
8. Colliding grid blocksÂ
Because of course the two blocks between the bus stop and the ED have to be the longest blocks imaginable, much closer to the 1250 feet range than the blessedly short 250. The slight uphill gradient doesnât help, nor does the uneven sidewalk with more cracks and bumps than flat surface.Â
Equally as unhelpful is his nose's inability to stop running. He has to stop every twenty or so paces to wipe at the appendage, refusing to blow it and forgo his last functioning tissue unless it proves to be absolutely necessary.Â
Sneaker-clad feet drag against the pavement, their ache increasing with every break he has to take. Dennis has grown rather fond of his shoes, even with Trinityâs teasing that he shares the same style as her deceased grandmother. âThey support my archesâ had been Dennisâs defense in buying them, stylish or not (definitely not). Afterall, heâs on his feet all day at work, he might as well make an effort to accommodate his body.Â
Despite these efforts to make his body more comfortable, he can feel it staging a full fledged protest to being upright. Every time his foot meets the ground, the force of the concrete reverberates up through his leg, pinching at every joint it meets. Then, his legs propel him forwards with a stilt-like, uncoordinated gate, only for his other foot to hit the ground. And so on and so forth.Â
Upon making it to the ED, Dennis plants himself on a bench just outside the ambulance bay. He knows he should buck up and go inside. People have it worse off than he does; heâs not bleeding, not broken, not needing medical attention. Heâs just⌠cursed.Â
The benchâs metal feels cool against his skin and he presses both of his palms to it, ignoring whatever germs are clinging to its surface. A brief reprieve from the heat works its way from his hands up his forearms, leaving a spattering of goosebumps that disappear after a few seconds. He shivers, and they reappear, intermixing with the light freckles speckled over his upper arms. For a second, he stills, and then another shiver sparks through his spine, his body caught in a dance between hot and cold.Â
Dennis internally groans, wishing heâd thought to put a long sleeve beneath his scrub top as his overstimulated system settles on another shiver and a sudden chill. He knows he needs to stop sulking outside, to pull himself together and clock in, but the idea of spending all day on his feet is enough to keep him seated. Just one more minute, he reasons. Whatâs the harm in taking one more minute for himself?Â
A distant ringing of sirens echoes through Dennisâs mind as it draws nearerâ is the ringing from the sirens? The sound isnât quite right, not the typical chorus of ambulance blaring, but something louder, harsher. It ricochets from one ear to the other before bouncing back, working its way through Dennisâs brain in piercing jolts.Â
âWhitaker?âÂ
Dennisâs eyes open, adjusting to the sight of a man standing in front of him. He hadnât realized his eyes had closed; they must have slipped shut of their own volition. After a painfully slow second, Dennis recognizes the figure that addressed him, mentally scolding himself for not having done so sooner.Â
âDr. Abbotâ whadt are you doing here?âÂ
âMassive MVC. Six incoming patients with severe injury, countless others still on scene.â Jack answers, recounting the medical details that had slipped from Dennisâs mind. âAll hands on deck.â
Right. There was a reason for Dennis having dragged himself out of bed and to the ED. Work. Heâs working. And yet his mind lingers for a second too long on the number six, the mention dredging up thoughts about the man from the bus and his evident curse.
Jackâs eyes flick over Dennisâs form, scanning him head to toe. The older manâs lips curve into a slight frown as he catalogues the obvious signs of illness afflicting the other doctor; Dennis remains oblivious to the expression. Heâs too busy willing himself to stand, silently egging on his legs to do the things theyâre supposed to doâ such as taking more than one step without stumbling and functioning non-mechanically.Â
    9. Legs
When Dennis finally does stand, he chances a quick glance at Jackâ the timid, hesitant kind of glance that he reserves for the twice-his-age-attendings that he finds particularly attractiveâ and, to his surprise, is met with Jackâs unfaltering gaze. An embarrassed flush blooms over Dennisâs cheeks, mixing with the previous fever pink tint and making him look even more overheated than he previously had.Â
âSo⌠shall we?â He gestures towards the ambulance bay doors, silently cursing himself for saying âshall weâ to his attending; he hasnât even entered the ED yet and heâs already proven himself socially incompetent.Â
âWe shall.â Jack juts his chin towards the doors, a small movement, but one that Dennis reads clearly enough as a prompt for him to enter first.Â
The chaos of the ED hits Dennis all at once, sending a surge of adrenaline through his body the second he steps inside. As always, thereâs a chorus of medical equipment beeping, blaring, and ringing, but thatâs just the undercurrent to the swell of shouting. Everyone is working over one another, weaving around gurneys with clusters of doctors and nurses working to the MVC patientsâ at least, those who have already arrived.Â
Across the room, Dennis catches a glimpse of Trinity performing CPR on a seemingly unresponsive patient, but he doesnât have the time to give her a second thought. Jackâs hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing firm before he disappears into the mess of medical professionals.Â
Dennis joins the frey too, his bodyâs autopilot winning over his brainâs fever muddled antics. He jumps onto a case with McKayâ a 25 year old male, responsive at the scene, car shrapnel penetrating the chest, broken ribs from the crashâs impact, lung sliding on the left. The patient crashes twenty minutes into treatment; Dennis reclaims his title as the EDâs resident LUCAS machine.Â
Robby swoops into the patients room just as they get the patient back, his pulse thready but present. âWhoâs this?â He asks, already slipping a pair of gloves over his hands as he approaches the patientâs bedside. His eyes flick from the patientâs vitals, over their chest and abdomen, to McKay, and then to Dennis. Itâs only when his gaze reaches the younger doctor that he faltersâ not from the protruding foreign body in the patientâs chest, nor the blood soaked sheets, but rather the sight of Whitaker sweat soaked and swaying beside the patientâs bed.Â
âMarcus Haynes. 25,â McKay rattles off the patientâs known demographics before diving into his physical traumas, symptoms, and treatment. Robbyâs hands work their way over the patientâs torso, carrying out an exam as if by instinct as he listens.Â
âGood. Page surgery again.â Robby peels off his gloves with a snap. âTell them itâs urgent. This patient canât afford to wait for their hour-long stroll down the stairwell.â
The sharp sound of the gloves breaks through Dennisâs reverie. He had been standing idly by, barely cognizant of McKayâs words in the wake of exerting himself to perform CPR. Beads of sweat slip down the center of his back, pooling above the waistband of his scrub pants and slowly seeping into the fabric. Sweat collects on his face too, threatening to form full drops and roll over his flushed cheeks; he swipes absentmindedly at his forehead before they can reach that point.Â
âWhitaker. You alright?âÂ
Dennis looks towards Robby, nodding belatedly. âYeah.â Another nod. âYes, Iâm good.âÂ
The attending pauses, eyebrows raised as he watches Dennis wipe his forehead again. âAlright. Youâre with me then. Another rig is four minutes out.â
Dennis nods once more, trying to ignore the evergrowing sinking sensation in his stomach. Whatever spurt of adrenaline had carried him through the first patient has left him high and dryâ or, rather, feverish and sweat soaked. He follows Robby towards the ambulance bay, weaving through the crowd with much less coordination than necessary. He bumps into at least three people on the way, nearly trips over his own feet, and lets his hip collide with a passing gurney. If he was in a contest for socially and professionally inadequate doctors, heâd win by a long shot, heâs sure of it.Â
By some miracle, he manages to make it to the ambulance bay without completely humiliating himself. He didnât faceplant in front of the nurses station, at the very least. Plus, the air is cooler outside, fresher, less suffocatingly sterile. As the automatic doors slip shut behind him and Robby, they leave a pleasant quietness in their wake. Sure, the sounds of ambulance sirens are ebbing closer with every passing second, bringing with them the promise of more chaos, but at least thereâs a pleasant breeze, right?
âSo, called in on your day off, huh?â Robbyâs tone is conversational, but his eyes narrow as they take in Dennisâs appearance.Â
âYeah, I guess soâ er, well, I know so. Otherwise I wouldnât be here, obviously.âÂ
     10. Making conversation with my boss while feverish cursed
Robbyâs eyes soften slightly, a fondness easing his evident concern; heâs always enjoyed how easily Dennis blushes.Â
âHopefully youâre not here for too long. Except I canât make any promises, theseââ
âkzXCHh!âÂ
The sneeze takes the two doctors equally by surpriseâ Robby at having been interrupted and Dennis at having absolutely no warning for the expulsion. He raises a hand to his face, catching the second, âisXSchâew!â against his wrist.Â
âshifts tend toââ,â Robby resumes, continuing his sentence in the brief gap before another âhâtxChâitSch!â double gets muffled by Dennisâs sleeve.Â
ââdrag on much longer when our systems get bogged down,â this time, Robby pauses his speech rather than being interrupted, allowing just enough time for Dennis to hitch twice and sneeze another fittish triple, âhihâhhHâksxchâschâtzch!â
âBut for all we know,â Robby stretches his arms above his head, though his eyes remain trained on Dennis, âwe might both make it home in time for dinner.â
Dennis buries his nose in his elbow, once again wishing heâd worn an undershirt beneath his scrubs as he feels a bead of moisture press to his skin. He waits, the tickle dancing just beyond his reach, enough to make his breath hitch and eyes water, but not enough to heighten the sensation into anything more than irritation.Â
Dennis teeters on the edge, remaining tucked in the same position as he waits. He can feel Robbyâs gaze on him and it makes his cheeks flush a darker shade of pink.Â
Finally, his breath snags in something more than just a breathless gasp, spurring a light cough and then a half-stifled, âhâgtch!â He hadnât intended on stifling, but the sneeze gets caught behind the wall of congestion solidifying in his nose. The following sneeze makes more of an effort to escape, but it still gets stuck behind his teeth, failing into a breathy, soft end: âigâksst!â Â
Unsatisfied with the unexpelled half-sneezes, he shakes his head lightlyâ a bad idea in retrospect, it does nothing more than make him dizzy. Then, his head bobs forwards with a final vocal, âikâtSSHh-ue!â that leaves the crook of his elbow dusted with a light spray.Â
Dennis gives an involuntary sniffle afterwards, the pent up congestion now threatening to run over his lip like some post-fit humiliation ritual.Â
    11. Sneezing in front of my boss
âYou done?â Robbyâs voice falls somewhere between amused, endeared, and concernedâ not upset though, miraculously. Dennis nods and emerges from his elbow, remembering the crumpled excuse of a tissue he has shoved in his pocket from this morning and fumbling to retrieve it. âBless you.â
     12. Being blessed by my boss
âThangk you.â
The tissue does a poor job at cleaning him up. Already crumpled from inhabiting his pocket, its structural integrity isnât nearly as strong as he needs it to be. He resorts to half sniffling, half wiping his nose with his body turned away from Robby as the sirens draw nearer.Â
Robby watches, mentally toeing between the ideas of pointing out Dennisâs illness or giving him the benefit of the doubtâ although itâs becoming evident to him that the younger doctor doesnât know when to call it quits. âSo,â he begins, but heâs interrupted. Heâd underestimated how close the ambulance was to the bay; heâs been at the pitt long enough to be able to identify when a rig is going to pull up to the second, but heâs been uncharacteristically distracted.Â
