GraySkies

“I’m glad too. I’ve been worried all week about making it to the wedding,” Arlo says, digging back into his tofu. There was no question about whether or not today would be a “giant spoon” day. His fingers are better than they were when he first woke up, but if he’s going to spend all day at this wedding, he needs to take it as easy as possible.

“I know. I’m still worried that you may be pushing yourself, though. I’m sure Becca will understand if you have to leave early.”

She would. She definitely would. Arlo knows this. But it’s her wedding, and he already disappointed her by refusing to be a bridesman due to not wanting all the attention. Although, “disappointed” may not be the best choice of word, considering a person needs to have some kind of expectations before they can be disappointed. And it’s a fact that no one’s really ever expected much from Arlo. His sisters love him fiercely and they always have, but they’ve always been stronger than him. 

He’d practically spent all of his adolescent years shying away from any and all confrontation. He was undoubtedly the “black sheep” of the family and this caused problem after problem to crop up. His social anxiety, which was more severe when he was a teen, caused him to stand out — an unfortunate matter considering that was always the very last thing he wanted. His dad had tossed around phrases like “don’t be a little sissy,” every time he got visibly anxious. This phrase came out a lot when they were out at restaurants, along with remarks such as, “Your sisters have been ordering their own food since they were five years old. And here you are, nearly a grown man, and you can’t do something as simple as talk to a waiter.” His sisters always defended him. Becca, specifically, would be the one to order for him.

Then there was his sexuality. Coming out as gay at thirteen had been immensely unpleasant, to say the least. Although, it wasn't like he’d had much of a choice. There’s some queer people who can choose to hide in the closet. Then there’s some queer people who can not. Arlo was the latter. There’s no way his parents hadn’t suspected. Gay slurs had been used against him from school bullies even when he was in kindergarten. Everyone suspected. But the disappointment of his dad when Arlo finally admitted to it was unmistakable.

It was Becca who talked to their dad with a calm, rational demeanor, giving convincing arguments for why God wouldn’t consider something as harmless as homosexuality a sin. It was Matilda who said someone as sweet as Arlo who would never hurt a fly (literally; to this day, Arlo has never intentionally killed any insect) could not possibly be sent to Hell just because of who he found attractive. It was Brooke who argued that Arlo was perfect in every other way, so all that made up for the “gay thing.” This was flawed logic and still pretty homophobic, but at the time, it was reassuring. Then there was Addy, who, at the age of fourteen, told their dad to “fuck off” and that Arlo was “perfect the way he was.”

A similar bout of nonsense transpired when Arlo made the decision to be vegetarian a year later. A lot of statements like “God put animals on Earth for us to eat them” and “God granted humans dominion over every living creature” were thrown around by both his mom and his dad. None of his sisters cared even a little about it, and that had meant everything to a gay teenager living in a small southern town. 

So, he’d spent the majority of his life letting his sisters defend his actions. 

Your existence, chimed the voice sounding like the therapist he used to see.

While he’d always appreciate and love them for it, it was impossible not to feel like the weak one. This feeling of inferiority was, of course, exacerbated when he was diagnosed with his chronic illness. As if he needed yet another way of standing out. Another way of being a liability. Another flaw.

Needing help isn’t a flaw. It’s human. 

And there was his therapist’s voice, again. Followed by:

Everyone’s fucked up, Arlo.  Everyone. Sometimes it’s mental. Sometimes it’s physical. Sometimes it’s both. Fucked-up-edness is, like, an ingrained human trait. It makes us need to lean on people. And that’s okay, silly. Now stop complaining and let me help you tie your shoes.

And that was Ben. This memory brings a smile to his lips, as it always does.

But regardless, Arlo’s always needed an exceptional amount of help. An exceptional amount of defending. And an exceptional amount of accommodations. On his sister’s wedding day, it would be nice to be normal for once. For Becca to not have her thoughts straying to her fragile little brother when her mood should be nothing short of celebratory. 

“I really want to stay as long as possible,” Arlo says, breaking away from his thoughts. “And I really, really hope ‘as long as possible’ is the entire time.”

“Okay, well, you definitely look and sound better. Sleeping the day away yesterday helped, for sure. So, yeah, I think there’s a chance. I’m super glad you aren’t part of the wedding party.”

“Yeah…. I still said I’d go a little early, though. Maybe help with stuff for the reception.”

“I know,” Ben mumbles around a mouthful of tofu. “ And we’ll definitely do that. But, honestly, all the more reason to leave early.”

Rolling his eyes and sighing, Arlo takes a bite of an orange slice. “Like I said — the goal is to stay the entire time.”

“Fine. But there’s also your party tomorrow. I mean, babe, it’s your birthday. You're not supposed to feel like shit on your birthday. I have things planned, you know.”

The grimace is impossible to suppress.

“Hey, you said you were open to having an actual celebration this year.”

Quickly replacing the grimace with a quick smile, Arlo says, “I am. I am. I mean, it’s still small, though right? Like, it’s just Felix, Connor, and Addy? Ben, if you have some huge party planned as a surprise, I will be —” 

“Relax. I wouldn’t do that to you. You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know.” Feeling his heartbeat resume a normal pace, he scoops up a bit of bell pepper. “I know. Just