The sirensâ sound grows tenfold as they approach at haphazard speeds, spinning around Dennisâs head as he stares loosely in the direction of the ambulance. He shoves his sodden tissue unceremoniously back into his pocket and finds a pair of gloves held just before his eyeline. With a quick nod of thanks to Robbyâ a disjointed, slow jerk of his headâ he accepts them and starts fumbling to pull them over his clammy hands.Â
âWhatâve we got?â Robby snaps into action, meeting the paramedics at the rigâs back door and immediately beginning his examination of the patient. Dennis tries to keep up, rushing to follow Robbyâs lead and nearly bumping straight into his back in the process. Smooth, Dennis, he mentally chides.Â
â50 year old female. She was an unrestrained passenger in the vehicle whenââÂ
Dennis prays that his adrenaline will take the reins again, silently willing his body to listen, to move, to attend to his surroundings, and to practice medicineâ easy, right?Â
âDana, we need a room!â Robby calls across the ED once they make it past the entrance, his hands already carrying out a partial exam.Â
âTrauma Twoâs open!â Dana bellows back. As always, sheâs working in the center of the chaos, acting as the pillar that keeps the whole damn place upright.Â
âAlright. Whitaker, youâre with me,â Robby casts a quick glance around, âMcKay! JavadiâÂ
The resident and student doctor join them in the trauma room at record speed, immediately getting the patientâs run-down, which, admittedly, was helpful for Dennis to hear again. A portable ultrasound is shoved into his hand, his other clutching loosely at a bottle of gelâ when had he grabbed that?â âDennis!â Javadi whispers, giving his elbow a slight nudge and snapping him out of his reverie.Â
âRightâ uh. Checking for lung sliding,â he spurs into action, his medical knowledge still miraculously intact despite his growing fever. âNo lung sliding on the left,â he reports as the other doctors attend to Robbyâs instructions, âthe rightâs clear too. Checking the abdomen next.âÂ
Robby steps back, allowing Dennis to take his place by the patientâs abdomen and position himself for the ultrasound. The room swirls around him for just a moment, its white walls blurring into a bright haze that forces Dennis to blink a few times to right his vision. One of Robbyâs hands settles on his shoulder, squeezing gently.Â
As distracting as Robbyâs touch can be, it brings Dennis back to his body for a moment, back to the fact that heâs actively treating a patient. âUhâ the gelâs a bit cold, sorry,â he announces to the (unconscious) patient out of habit as he begins the ultrasound. McKay and Javadi exchange a look of concern.Â
Dennis glides the ultrasound wand across the patientâs stomach, eyes straining to focus on the screen, âthereâs free fluid in the belly.â That gets Robbyâs attention immediately. He peers at the screen, reaching over to adjust Dennisâs hand ever so slightly before nodding.Â
âYep. It looks like a splenic injury. Javadi, what are our next steps?â
Dennis stares downwards, watching as Robbyâs hand once again steers his own to get a different angle. He shouldnât need help with an ultrasound, but his hand melts under Robbyâs, suddenly incapable of moving without guidance. A tingling sensation pools in the tips of his fingers, and Dennis is unable to decipher if itâs from the fact that Robbyâs hand is dwarfing his or if it's from the dizziness tugging at his consciousness.Â
Another nudge to his elbowâ harder this timeâ makes Dennis jerk his head upright. All three of the doctors have their eyes trained on him, so he sputters out a quiet, âsorry!âÂ
Before anyone can acknowledge Dennisâs behavior, Mohan opens the door in a rush, âRobby! We need you in Trauma One!â and with that, the attending is gone and McKay takes the lead.Â
Luckily, she knows to delegate most of the tasks to Javadi, giving Dennis simpler instructions and double checking his work. Within thirty minutes, the patient is stable and awaiting surgery, and heâs off the case.Â
Within the same thirty minute period, however, his symptoms start hitting him over the head like bricks one after the other: dizziness, headache (which makes the dizziness worse), congestion (which makes the headache worse), and body aches (which make the whole damn day worse).Â
    13. Worsening symptoms of my cold curse
As Dennis finally steps out of Trauma Two, heâs met with a resurgence of the pittâs chaos. More rigs have arrived since heâd last been in the bay, bringing with them emergent patients, some of whom were overflowing into the main halls.Â
His eyes flick from patient to patient, his brain lagging as he tries to deduce who to help first. The decision is made for him when Abbot spots him standing idly by, âWhitaker!â
Dennis crosses the sea of gurneys, nurses, and doctors to where Abbot is treating a tearful patient.Â
âShe has an anterior shoulder dislocation. Youâre going to help me reduce it,â Abbot instructs, eyes narrowing as he meets Dennisâs gaze, âgot it?â
Dennis nods, looking over the patient's dislocation before recounting, âthereâs skin tenting, most likely due to a bone fracture, so⌠traction-counteraction is needed. Then we can treat the break after.â
Abbot gives Dennis a onceover before bracing himself by the patientâs head and getting into position. âYouâre going to provide counteraction. Make sure youâve got a sturdy stance.âÂ
He tsks at Dennis, tilting his head to the side and gesturing with a nod of his head for Dennis to shift. âSpread your legs wider. Your feet shouldnât be aligned with your hips.âÂ
Dennis adjusts, earning a nod of approval as he tries desperately not to think about the way Jackâs voice had sounded when he instructed him to spread his legs; fever or not, his attraction to his attending persists.Â
The reduction itself goes relatively smoothly all things considered, but it seems to zap Dennisâs remaining energy. Sweat is still dripping down his back and pooling in his scrubs, and heâs certain that the pitt has never been hotter. He swipes his wrist across his forehead, collecting an embarrassing amount of sweat and wiping it against his scrubsâ thank God theyâre dark. He doesnât need everyone to know just how incapable his body is at regulating its temperature right now.Â
To make things worse, Dennisâs sinuses prickle angrily as he inhales, enough to make his eyes water. The sensation takes root in the left side of his nose, worsening with the next inhale, which stutters halfway through and falls into a fluttering exhale. Still standing by the patientâs bedside next to Dr Abbot, Dennis stalls; his feet plant themselves stubbornly in place, refusing to move until the itch is attended to. Two soft hitches build on one another and Dennis presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth.Â
He can feel his brows knitting together, eyes slipping shut just as the third and fourth hitches make it past his lips. The final hitch is determined, filling his chest with its inhale. Nose buried in his elbow, Dennis shudders with a congested stifle, ânâkGXt!âÂ
His head bobs down hard and quick, the action unplanting his feet and causing him to stumble towards Jack a few steps. The attendingâs hands land on Dennisâs sides, bracing him with a surprised, âJesus, kid.â
Dennis leans into the touch, his body overwhelmed byâ âhnâgxXt!ââ the itch thatâs now searing through his sinuses, having traveled from just the left side to what feels like his entire noseâ âihângXCch!âÂ
By instinct, Dennis tries to stifle, but his attempts just worsen his bodyâs need to expel the cold from its system, resulting in a quick gasp and then a cluster of sneezes that tumble out over one another, âigâksSst! ngXch-ksch!iihâksSCHh! kKâtTsSCHhyâw!â
The fit leaves Dennis panting, dizzy, and with his nose running into the crevice of his elbow. He keeps his head bowed and hidden, but an embarrassed blush reddens his ears and neck.Â
âBlââ Jack begins, but Dennis cuts him off with a belated, âtâsSXchâehw!â to which an older man raises an eyebrow. Abbot hesitates for a second, letting any final sneezes make themselves known before attempting to bless the younger doctor again.Â
âBless. You trying to set a record or something?âÂ
âNo, Iâmâ sorry. Iâm nodtâ,â Whitaker begins, words falling from his mouth without any real coherence. The itch lingers in the back of his throat, each word egging it on until, âhnGjXch! S-hihhâiSZSHh!âsorry!âÂ
A liquid sniffle follows Dennisâs apology, and he shoves his free hand into his pocket in a vain hope that it would contain a tissue. No such luck. He sniffles a second time, then a third, his nose still tucked into the crook of his elbow. Luckily, the sniffles are lost to the chaos of the ED, stamped out by sounds of medical machinery and a chorus of voices.Â
Dennis pointedly avoids Jackâs gaze, his eyes skirting around for the nearest exit from the overcrowded room. He can feel the attendingâs hands over his scrubs, bracing him with a sturdiness that he desperately needs.Â
The nurses station is crowded as ever, as is the rest of the pitt. An overflow of patient beds lines the hallways, blocking the exit nearest to Dennis. Fine, thatâs fine. He just has to cross by South 15, pass the breakroom, and take a few minutes in the stairwell by the family room.Â
âSorry,â Dennis offers again, his brain churning out the same useless apology as it works through the molasses clouding his judgement.Â
âWhitaker.â Jackâs hold on Dennisâs waist continues, his grip growing firmer as the student doctor takes a step forward.Â
Dennisâs fever-addled brain miscalculates. Lifting just a few inches off the ground, his foot collides clumsily with Abbotâs sneaker, missing the ground entirely and instead landing on the toe of his prosthetic.Â
Fumbling to find his footing, Dennis feels the room spin as he tries to lift his leg again; the limb shifts off of Jackâs foot, landing on solid ground by some miracle.Â
The heat thatâs been sitting dormant beneath Dennisâs skin now sears to the forefront of his mind, blurring his vision. His body practically wilts: legs shaking, posture slumping, and head swimming.Â
Oh. Shit.Â
He just barely registers, âAlright kid, stay with me. Youâre alright.âÂ
Dennis tries to nod, to get his tongue to do anything more than sit like a rock in his mouth. He wants to agreeâ yes, I am alrightâ but all he manages is another whispered apology as he slumps further towards Abbot.Â
âFuck!â Jack hooks his arms beneath Dennisâs, keeping the youngerâ surprisingly buffâ doctor upright. He barks, âRobby!!â as he casts a glance over his shoulder, catching his fellow attending in his line of sight.Â
that's all for now ~ any and all comments/tags are appreciated :) thank you for reading!
also I think it's funny the places that snzfic brings me because I spent a good amount of time looking up Pittsburgh colliding blocks as well as info about shoulder dislocations... whoops
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would u ever consider writing more catallergy!mgm⌠the way you write him is so dear
this message made me so so happy!!!!!!!!!! just for you i went into my google docs and searched for "megumi" and now how about i post this part of a longer cat allergy fic where megumi's cat allergies are the star <3
set in the usual AU :D here are the first 4400 words!
đđŽđ ËËË â ËËË đđŻđ
âItadori-kun thinks I might be allergic to cats,â Okkotsu says just after the start of their teacher's house party, entirely innocent but foreboding all the same. âAre the ones inside bothering you at all?â
Oh, god. Megumi should have known.
Why does Yuji love to tell everybody about that?
âUsually they do,â Megumi says coolly. âBut I havenât actually been inside tonight.â
Okkotsu laughs faintly and says, âOh, sure, I guess that makes sense.â
âIeri-sanâs condo gives Megumi a really hard time until he leaves,â Yuji says, which makes Megumi wonder what heâd told Okkotsu for him to know about the issue in the first place. Obviously not a lot. He takes Megumi by the waist, affectionately squeezing him closer. âBut youâre still kinda sneezy for a few hours until we can go home and change, so usually we just stay out here to be safe.â
âWow, I had no idea it was that bad,â Okkotsu says. He looks Megumi up and down, probably without meaning to, and then jumps like heâs startled himself. âOh, should I move further away? I might have fur on my clothes.â
âItâs fine,â Megumi says quickly. He doesnât know whether thatâs true or not; heâs never spent much time with any cat owners aside from Ieri, who works in a sterile environment. He regrets his deflection instantly because Okkotsu is not the person heâd want to be with when he finds out. âHave you not interacted with cats much before?â
Self-consciously, Okkotsu smiles.
âNot really,â he says. âI mean⌠Animals mostly avoided me, when Rikaâs curse first showed up? She probably scared them. And ever since I got it under control, Iâve been too busy with work to spend time with anyoneâs pets.â
âDamn,â Yuji says. âThatâs sad. And now you donât even get to enjoy them, huh?â
Heâs so cute. Megumi distances himself from his own stupid mind.
âTheyâre less skittish than youâd think,â Megumi says, because maybe thatâll help Okkotsu feel better. Cats, like many creatures, are sorely misunderstood. Megumi doesnât ruminate on what heâs missing out on by being made incompatible with them, because bumming out wouldnât change anything. âBut either way, itâs probably best not to get too close.â
âIâm trying to remember if I was allergic before or not,â Okkotsu replies, looking up and off to the side contemplatively.
Yuji nods sadly and then rests his arm on Megumiâs shoulder while Okkotsu sniffles madly and resumes pushing his features around.Â
âMegumi sounded pretty much like you do the first time we came over,â he discloses. âOnly he knew why and we were able to leave earlier, so maybe youâre even more allergic than him. Does it work like that?â
âDepends,â Megumi says. âYou didnât touch them or anything, right? Ieriâs cats arenât really friendly.â
âNo, I got to pet one!â Okkotsu says. âBut she said the same thing, that they donât really like people.â
âWas it the white one?â Yuji asks. âHe let me give him a treat once.â
âNo.â Okkotsu shakes his head, nostrils flaring as he sniffles. âIt was that curly one, with the big ears?â
âWhoa,â Yuji says. He moves his arm out so itâs wrapped around Megumiâs shoulders. âIâve never seen him. How many does she have again?â
âFive,â Megumi says.
âFive catsâŚâ Okkotsu murmurs before sniffling again. âNo wonder you donât feel well, Fushiguro-kun. Do they just make you sneeze, or is it something else?â
âUh. Yeah,â is all he can manage to say. What a question.
âLike, a lot,â Yuji adds. âBut you donât really stick around to see if it gets worse than that, right?â
Absolutely not. Why would he?
âNo. Iâve never had a reason to.â
Yuji hums ominously, like heâs thinking some more about it. âYou did get a sinus headache that one time.â
âMmm, I hate those,â sympathizes Okkotsu. He rubs his eyes and then the space on his forehead above them, as though heâs developing a headache just by thinking about it. âI used to be able to sleep them off, but itâs hard when you canât really lie down all the way.â
âDamn. That sucks,â Yuji says in all his earnest charm. âSometimes you can tell when itâs coming on because these shadows show up right around, likeââ
He traces Megumiâs face with his index finger, right above his cheekbone and toward the outer bridge of his nose.
âUh-huh, me too. Toge points mine out sometimes. They get really bad,â Okkotsu says. He rub-wipes his nose on his shoulder as he reaches for his phone, sniffling as he unlocks the screen. âIâll let him know Iâm out here now. I think he was stalled trying to figure out a way to get Panda through the lobby without Maki having to carry him.â
The topic sticks. Somehow, they figure out the Panda situation like they always do, and Inumaki is able to surprise them with his entrance to the balcony being through a hidden stairway that even Ieri and Iori didnât know about. He explains that heâd done it to avoid walking through the apartment and risking attracting wayward tufts of cat fur with the static on his clothes.
It doesnât seem to have done much to help his boyfriend, but the secret door was at least interesting, so his detour wasnât all for naught.
Intermittently, Megumi â and everyone else at the party, both inside and out â can hear Okkotsu sneezing for the entirety of the evening, regardless of his cleansing exposure to the inner cityâs particulated version of fresh air. He and Inumaki leave on time with all their friends when the night closes out, but Megumi is distracted by the vestiges of their shared predicament for the rest of the week.
đđđâď¸đŻď¸đŞđ
The thrift market trip is a disaster, despite its halfway-organized, cluttered aisles of bookshelves creating a perfect maze of secluded corners for Megumi to occupy as he rides out the relentless ambush of a long-winded sneezing fit.
He can tell itâs coming shortly after he walks into the store, once their group has split up for the afternoon. Yuji had taken off with Inumaki toward an arcade down the street, and Megumi chose to follow Makiâs route through the bookstore to help her find a half-birthday gift for her sister, who doesnât even enjoy reading. Kugisaki came along because Maki was going, and Okkotsu followed because he isnât very good at video games and had never seen a novelty bookshop before.
Okkotsu has also never seen one of Megumiâs allergic reactions before, and Megumi will be damned if he canât keep it that way.
They happen acutely enough for him to be able to recognize all of the unique tells, despite not having much practice. For the most part, Megumi is good at keeping himself away from places that might trigger them. As long as he stays in the city and doesnât hang out in any pet stores, itâs hardly a concern at all.
But life can be unpredictable in all the worst ways, and unfortunately, todayâs scandal is a mark on its tally.
A high stack of thick hardcovers and sturdy shelves of requisitioned war journals make up his deliberate fortress of both privacy and alibi when the first couple of sneezes hit. Megumi knows better by now than to try and delay the impulse, and the dryness in his eyes and crawling in his sinuses provide enough warning to get away from everyone else before the episode could actually begin.
Quietly, Megumi inhales twice and pulls up his collar. Nobody is around to see him, but covering his face makes the whole ordeal feel safer. It comes on fast and blunt with barely a breath between â âhhâtsch! htâTSch!â â and then brings a tense pause before an unexpectedly cleansing third: âehGHshhâuh!â
The itch begins to recede. Itâs strange, but he doesnât need to sneeze again. Perhaps Megumiâs recent conversation with Okkotsu had darkened his memory, exaggerating his expectation of how dependable his allergy is in its severity. He hopes so. The vastness of the space might be helping, even if its abundance of merchandise is excessive enough to make him claustrophobic.
Who knows. The store could also just be dusty.
Either way, Megumi relaxes with nothing to worry about aside from the dregs of a runny nose. Itâs negligible enough for him to sniffle a couple of times and get rid of it, returning to his search for something compelling to read on the train ride home and then leave in a donation bin once itâs finished.
Absently, he wonders whether the others are having any luck navigating the collection. Megumi is used to hunting for books in places like this, but he doesnât think anybody else has the patience nor the interest for it. He keeps his ears open in case somebody needs help, and browses two more sections before the urge to sneeze advances on him quickly.
This time, thereâs less opportunity for discretion. The travel anthologies around him are closer to the middle of the store, with empty aisles to act as hallways on either side. He barely has time to get his wrist in front of his face before heâs flinching softly and clenching his teeth.
âdtSHh! hhâdzshâu! â DZshhâiu!â Unlike earlier, a just three doesnâ it. He presses down harder underneath his nose anyway. âiht-GKsshâih!â
He holds his breath, frozen as he waits, and resists the curious and embarrassed part of him the wants to look and see whether anyone is around to say something. It shouldnât be such a big deal, but Megumi sometimes wonders whether heâd be this adverse to sneezing in front of others if his tastes were less peculiar.
With the urge finally dimming, Megumi is safe to move. He doesnât have much of a choice in cleanup aside from the cuff of his sleeve, but there isnât much to manage, so he just deals with it. The fabric of his sweatshirt is dark enough to camouflage the damages.
As his time spent in the center continues, so does the growth of whatever irritation Megumiâs body is pressuring him to scratch away. He keeps his hands away from his eyes as much as possible despite the dry sting above his lashline, and he doesnât tempt himself by rubbing his nose too many times against the flexible, canvassy cotton covering his wrist when he sneezes against it.
But the opportunity comes regardless. Again, and again, and again.
He gets two in a row among a corner aisle of secondhand paperbacks: âTSsh! hdâtssh!â and a beat before the next set. âhtâCHshâu! CHhshâu!â
And only a few minutes to catch his breath until he exits the aisle, and then: âhttâCHsh! tsshâiu! âtzâshyiu!â
âŚFollowed by a break that exchanges the sneezing for a watery, trickling itch that feels torturous but appears tolerable, because itâs not so bad that he canât keep his face under control. Itâs almost serene in the way things seem to be calming down.
However, Megumiâs reprieve lasts all of ten minutes. Maybe fifteen, if he doesnât count the slow creep of intensity blooming right around his nose, his eyes, the roof of his mouth. Without any other choice, he resumes sneezing in a section spotlighting geographical references.Â
Twice at first, itchy and underwhelming: âkdTâsshâu! ehKzshâu!â
Three more a moment later, when heâs bending down to return a magazine that was written in the wrong language: âtzsh! ihTZshh! hhâIHtshâiu!â And then two into his shoulder, right after he stands up. âhtShhâu! NdTshhâiu!â
And again, before he exits the aisle, right in front ofâŚ
âhhH-TZsshâyu!â
âWhatâs your deal?â
âŚIn front of Maki. Great.
âNothing,â he says. Speaking for the first time since this began reveals to Megumi that his voice has become polluted with congestion. âIâm fine.â
On second thought, better Maki than Kugisaki or Okkotsu, god forbid. At least sheâs blunt and on an unrelated mission and generally uninterested in whatever is going on with him in general. Sheâd offered him her own brusque version of Are you okay? and will probably leave him alone now that itâs been addressed and sheâs too busy to tease him.
âYeah, real fine,â she replies, and luckily she doesnât fuss or argue. With her head held high, Maki stalks off somewhere else and Megumi wanders in the other direction.
By now, heâs able to commit to knowing that whatever is setting him off has been around for a while and isnât going to disappear. A cat in a store this big would be ridiculous, but it makes more sense than anything else. The culprit is unlikely to be any sort of plant, given the environment and Megumiâs history. Okkotsu is particularly sensitive to pollen, and theyâd all be able to hear it if he were having problems.
He cuts his mind off instantly. That thought is off-limits.
As is thinking about Okkotsu at all today, with his head already scratchy and swimming.
So it only makes sense that Megumi would run into him next, in a wide corner section with a sitting area, where heâs busy being involuntarily bullied into scratching that damned itch.
âhetâTZshiu! TZSshâiu! âŚhuhhIHZshâiuh!â Theyâre getting rougher now, more insistent, and making him take longer, less predictable breaths in between. âhhH! âhuhKdTsheu!â
Whatâs worse is that Okkotsu startles him with the kind of statement that has Megumiâs blood pressure swerving so quickly that it makes him dizzy.
âFushiguro-kun!â he says brightly, if not too loud for a bookstore. âI wondered if that was you sneezing back here. Are you alright?â
This has never happened before. Itâs already too much, not only because Okkotsu had referred to Megumi sneezing specifically â and could hear him the entire time, after all â but because heâs already being so nice about something so objectively unflattering.
âHey,â Megumi answers. Unlike with Maki, he canât bother lying, not just because it feels discrediting after what happened before but also because there wouldnât be any point. Heâs not going to stop, so he needs to fess up. âYeah, fine. Just something in the air.â
âOh, do you know what it is?â asks Okkotsu innocently.
âNot sure,â Megumi says. Heâs probably starting to look as bad as he feels, which actually isnât too awful â just annoyed and confused. And itchy, and mortified, with those telltale shiners under his eyes that Yuji was talking about the other night. He might not actually mind any of it so much if he were by himself, or behind a locked door with Yuji and a bed. But thatâs not at all whatâs happening right now.
Instead, heâs an hourâs train ride away from home among both strangers and friends, one of whom is interested in why Megumi canât seem to stop sneezing and has unintentionally cornered him to talk about it with excruciatingly endearing, characteristically genuine concern.
With all of his might, Megumi compartmentalizes himself wire by wire and entertains the mystery with prompting from one of the hottest people heâs ever met.
âProbably dander in the furniture or the vents,â he says. âNothing else has ever gotten to me like this.â
And honestly, Megumi is curious too. If his problem is with something else, then he wants to be able to avoid it in the future.
As though it would be visibly floating through the air, Okkotsu looks into the space around them. Not on any upholstery to check for fur and not on the floor for any traces of animal activity. Heâs cute. Megumi canât handle him.
âThatâs strange, isnât it? I feel okay,â he reports. Then, his expression changes as he appears to check himself, wrinkling and twitching his nose to make sure. âYeah, thatâs weird.â
There are a lot of things Megumi could say to that. Allergies exist on a spectrum, for one, and itâs especially true when it comes to cats in particular. There are certain breeds, colors, and proteins at play that bring out stronger responses in different people.Â
But Okkotsu does have a point. The protein that makes him sneeze is incredibly sticky, and cats shed it in abundance. If the airflow is poor enough, the stuff is going to be impossible to avoid. Okkotsu could have even been allergic to something else in Ieriâs home, or uniquely sensitive to her animals for some reason. Itâs easy to theorize, but hard to say for sure.
Allergies as a whole can be fickle. Perhaps thatâs the best way to sum it up.
âht-TZsh!â But heâs teaching by example instead. It comes on so suddenly that Megumi can only direct it into his shoulder, with his profile in plain view before he gets his hand up to shield Okkotsu from the rest. âtsshâiu! hhâKZsshâiu!â
Patiently, Okkotsu waits for Megumi to give some sort of signal that heâs finished.
âUh. Sorry,â is what he offers, and he needs to sniffle before he can drop his hand and face Okkotsu again. They barely make eye contact before heâs turning back for an encore into his arm, pointedly targeting the yearning itch. âheh-hhâizsshâyiuh!â
âNo, I donât think so,â Megumi says very, very calmly. Thereâs quite a lot packed into everything he just heard, echoing through his mind and stamping itself on the walls of his skull. He needs to push through the heat if he wants to focus.Â
âYou might need some air, then,â Okkotsu suggests. âThat always helps, doesnât it? Do you want me to go outside with you?â
âThatâs not a bad idea,â Megumi says, referring to the first part and flustered by the latter. And by Okkotsuâs commitment to helping him with this. âIâm alright. You donât have to chaperone.â
âI donât mind! I think Iâm done looking around,â Okkotsu says. âMaki is kinda taking forever.â
âI wonder whatâs holding them up,â Megumi agrees.Â
Heâs actually surprised theyâre still here. The objective of her trip was to find something her sister wouldnât like but couldnât write off as a gag gift. Mai has specific tastes, and Kugisaki is adept at finding ways to upset her â as a team, the two of them shouldnât have had any delays.
Unless there had been a distraction. And with Kugisaki involved, Megumi is sure to get an earful about it.
âMaki! Maki, come look! He just rolled over!â
Sooner rather than later, apparently.
Okkotsu looks to Megumi and says, âWhat do you think thatâs about?â
Megumi starts following in the direction of her voice and says, âPretty sure I have an idea.â
When they reach an area near the front counter, Okkotsuâs stride has caught him up with Megumi and then some. Megumi can see Okkotsuâs gaze beeline for a spare countertop where Kugisaki is crouched with her lips pursed affectionately, scratching the tawny patterned coat of a housecat.
âWatch what he does!â she commands of her wary girlfriend, then holds her phone in the air horizontally, swinging its attached fashion charm above the animalâs head. He waves a paw to swipe at it, and when Kugisaki pulls the charm up higher, the cat flips rightside-up and lowers its shoulders in preparation to pounce.
With a dry grin, Maki says, âHuh. Dudeâs vicious.â
âHaha! Gotcha!â Kugisaki replies triumphantly when she lifts the toy even further into the air, too high for her new friend to reach. The cat swipes at her next without actually touching her skin, and Kugisaki resumes the game, wiggling the charm near his face like before.Â
Kugisaki looks up at Maki to make sure sheâs watching. Theyâre effectively lost in each other; neither of them have noticed that anyone else has entered the scene.
Meanwhile, Okkotsu is lost in the scene itself. His eyes are wide with wonder, gaze bouncing back and forth as the cat tries over and over to capture a little plastic bear on a string.
âJust like in the jungle,â is Okkotsuâs enchanted remark. Yuji had been right; it is sad to think that Okkotsu has had such little interaction with animals that heâs never seen a domesticated cat at play before.
Whatâs even sadder is the way he lifts his hand and gently reaches out, then quickly bundles his fingers into a fist and stuffs it in his pocket. Megumi canât blame him.
After a second, Okkotsu whispers something else to himself, then turns his head to look at Megumi as he pulls his hand back out.
âI forgot I had these,â he says, extending a half-empty packet of tissues with a game store logo on them. âMaki gave them to me a while ago. Do you want them?â
Dwelling on a personâs word choice isnât always helpful, but Megumi canât help feeling a sharp warmth at Okkotsu giving him the whole thing instead of just one. Or Okkotsu carrying them around in the first place, and admitting to having needed them himself recently. Desperately, Megumi wishes he had a place to escape to and let his mind wander somewhere filthy and dark.
âThanks,â Megumi says, and when he accepts the tissues he realizes that means he has to use one in front of Okkotsu, lest he seem ungrateful or render the entire situation null. Thatâs fine. Itâs not like he hasnât needed to blow his nose for at least twenty minutes.
He has the sheet halfway to his face when Maki finally picks up on their presence, presumably having heard her own name. She takes a second to process the situation, and then exhibits an ominous smirk.
âAh. Thatâs why youâre so worked up,â she says, angling her head toward Kugisakiâs new best friend. âThis guy bothering you, Megumi?â
She really canât help herself. Megumi steels his posture and lets Maki have her fun.
âWhat do you thhh-hihhâ! think,â he says back, as dryly as he can manage. He puts the tissue â Okkotsuâs gift â to use, cupping it around his nose and mouth with one hand and twisting to the side. âhihâTSssh! tzSHâih!â
Only for a second, he feels Maki patting his shoulder.Â
âAlright,â she says, âwe donât need a demonstration. Weâll get going in a sec, I just need to check out.â
âWait, whatâs going on?â asks Kugisaki, now snapped out of her trance. When she unfolds to stand up, the cat jumps seamlessly onto the unoccupied counter so that she can continue to pet him. She looks at Megumi and says, âWhoa. What the hell happened to you?â
âItâsâŚâ He waves her off, literally, and sneezes once more. âihTZshhâuh!â
âMegumiâs allergic to cats,â Maki says. âMakes him sneeze like crazy. Câmon, letâs go to the register.â
âNo way, for real?â Kugisaki sticks out her bottom lip and huffs. The hand she isnât using to absently continue petting her friend is held out in anguish, meaning sheâs going to keep the attention on Megumi, where it doesnât belong. âHow are we supposed to keep throwing parties?â
âHuh?â Maki prompts. âWhat do you mean âkeepâ?â
âThis is why you have to stop keeping secrets from everyone, Fushiguro! How are you going to come over now?â Kugisaki gestures to the counter and says to Maki, âWe have to get a cat ASAP, obviously.â
âWhat?â Maki says.
âItâs not a secret,â Megumi says.
Kugisaki ignores him, pointing to the cat with her eyes fixed on Maki. âWeâre cat people. You love this one!â
Makiâs mouth twitches. âDo I?â
âYes! Come on.â Kugisaki holds out her hand, prompting the cat to rub its face on her knuckles. âHeâs so cool.â
While she doesnât disagree, Makiâs veto continues. âWe donât have time for a pet.â
âYou barely have to do anything! Cats are super easy. Our apartment is perfect for one, it has a little window he can sit on and everything.â
âUh-huh. And what about Megumi?â
âLeave me out of this.â
âYeah, donât act like you care about him all of a sudden. Oh, what if we get our cat a cute little swing to sit on and watch the birds? And we can feed him treats and train him to catch bugs and other stuff.â
âI wonder if thatâs why they brought them in here,â Maki muses, hand on her hip as she moves her head to look around, presumably checking for signs of other pets at work. That would make sense. âTo keep mice from getting in and chewing through the pages.â
âNo,â Kugisaki says, pitching her tone up round and high. âThey do it because theyâre so cute! It makes people want to stay!â
âThatâs not a good business model. Nobody would buy books theyâve already read in the store.â
While Kugisaki continues fawning and Maki tries to keep the obvious, incriminating fondness from showing on her face, Megumi apprehensively checks on Okkotsu.
Just like before, heâs showing no signs of distress in any place but his eyes, which hold something that looks like an unfortunate heap of yearning. Megumi made peace with this restriction long ago, which wasnât so bad given his inheritance of inorganic animals that heâs tried to be careful about perceiving as pets. But Okkotsu is new to a lot of things, and thereâs a frustrating, embarrassing sorrow that comes with oneâs own body forbidding engagement with something nice.
It doesnât help that Okkotsu enjoys interacting with new things. Megumi takes pity on the both of them.
âStill doing okay?â he asks, and Okkotsu nods without looking away.
âI think so,â he answers. He moves his eyes from the cat to Kugisaki and bravely says, âCan I pet him?â
âYes!â she says, beckoning Okkotsu over with her fingers, then demonstrates the same thing down toward the counter. âWatch: you go like this. Waitâ You arenât allergic, are you?â
âIâm not sure,â he says, stepping over and holding his hand out. âI thought I was, but Iâve been okay so far. I think this might be worth it even if I am.â
âJust donât go touching your face,â Maki warns. âLast thing we needâs the both of you pulling a Megumi the whole way back.â
âHmm, okay,â Okkotsu says, although keeping something heâs intentionally coated in dander off of his eyes and nose hadnât occurred to him.
âYou donât have to say it like that,â Megumi adds in protest.
âYeah, itâs not Fushiguro-kunâs fault. But stillâŚâ Okkotsu smiles with his chin up and teeth out. âThanks for looking out for everyone, Maki.â
Megumi is fairly sure Okkotsu had said that just to piss her off, perhaps even gallantly to get back at her for teasing. He sighs and resists dwelling.
On her way up to the register, Maki very kindly smacks Megumi on the shoulder. Kugisaki grins and joins Okkotsu in massaging the animalâs cheeks until it purrs.
fandom: j/jk (college au, more info on this in notes)
pairing: s/atosugu, lil bit of sexual at the end but more fade to black vibe
summary: g/ojo grew up only stifling & ge/to helps him ~unlearn~ this habit! (also ge/to lowkey has the kink)
word count: 1997
notes: this fic is based in the college au from the ao3 fic c/rimson s/upernova! itâs a super popular s/atosugu fic & i defff recommend but plz read the tags first, itâs also student/professor (both adults ofc) just in case that is not ur vibeâiâll link the fic here tho in case u wanna read it! :o ALSO if u have read this fic plzzzzz lets chat bc i have hcs spilling out my ears fr!!!!
some background on the au: g/ojo is the student at the uni studying astrophysics (and playing basketball) but his fam (g/ojo clan) is the most rich and powerful fam in japan and is very judgmental and hard on him, and expects him to take over the fam business when he graduates (point of contention in the story is he rlly doesnât want to but struggles to stand up for himself- aka he might seem ooc at times). ge/to is his philosophy professor. heâs very respected and adored by all the staff and most female students but heâs v stoic and keeps to himself, g/ojo decides to flirt w him as a joke and thus begins the slow burnâŚ
ok srry for the info dump, letâs begin now !
Suguru Geto enjoyed office hours. He had been teaching for 6 years now, and it had always been a highlight getting to work with his students more closely on the material he was so passionate about. It truly made the extra work hours fly by.
However, there was not a single uni-relatedly thought in his head as he gazed at the the beautiful white haired boy sitting behind his desk, leaned back in his chair, long legs perched lazily across the desktop.
Satoru Gojo was the most magnificent creature Suguru had ever laid his eyes on. It had been about 3 weeks since theyâd started seeing each other officially, and only the third time Suguru had worked up the courage to invite him to âstay late.â Being in a closed room with Satoru made his hands get clammy and his stomach feel like fireworks at the summer festival. But at the same time he absolutely could not get enough.
Suguru peaked out the door, making sure the coast was clear, then slowly locked it before turning back to catch eyes with Satoru, who was already grinning mischievously at him.
âYouâve got me all alone,â he drawled, standing up and leaning over the desk, batting those long white eyelashes. âYou nervous, Suguru?â
Suguruâs arms broke out in goosebumps hearing his first name, which was still a recent development. Since theyâd hooked up a few times, it had been decided it seemed okay to drop the formalities. He hoped the sensation never went away, the way each syllable dripped out of Satoruâs mouth like honey.
âMmmm,â Suguru mused, dropping down into his chair and looking up at him. âYes. You should be too. We need to be careful.â
Satoruâs eyes sparkled as he settled back on the desktop, facing him. âAre you still coming to my basketball game tomorrow? The other teamâs supposed to be crazy good.â He smirked. âBut if I have your face to look at in the stands, I promise weâll kick their ass.â
He started chattering on about how his parents wouldnât let him go to the next few practices because of âa work thing,â so it would be a good time to come.
Suguru had come to learn quite quickly that the Gojo empire came before pretty much anything Satoru enjoyed. Of course, he didnât feel comfortable commenting the full extent of these feelings yet. So he just let Satoru rant about them whenever he wantedâsurely it was good for him to get these things off his chest.
However, as Satoru began exasperatingly explaining how his parents were trying to force him to go to a business cocktail party in two weeks, which he despised, Suguru noted the noise levels. He couldnât help the way he canât relax, knowing a few of his colleagues liked to stay late on Thursdays.
âSatoru, a little quieter, pleeeease. Not all the staff will have gone home yet.â
This stopped Satoru mid sentence, and suddenly his eyes were blue pools of mischief again. He leaned his face down to look at Suguru behind his glasses, and said, âOh, Suguru, Iâm afraid Iâm gonna get a lot louder than this.â
Suguru felt his insides clench as heat pooled in his belly. Satoruâs glasses slipped down his nose as he started to slid off the desk, but suddenly his expression changed from ? toâpanic?
His eyes widened, and he pulled off his glasses, placing them beside him on the desktop. All advances from a second ago stilled. His lips parted and he reached up to scrub at his nose with his wrist.
âS-Sorry, one sehh-secâŚâ
Satoruâs face broke into a flush as he rubbed and pinched at his nose, turning away so that Suguru wasnât able to fully see his face.
Confused, Suguru stood up from the chair, moving forward and cupping Satoruâs cheek in his hand. Satoruâs eyes were so sensitive, it wasnât unusual for something to bother them. âAre you alright? Did you get something in your eye?â
âN-N-NoâIâIâmââ
Satoruâs eyes squeezed shut and Suguru saw his flushed lips part, his breath hitch in a pitchy gasp. He couldnât finish the words before he lurched forward, slamming a wrist against the underside of his nose, his head bumping against Suguruâs chest as he curled inward. His body jerked once, twice, three times.
Suguru rested a hand on his back, alarmed, before he realized. âO-Oh. Blessââ
âHhâŚxxgttt! nxxgtt!â Two more incredibly restrained sneezes, but not completely soundless this time. Satoru remained twisted forward, head resting against Suguruâs chest. He pressed three more silent stifles into his wrist. Suguru smiled, amused. He could feel the delicate white hair brushing against his chin as he breathed in the comforting scent of veryyy expensive shampoo.
âHeh! Ihâxxchu!â The last one was the loudest so far, but still incredibly stunted. Satoru let out a shakey breath and scooted backward, not looking up, and fumbled his hands around behind him. He grasped for a tissue from the box that was always sitting on Suguruâs desk and hurriedly cupped it around his nose.
Suguru stepped back to get a better look at him now that the fit had seemingly concluded. âBless you,â he offered, surprised at his boyfriendâs obvious discomfort. He added teasingly, âWhen you said youâd get louder, that isnât what I expected.â
The man who normally oozed confidence was now hiding his face behind a tissue, not meeting his eyes.
âT-Thanks. Sorry,â Satoru mumbled, blowing his nose quietly.
Suguru was once again stunned by this drastic shift in character. âY-Youâre apologizing? For sneezing?â
Satoru cringed at the words. âI guess I am. IâmâŚâ he tossed the soaked tissue into the bin before grabbing another. âI know theyâre annoying. Just ignore it.â
Suguru sat for a minute in stunned silence. As if he could read his questioning thoughts, Satoru blurted out, âM-My dad used toâŚtell me I needed to change them. The way I sneeze. He said I sounded like a little girl and he had a son, not a daughter.â
Suguru blinked. âI didnât know there was an option to change the way you sneeze,â he replied with astonishment. Satoruâs parents were absolutely, mind-boggling ridiculous. Heâd never heard of such a thing.
Satoru sighed and rolled his eyes, sliding his glasses back into position with a congested sniffle. âI tried for sooo long to make them soundâŚI donât know, manlier? I canât help it. Every time I sneeze, itâs likeâŚ.five, six timesâŚ.when Iâm sick, itâs even worse,â he groaned. âWhen Iâm sick Iâve hit fifteen. In one go.â
Suguru huffed a laugh and sat back into his chair. âSo youâve just resulted to making them silent then? Doesnât that hurt?â
Satoru nodded, the blush returning to his cheeks. âBut itâs better than hearing my dad bitching about a literal normal bodily function. Heâs such a dick, itâs insane.â He sniffled again. âNow I just do it on instinct. Just in case.â
Suguru raised his eyebrows. He loved learning these new little details about Satoru, no matter how silly. âWell, you donât need to do that around me. In fact, please donât. I donât want you hurting yourself.â
âI donât even remember what itâs like to sneeze like a normal person,â Satoru laughed nervously. âItâs been so long.â
And just then an idea formed in Suguruâs mind, something that made him feel uncomfortably warm. He couldnât really place what exactly about the idea excited him so much, but with Satoru, even the most mundane thing lit a fire in his belly. The kind of attraction that burned for every thing he did, no matter how small. So without really thinking about it, he said âI can help you?â
Suguruâs gaze shifted to his bookshelf, which was overflowing with an array of fun knickknacks from his many years of studying, of traveling, and now of teaching. His eyes fell on a relatively new additionâa quill pen heâd picked up from a museum a few weeks ago. He got up and lifted it delicately off the shelf, giving it a little shake to make sure it hadnât collected too much dust.
Satoruâs eyes widened as he brought the quill over, and Suguru swore he saw his nose twitch even at the sight of the feather. His Satoru, so magnificently sensitive. He was still sitting on the desk, so Suguru positioned himself in front of him, and gave him a reassuring smile. âDo you think this will work?â he asked innocently. âI think it would for me.â
Satoru nodded slowly, nervously. âUmâŚ.yea. Definitely,â he replied, his voice barely a whisper. âAre you sure? You donât think itâsâŚ.gross?â
Suguru reached out to gently ruffle his hair and murmured, ânothing you could ever do is gross to me.â He twirled the feather in his fingers. âBut if you want to stop, we can stop. Just tell me, okay?â
Satoru nodded and removed his glasses again. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, inching forward to give Suguru unrestricted access to his nose.
Having no other guidance than the occasional cartoon, Suguru brought the feather up and ran it under Satoruâs septum. The reaction was nearly immediate. Satoruâs features began to twitch and his lips parted, nostrils flaring dangerously as Suguru dragged the feather ever so gently along the bridge, then back down.
âS-Sugu-hihhh-â his breath began to catch so quickly. It took barely any stimulation at all, Suguru realized somewhat proudly, to have his beautiful boyfriend hanging on the edge of a sneeze.
Satoru was clearly trying to fight the tickle, but he was failing fast. His mouth fell open. He took pitchy gasps as his chest swelled, âHihhh! Hihihihhhh-â
âDonât try and hold back,â Suguru chided, âweâre trying to fix that, remember?â He knew, with one last gentle swipe of the feather, that it was a losing battle anyway. He pulled the feather back and gazed in awe at the sight of his boyfriendâs flushed face, his white lashes fluttering desperately, his nostrils trembling with need. Satoru took a final gasping inhale before his body pitched forward, unintentionally aiming directly for Suguruâs chest.
âIHhhâiitsh! hhânDSHhhâiw! tSCHhâiewwh! HihâŚh-hih-!â One hand reached out to hold Suguruâs shoulder, a weak attempt to steady himself, as his head snapped forward again and again. âtSZShh! tSsZCHHâiyu! hhâtSSHHhyu! Isshhh! IssHHHâiew!â
Satoruâs real sneezes were music to Suguruâs ears. He stroked his hair fondly as the fit continued. He wouldnât admit it, but the sensation of Satoruâs sneezes drenching his shirtâŚof him clinging to Suguruâs shoulder as the sneezes ripped through himâŚwas doing something to him. He wasnât sure heâd be able to come to terms with that quite yet.
âBless you, bless you,â Suguru whispered, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. âThat was cute. Are you alright?â
Satoru responded with another set of sneezesââtSCHhâiewwh! tSzzhh! IssHHâiew!ââbefore finally his body gave him a break to breathe.
âT-ThagkâŚyou,â he managed, panting heavily. He waited a minute before looking up, his face red and his nose streaming, before asking, âtissue, please?â
Suguru pressed a few into his palm and then stepped away, giving him a chance to clean up. âHow was that? Better?â
Satoru nodded earnestly. âSo much better. It actually felt really good.â
The heat in Suguruâs belly moved to gather between his legs. He cleared his throat awkwardly. âUmâŚg-good. Iâm glad I could help.â He looked down at his watch. âIâve got to get home soon so I can start grading the midterms from yesterday. Do you want to come and spend the night?â
Satoru hopped off the desk. He was back to having that sneaky smile on his face, and Suguru froze as he slid right down onto his lap. He had a knowing look in his eyes as he reached down to palm the growing bulge in Suguruâs pants.
âI think we should hurry up back to yours,â he whispered, voice dripping with sweetness. âLooks like thereâs something you need help with too.â
ââ
note: i canât help but make everyone have kink i fear đŤŁđŤŁđŤŁ thx for reading! :D
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I have too many WIPs to start another one, but imagine A/lastor and P/entious somehow getting trapped in a dusty closet/storage room/whatever.
Pen has the kink and is super embarrassed about sneezing in front of people. He starts reacting to the dust pretty quickly, staying as far away from A/lastor as possible and apologizing whenever he sneezes. Heâs not really doing anything to help, because he doesnât want to sneeze all over things. He just stays facing the wall, sniffling behind a handkerchief and trying to keep the dust out of his face.
A/lastor doesnât care about anything other than getting out of there. For whatever reason, he canât just break the door or teleport out and open it from the outside. He seems like heâs in a rush, says he has things to do. Pen is too caught up trying (and failing) to stop himself from sneezing to notice Alâs quiet sniffles. Eventually, he hears Al stifle a couple sneezes and freezes up because oh shit thatâs really cute actually. He turns around to see him pressing a finger under his nose, clearly struggling to hold back more. A/lastorâs eyes are closed, so he doesnât notice Pen staring at him like (˜°ă °˜) as he crumples into a spectacularly desperate sneezing fit.
Al mutters an apology and soon finds a way to open the door. P/entious is so turned on he thinks he might pass out-
Character A being so used to Character Bâs many-in-a-row sneezing fits that anytime A is talking when B starts sneezing, A simply adjusts the cadence of their speech and wraps the words around/between each sneeze â seamlessly weaving in a periodic blessing here and there â so that B doesnât miss anything A has to say.
Some possible dynamics to consider:
A does this specifically because they know B hates drawing attention to themselves when this happens
Despite A going out of their way to time their words between sneezes, B looks up at them once the fit is over and admits they didnât hear a damn thing
At some point A has to say âActually, I think Iâm just going to wait to finish my thoughtâ because the pace/intensity of the fit has suddenly picked up
A has the kink, and B doesnât know â and poor A is trying very hard to act as if nothing is happening and nervously keeps talking full-speed-ahead, much to the quiet bafflement of distracted-but-amused B
Alastor puts his finger under Vincent's nose and it stalls the sneeze but doesn't stop it and Vincent sneezes anyway
Vincent puts his finger under Al's nose (risky, biting range) and Al sneezes anyway, on purpose to teach Vincent not to touch
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(H/ucklerobbyâs Not So Perfect Picnic, The Sequel.)
Word count: 2.3k (I think, from memory, bc I saved this into drafts and forgot to add that.)
( very very mild content warning for a mention of c19. nothing based on it just that itâs tested for since the show is set in present days. )
𩵠collab with @silentsneezes đŠľ
Part 1/?
Itâs a miracle Jack manages to sleep, although he finds himself rousing around seven am â rolling over to find that Robbyâs eyes are already open. âThatâs kind of terrifying, by the way,â he whispers across Dennisâ sleeping form.
âMorning,â he whispers back, voice rough even in whisper tones. âI think heâs burning upâŚâ Robbyâs gaze moves to Dennis.
âMhm, can feel it,â Jack murmurs back, not even needing to double check with the back of his fingers against Dennisâ forehead. âHow bad, dâyou think?â
âProbably not dangerous⌠but maybe we should wake him up for meds soon sort of bad,â he muses, âbut, I donât want to wake him.â
Jack makes a small noise of agreement, considering their options. Most of them consist of him leaving the bed first, which is also not very tempting, but needs must. âDâyou still have a thermometer somewhere? Or, did you at least upgrade from the 1900âs model?â He teases his partner, glancing over to see Robby shooting him a look.
âFirstly, oral thermometers work just fine,â Robby starts, making the mistake of raising his vocal volume just ever so slightly⌠and, proceeding to try and muffle his coughing fit into his pillow.
âIdiot.â Jack sighs, moving to sit and grabbing his prosthetic from beside the bed. The moment of chaos is enough to begin to rouse Dennis, too, and so whilst Jack is dragging Robby up into a sitting position, he returns to the waking world with a small frown.
â⌠hm?â Dennis only hears sounds of distress, and he attempts to ask whatâs wrong, but his mind feels like somebody has filled it to the brim with treacle. So, all he manages is the small noise, which obviously nobody hears over Robbyâs coughing.
After the fit subsides, Jack hands Robby his glass of water, and Dennis just sort of lies there trying to figure out if he has the energy to move or not. His eyes are still closed, and he feels ten times worse than he did yesterday, which isnât exactly ideal. He settles on the fact that he doesnât really have the energy to do anything; although, of course there's one thing he can do. One thing he can probably always be counted on to doâŚ
⌠sneeze.
In the fever-addled daze, Dennis doesnât completely manage to register the fact that he needs to do so, until itâs already happening. So, when multiple bursts of tiny; âhhâiTtkksh! âkkshH! âkshHiew! h..ghhhâtchH-â tumble out one after another, itâs sort of already happening and he doesnât really have any choice but to just sneeze into the duvet. Until, he feels something soft over his mouth and nose and his eyes open and thereâs an angel â itâs Jack â above him catching his sneezes and saying something in a soft but gruff voice that Dennis doesnât quite understand.
â⌠urgent careâŚâ is the only thing he really registers, and even then it doesnât properly settle into his brain until heâs being manhandled into a sitting position and handed some pills and water.
âSwallow. Good.â
Dennis does as heâs told, and becomes granted a temporary moment of lucidity afterward. âUrgent care?â He croaks, wincing at the pain it causes in his throat. âNâŚno. I just have to sleep it off. Let me sleep it off?â He looks uncertainly at Robby, whoâs looking at him with guilty but sympathetic eyes, and suddenly Dennis just feels pathetic all over again for it.
âI can pull some strings,â Jack reassures, âwe wonât be there long.â
âWeâll be there long enough,â Dennis sniffles, feeling his eyes start to sting. Long enough for people to stare, make comments; observe and perceive him.
Robbyâs hands find his hips a moment later, enticing him into his hold. Jack mustâve gone to fetch something, because all of a sudden itâs just the two of them. Dennis doesnât want to know how high his fever is, but a shiver causes his muscles to momentarily contract and remind him how much everything fucking hurts.
âYou okay?â Robby whispers, keeping each purposeful touch as gentle as he can; whenever Dennis gets sick, things tend to be a lot more sensitive, especially his skin.
âNo,â Dennis mumbles, resting against his boyfriendâs chest. âYou okay?â He returns the question, and closes his eyes for a moment.
âIâve been better.â Coming from Robby, an admission like that must mean he feels pretty shitty â anything more than insistence that heâs fine is a miracle, though heâs been doing his best to unlearn those habits; as Dennis has so often pointed out, itâs entirely hypocritical to insist that Dennis practices self-care when Robby canât muster up enough sympathy for himself to even admit he feels poorly. Everyone in the pitt has been on the receiving side of Robbyâs cruelty when heâs sick, and despite Jack having always been the one to talk him down from that torrent, Dennis has started making progress too.
Today, though, Dennis is too tired to make much of Robbyâs response. His chest crackles with a slow, stuffy inhale, breath catching in his chest and struggling to dredge through the congestion settled just behind his ribs. He can feel the weight of it in his chestâs center, making him work to breathe without breaking into coughs.
âJackâs grabbing the keys,â Robby informs Dennis, keeping his voice a whisper both for his sake and his boyfriendâs. âDo you want to change before we go to urgent care?â
âNghh,â is all Robby gets in response. Dennis shifts in bed, the small effort to hide his face in Robbyâs chest taking every ounce of energy he has. Itâs like his limbs are filled with lead, heavy and unresponsive to his brainâs request for them to move.
âIâm taking that as a no,â Robby decides, shifting to try and stand, which earns a whine from Dennis. He manages to help him get to his feet, which once again is a sign heâs definitely sick â barely protesting anything Robbyâs doing, when usually heâd at least playfully argue.
â˘
The arrival to urgent care is fairly uneventful. Jack drives, for obvious reasons, and Dennis dozes in the back seat with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Thereâs a go bag sitting in the empty seat beside him, and Robby sits in the front seat whilst constantly checking the mirrors to make sure his partner is alright in the back. They park close to the entrance thanks to the perk of having a disability vehicle badge when Jack is driving (Robby makes the âIâm only with him for his disability chequeâ joke often, and Dennis choked on his drink the first time he heard it) and immediately both men in the front seats are making their way to the back, to help the third out of the car.
âDoing okay back here?â Robby asks, peering in. âYou look a little more lucid, actually.â He offers out his hand.
âTylenol worked,â Dennis replies, physically recoiling at the sound of his own croaky voice. âA little, at least.â He takes his boyfriendâs hand, and hoists himself out of the truck, bumping into his chest once heâs back on his own two feet properly.
Thereâs a small pause, where Dennis shuts his eyes against the sunlight and the sticky, unwelcome summerâs heat. âCanât we just stay here?â He mumbles against Robbyâs shirt.
âAs adorable as you both are, we should get inside,â Jack teases lightly. âCâmon. Weâll get it over with and then stay on the couch for the rest of the day.â
Dennis follows beside Robby, who takes him by the hand and allows him to lean against him slightly. Jack checks them in at the front desk, explaining everything to the receptionist, whilst the other two take their respective seats in the waiting area.
Dennis bites his tongue to stop himself from whining in discomfort as he takes a seat, shifting in the chair and trying to ignore the way his clothes cling uncomfortably tight to his skin. His undershirt is sticking to his back, held tight to his frame by a feverish sheen of sweat. Even worse is its tag, poking the nape of his neck with every movement he makes, itching at his skin just enough for it to be a constant discomfort.
âHey,â Robbyâs voice cuts through Dennisâs focus, soft and accompanied with a hand on his shoulder, âyou okay?â
Wordlessly, Dennis nods. He doesnât trust himself not to admit to his discomfort if he opens his mouth, not to tell Robby just how terrible he feels, and just how much he hates being here. Sitting in the squeaky, cheap chair in the corner of the urgent care feels like some sort of humiliation ritual. Not only had he caught his boyfriendâs cold, but he managed to rope Jack into taking care of him too.
He hadnât fully registered his discomfort before, too tired to really wrap his head around the fact that he was being brought to see a doctor. Now, however, that discomfort sits hot and heavy in his chest. It tugs at his limbs, weighing them down and imploring him to sink to the floor. It dampens his lashes, eyes brimming with tears he hadnât known were there.
âDennis.â
His eyes slip shut, squeezing a few tears out as heavy lids meet. He can feel Robbyâs gentle touch wiping them away with a softness he canât help but submit to. He leans forward expectantly and is met with Robbyâs hand, which shifts to cup his face.
âDen. Open your eyes baby.â The older manâs voice is soft, as soft as his touch, but Dennis canât obey. He gives a little huff in response â a wet, short breath that threatens to bloom into a cough.
After a moment, Dennis feels another hand land on his shoulder. Its grip is firmer than Robbyâs, that much he knows. The hand is slightly smaller too; it doesnât dwarf his shoulder in the same way that Robbyâs does. Jack, he thinks, letting himself sink further into the chair. A mix of guilt and relief churns in his mind. Heâd all but forced them to take care of him â he hadnât â and he feels terrible about it, but the fact that theyâre both here, both offering affectionate touches when he must look so gross is enough to dissuade his guilt ever so slightly.
His shirtâs tag reminds him of its presence as he slouches, pressing against his skin and urging him to itch. He makes a halfhearted effort to tug at the fabric of his shirt, his eyes still closed as he does. Instead, he ends up accidentally knocking his hand against Robbyâs wrist and making a quiet noise of discomfort.
âWhatâs up?â Jack questions, grip tightening on Dennisâs shoulder. Itâs grounding, but itâs not enough to negate the teasing of the tag.
Dennisâs tongue sits too heavy in his mouth, unwilling to form anything resembling speech. He makes a second attempt at itching where the tag meets his skin, fumbling to slip his hand under his shirt. The whole ordeal just exhausts him. Every movement makes his head spin, his vision still black as his eyes rest cloistered behind closed lids.
âTake your time, itâs okay. They said theyâre pretty busy, but I donât think weâll wait too long.â Jack gently rubs his back, surveying the room of waiting patients and mentally noting who seems to be worse off than Dennis. (Not many.)
He leans into the touch, but falters as he begins to hitch soft underneath the surgical mask heâs wearing. Now, sneezing in public was one thing, but sneezing in an urgent care waiting room where he would likely be extra perceived just seems a whole lot less fun. âHh-â
âHere,â Robby is already on the case, wrapping an arm around the younger man and pulling him closer, âjust sneeze into me. Youâre okay.â He carefully reaches to lower Dennisâ mask, knowing that it would be uncomfortable to constantly sneeze into the material, then guides him to rest against his chest.
Normally, Dennis would most likely deny the instruction, yet heâs so tired and warm and just wants to disappear, and heâs definitely too tired to try and quell the itch; so, he uses his boyfriend's chest as heâs told. âhHâisHhoo! âksHh, ktsShH-tsh! âkhshhiew!â Jack uses a palm to stabilize him from the other side, and Robby quietly gives words of encouragement. Dennis feels tears prick at his eyes, overwhelmed with the care heâs being gifted.
âMr. Whitaker?â As if by some miracle, heâs saved by the metaphorical bell. AKA the nurse whoâs now calling him back into a treatment room.
âCâmon,â Robby stands, whilst Dennis is still sniffling and slightly clinging on to the fabric of his shirt, trying desperately not to let his nose run past its threshold. âIâm sure Jack has a handkerchief. Or five.â He jests slightly, helping Dennis to his feet.
Jack, in one swift movement whilst the nurseâs back is turned, leans in and wipes Dennisâ nose for him, before pulling his mask back up with careful precision so as not to tickle him. If he wasnât feeling so awful and dazed, he wouldâve said thank you, but Jack knows that.
âSo,â the nurse gestures to a small curtained off section, with a bed. âTake a seat. Youâre having breathing issues?â The woman seems nice, not giving any questioning looks toward the trio. Sheâs young, with dyed hair and a septum piercing â Jackâs found theyâre usually the least judging, not that they go around advertising their situation in public.
Dennis is helped up onto the bed by his partners, where he stares at his hands and picks at the skin by his fingernails. âUh, itâs really not that bad, but yeah.â His voice is shot, and the nurse shoots him a sympathetic look.
âStarted with cold symptoms?â
He nods.
âAnd, is there anything else bothering you? Fever, I see.â She checks the notes. âAnd, youâve taken a dose of Tylenol⌠let me check your obs.â She reaches for the blood pressure monitor in the corner, and also hooks him up to a pulse ox. Whilst those are starting to gather a reading, she places a thermometer into his ear until it beeps.
Once the basic three are done, the nurse gets Dennis to sit up a little so that she can listen to his chest, and then takes a swab to test for strep, flu and C-19.
âWhile we wait for the results, I could hook you up to an IV â help you get rehydrated?â Jackâs already nodding in agreement. âAnd, you, Mr. Robinavich.â
âEveryone calls me Robby â Iâm fine. Iâm just here to support ââ
âYou were also checked in,â she glances at Jack. âSo, Iâm afraid Iâm going to have to check you over too, Sir.â
Robby turns to Jack almost in slow motion, giving him a look that says âweâre in public so I wonât get frustrated with you right now, but what the fuck?â He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. âRight, of course. But, after youâve finished treating him.â
After a small nod, the nurse disappears to fetch the equipment needed, leaving the trio alone together. âYouâre so stubborn,â Dennis mumbles, rubbing at the side of his nose with a knuckle. âLet her check you over. Please?â
âOh, youâd be a bastard to ignore those puppy dog eyes,â Jack smirks, nudging Robby with his elbow slightly.
Robby is quick to concede when he sees Dennisâs expression, the younger manâs features softened with fatigue and fever; his eyebags are darker than usual, his lids are drooping with exhaustion, and his eyes are watery with unfallen tears. He looks like the picture of sickness, his symptoms having undeniably taken a toll on his body.
âAttaboy,â Jack praises under his breath, lips quirking into a smirk when Robby gives him a look that reads âdonât start with meâ clear as day.
Dennis tries to appreciate the dialogue between the two, but his focus shifts to the everpresent sore throat that flares with every swallow. It had been easier to ignore when his cold had first developed, but now it demands his attention, toeing the line between too-dry and too-wet. Each inhale feels sharp, dry, painful as the air drags against the sensitive interior of his throat. That is, until it meets the wall of phlegm thatâs settled in his upper chest; then, it feels too thick, wet, congested. Getting a full breath feels impossible, and he knows better than to try â itâll only spur another bout of coughing.
So, he settles for shallow, unsatisfying little breaths that fall from his lips in a congested huff as he exhales. His nose is too blocked to provide any use in his attempt to breathe, forcing him to remain open-mouthed and trapped in this limbo of discomfort.
His eyelids are heavy, and he doesnât really plan on dozing; mostly because he doesnât want to wake himself up coughing. Or sneezing. But, with a steady hand resting on his chest rubbing gentle circles (heâs not sure if itâs Jack or Robby, and doesnât have the energy to open his eyes and see), the comfort sends him into a slightly fitful sleep all the same.
another part of a h/uckler/obby collab with the wonderful @softblesses !!
thank you to everyone who's left comments and tags on the previous posts :) you're fueling our p/itt obsession
11:24 pm.Â
The vague sounds of movement alongside a shift in the mattress rouse Dennis from sleep, shoving him into an uncomfortable, bleary, sweaty daze. The room is too dark for him to make anything out, but when he flops an arm to the side and finds a distinctly Robby-shaped divot empty in the mattress, he makes a quiet huff of protest.Â
Ow. The stuffy exhale scrapes his throat on the way out, making his eyes prickle with painful tears that only worsen when he swallows with a wince. Between his fever and his barely conscious state, Dennis canât piece together anything aside from the knowledge that Robby is gone.Â
He opens his mouth to call out for his boyfriend, but it just results in a voiceless squeak and a renewed burning through his throat. Oh. Okay.Â
Too exhausted to go find Robby himself, Dennis settles for rolling onto Robbyâs side of the bed and burying his face in his pillow, but instead of being met with the familiar scent heâd wanted, the movement just makes him dizzy. Dennis vaguely registers the faroff sound of someone in the kitchen as his eyes begin to droop shut again; their lids are too heavy for him to keep open, inclined to shut despite his best efforts.Â
Heâs seconds away from falling back to sleep when a shiver racks his body, sparking up through his spine and casting a blanket of heat out over his skin. Goosebumps prickle across his arms and legs and with a congested whine, Dennisâs legs work to kick off the blankets.Â
The action is less than graceful; he immediately gets tangled between the sheets and comforter, his legs hitting each other more often than the blanket. After exerting himself far too much for such a miniscule amount of movement, he manages to cast the blankets onto the floor. They meet the carpet with a light, barely audible thud and Dennis stretches over the bare bed in victory.Â
With his battle won and his body appeased by the lack of extra heat, sleep starts to claim him again. This time, itâs cast away as he hears a muffled sneeze sound from down the hall. âhHUHâMMPdDZSSHhHhâuh!â Ah, so thatâs why Robby had gotten up. Â
Dennis waits, rolling over once again and cringing as he shifts back into his spot, the sheets damp and sticky with sweat. Gross. He squirms around on the king sized bed until he finds the coolest, cleanest patch of sheets he can, resulting in him laying across the foot of the bed like a dog. He doesnât even care; the coolness of the sheets is enough to entice him to stay in the strange position.Â
After a few minutes of fighting to stay awake, heavy but deliberately quiet footsteps pad down the hall and back into the bedroom. With it being as dark as it is, Robby only notices Dennisâs change in position when he sits down and finds Dennisâs half of the bed empty.Â
âDen?â he murmurs softly, hands roaming over the mattress to find his boyfriend, who has apparently disappeared from his spot in the few minutes Robby was gone. His right hand bumps into Dennisâs torso at the foot of the bed and works its way over his lower back. âHey baby. Whatâre you doing down there?â
Dennis tries speaking again, forcing out a congested ânghâ before clearing his throat and mumbling, âbless you.â
âWhat?â
âYou sneezed.â He answers, practically asleep and struggling to think about anything aside from the pain in his head and throat â aside from Robbyâs hand rubbing gentle circles on his back, maybe.Â
âOh.â Robby smiles when Dennisâs bleary speech registers in his mind. âI did, thank you. Sorry, I was trying not to wake you.â
âWoke up⌠anyways⌠too hot.â Dennis mumbles into the mattress, burying his face against the sheets even though it makes breathing harder than it already was. A broad hand gently pushes his head upright to slip between it and the mattress, cupping his forehead.Â
âJesus, youâre burning up.âÂ
A shiver climbs through Dennisâs body again, forcing a little spasm and causing him to curl up on himself a little. He scootches closer to Robby, but the effort of lifting his head is suddenly far too much for him to manage; he settles for pressing his face against Robbyâs thigh instead of resting it on his lap.Â
âI think itâs time for some more tylenol, yeah? Your feverâs not cooperating.âÂ
âIâm very⌠copper⌠ative,â comes Dennisâs incoherent response, eyes fully shut and brain muddled. Robby huffs a soft laugh. âYes, you are.â He agrees. Dennis is just awake enough for his chest to flutter at the praise.Â
Robby reaches over to the bedside, careful not to shift too much and disrupt Dennisâs position. His fingers fumble for a moment before he manages to flick on the light. Asleep or not, Dennisâs body doesnât like that â âhmPSXch!szSCHh! ⌠ihâyhSXchi!â
The sneezes leave a small damp spot on Robbyâs pants, and he hums in sympathy at the sound of Dennisâs whine. âI know, Iâm sorry. Thatâs never fun.â He blinks as he registers the mattress's empty state. âWhere are the blankets?âÂ
All he gets in response is a stuffy sniffle and a sleepy huff. Robby deduces that the blankets are somewhere in the room after most likely being discarded by his disgruntled boyfriend, and momentarily moves said boyfriend from his thigh before fetching him some more Tylenol to take. It takes some effort to get Dennis to sit up, but once they manage it, he takes the medication without much fuss.Â
âSee,â he murmurs, eyes closed, ââm very co-operâttttâCHhiew! âScuse mbe⌠hhââiZzzyShHiew!tsch!âÂ
âBless you,â Robby hums, âyou wanna try going back to sleep? Maybe not at the end of the bed this time?â
Dennis frowns, leaning against Robbyâs shoulder â well, more like falling into it â and huffs again. ââS damp⌠sheets..â he waves a hand in dismissal, and burrows into Robbyâs shirt.Â
âOh,â his boyfriend now realises the predicament at hand. âI can change the sheets?âÂ
âNoo, no, noâŚâ Dennis sits up, wagging his finger at Robby, whoâs now trying his best not to laugh.Â
âCâmon, you. Iâll make you a temporary couch bed, and Iâll grab some new sheets from the laundry pile.â He helps hoist him up onto his feet, giving him a moment to gather his bearings, before slowly helping him out and into the living room.Â
He brings a soft blanket for his boyfriend next, and goes in search of some new sheets and a duvet cover for the bed â oh, and a new pillow case, too. Robbyâs guilt for getting Dennis sick in the first place starts to linger as he works at changing the bed, and remaking it again. He knows his boyfriend has some sort of issue with his immune system⌠he should have been more careful. Yet, itâs not like they even shared an apartment for the first few days of his cold. Dennis could have picked up a different rhinovirus simply in the ER. Robby sighs, before turning to return to his now sleeping (and snoring) beauty. He canât bear to move him just yet, and so gently perches himself on the edge of the couch and watches Dennisâ rosy cheekbones lit up by the moonlight that slips in through the curtains.Â
âFuck, youâre beautiful.â He whispers, gaze not leaving his boyfriend's sleeping frame; arms strewn over his face in a comedic fashion, lips just barely parted. But, before Robby can continue to marvel in the beauty that is his feverish partner in all his glory⌠his own sinuses start to prickle and burn, reminding him that heâs not completely over his own cold just yet.Â
He fumbles to get out of the room as quickly as possible, but itâs dark and heâs stuck in a desperate haze, and so kicks the coffee table on his way out and only manages to get to the bedroom door before âÂ
 âHHHâUHâYsssSSHhHhIEW!â And, then thereâs a soft thump! from the living room, followed by a whine. Dennis has just rolled off of the couch in half asleep shock from the noise.Â
Robby rubs his nose against the back of his wrist, hurrying back into the living room and flicking on the light. The room becomes illuminated with a warm glow of yellow, and he watches Dennis duck into the blanket as his nose protests. âiiiIzZYyssHiew! âtChH! tCcCHh-TChhhhâYyiew!â Then, teary eyed he sniffles and re-emerges.Â
âHowâd I get here?â He croaks, looking up at Robby, whoâs already carefully leaning down to hoist him back up again.Â
âIâm so sorry I scared you there,â his voice is softer than ever, and Dennis goes a little giddy at the knees for multiple reasons, as heâs led back into the bedroom. âYou okay? The sheets are clean now, letâs get you into bed, love.â Robby rubs Dennisâ back, before helping him to get back underneath the covers.Â
With a gentle hum of contentment (thatâs also very nasally), he finally settles back where he belongs, and Robby joins him. ââM okay now.â Dennis sniffles, nose having run past his cupid's bow now â which Robby notices, and swipes away with the cuff of the hoodie heâs wearing. Dennis scrunches his nose, the sudden contact with the fabric about to set him off all over again, so it seems.Â
The appendage twitches and flares, making its protests known as Robbyâs sleeve wipes against it a second time to clear away the lingering moisture. âRhhihâ RobbyyYâiSSChhâew!kschâichh!âŚhhâtTZZxchyâw!â
The sneezes are soft and damp, caught against the cuff of Robbyâs jacket. âBless, bless, bless, bless you.â Robby kisses Dennisâs forehead and runs his hands over the blanket again, ensuring that his boyfriendâs covered. Dennis squirms a little, but any protests he mightâve made are interrupted with a long, sleepy yawn.Â
âThere you go.â Robby murmurs, brushing a few stray curls off of Dennisâs forehead. He lingers like that for a moment â hovering, ready to help however needed â before realizing that Dennis is pretty much passed out already. Instead of checking his partnerâs temperature again, like his anxiety urges him to, he settles for pulling Dennis into a close embrace.Â
â˘
1:06 am.Â
Robby is woken for the umpteenth time that night as Dennis twists in his sleep, managing to tangle himself deeper into the knot of blankets heâs created. In doing so, he once again steals the comforter to his side of the bed â though heâs somehow still encroaching into Robbyâs half of the mattress.Â
âDen.â Robby mumbles, voice heavy with sleep as he gives the blanket a gentle tug. Nothing. Another little tug, and a sleepy Dennis rolls to the far side of the bed.Â
Half asleep, Robby scootches closer and does his best to disentangle the smaller man from the sheets and comforter, starting with his hands. The sheet is pressed tight against the right side of his body, trapping one of his arms entirely before twisting around his torso and between his legs. How on earth heâs managed to get himself into that position while unconscious is entirely beyond Robby.Â
The blanket is similarly intertwined, though thatâs mostly due to the fact that Dennis is clinging to it like a lifeline. A sweaty, overheated lifeline that definitely needs a wash.Â
âCâmon love.â The older man coaxes a very-dead-asleep Dennis to loosen his hold. When he finally starts making some leeway, Dennis stirs, and Robby pauses his motions. A sleepy, but clearly uncomfortable whine slips past Dennisâs lips.Â
Brow pinching in worry, Robby stops his efforts to claim back any of the blanket, planting a hand on Dennisâs side. âYouâre okay.â The reassurance is more for Robby than anything else. Dennis is okay. Heâs here, and heâs safe, and he has someone to keep him that way.Â
Dennis shifts again, this time rolling closer to Robby and pressing his face against his scruffy neck. He gives a little huff at the feeling of the facial hair against his skin, tucking himself against Robbyâs chest instead. A calm, sweet comfort blooms in Robbyâs chest as he holds Dennis close, hoping he can finally sleep longer than a 20 minute increment.Â
Five minutes later, just as Robby is dozing off again, Dennisâs ice cold feet press themselves between his boyfriendâs legs, earning a gasp of surprise and a tired, soft reprimand.Â
â˘
1:43 am.Â
This time around, Robby is granted 40 minutes of sleep before heâs woken. It takes him a moment to register the movement beside him, but as soon as he does, heâs wide awake. Dennisâs face is buried in the bunched up blanket, attempting to muffle a series of wet, chest rattling coughs.Â
Robbyâs hand immediately falls between Dennisâs shoulderblades, rubbing circles as he murmurs gentle reassurances. âItâs okay, just breathe. Iâve got you.âÂ
It takes longer than Robby wouldâve liked for the coughing to stop, and even longer for Dennisâs breathing to go back to normal. Congestion has clearly settled in Dennisâs chest after laying down for so long.Â
Robby pushes himself upright in bed, propping a pillow behind him before pulling Dennis up as well. His boyfriend makes a small whine of protest at the movement, but melts into the hold nonetheless. Sure, Robby might regret the position in the morning when his back is screaming at him, but if it helps Dennis breathe, it will be well worth it.Â
Even after Dennis falls back to sleep, Robby stays awake, counting Dennisâs stuffy breaths like they could stop at any moment. He almost has a heart attack when one of them catches, falling short before another small gasp, but his worry is eased when the stuttered breath just results in a few sneezes against his chest. âhTSSch! ngGSchâkxXCh!â
âBless you,â Robby whispers, somewhat impressed at how Dennis snores again seconds later; sleep-sneezing, huh? Another little anecdote to add to his mental list.Â
He continues to wait, just for a little longer, to check on Dennis and ensure that his breathing stays as comfortable and as even as possible.Â
â˘
4.34am.
By some miracle, Robbyâs boyfriend has managed to stay almost perfectly in place against his chest for the past few hours. Yes, thereâs a few damp patches against the t-shirt material now, but he doesnât care. Itâs just past four when Dennis stirs again, but itâs the seventh consecutive sneeze that ends up waking Robby properly. ââkShHhHiew!â And, it seems that exact sneeze wakes Dennis himself, too. âHmm? Bâlss you?â He murmurs, voice thick with sleep and congestion piled on top of one another and blurring lines.Â
âI think you sneezed, sweetheart.â Robby groans softly, moving to sit and stretch his back.Â
âSneezed?â Dennis mutters amongst a yawn, quickly sniffling afterward as he begins to wake enough to realise his nose is very drippy, and probably has been for a while now.Â
âYeah. Bless you⌠you need anything? You sound a little more with it.â He squints through the darkness, trying to discern if his boyfriend looks any more lucid or if itâs his sleep-addled mind betraying him.Â
âMaybe⌠you. And, a tissue.â Dennis sniffles thickly, extra congestion evident since he had gone to bed last night. He wriggles his nose, an unsatisfying feeling of fullness as well as tingling backing up in his sinuses. âDefinitely a tissue,â he amends as the tingling surges to the tip of his nose, making the appendage twitch in itchy protest.Â
âMâkay.â Robby hums, shifting in bed and reaching blindly towards the nightstand for the tissue box. Just as he plucks a few out, Dennis pitches forwards with a squeaky stifle. ânGXschyâw!âÂ
Heâd been trying not to make a mess of his drippy nose, but all he does is start a rapid fit, damp against pinched fingers. ângtââgSxChâihânNxt-hâkgxt!âÂ
Gently, Robby pulls Dennisâs hand away from his face, replacing it with the bundle of tissues. âihHsSSXchh!tSXChiew!.. ih⌠hhihHâiTtDTschyu! nghâŚâ
Dennis snuffles against the now damp tissues, scrunching up his nose and coughing lightly as congestion drips into the soft paper. âSârryâ he mumbles, voice muffled as Robby begins to wipe away the moisture clinging to his septum. Heâs too sleepy to register just how embarrassing the whole ordeal is.Â
âDonât be. Bless you bunches.â Robbyâs voice is soft, affectionate, but he still canât help the slight reprimand. âYou know better than to hold them in.âÂ
âI kdow.â Dennis sniffs again, pushing himself upright so he can reach over Robby for more tissues. The older man laughs and reaches over for him, bringing the box to settle on his lap. His hand finds its way to the nape of Dennisâs neck, pressing itself to the warm skin there as Dennis blows his nose â once, twice, three times before he can breathe through his nose again.Â
âThere you go.â The soft praise rolls of Robbyâs tongue as if by instinct, like he was made to comfort Dennis and do nothing more. âBetter?â
âBetter.â Dennis confirms with a little nod, yawning again and mumbling âwhat time is it?â
Robby plants a little kiss on his temple. âToo early. Go back to sleep.âÂ
He doesnât need telling twice. He burrows into Robbyâs shoulder once again, eyes already shut. His partner presses a kiss to the top of his head, and minutes later Dennis is snoring once again.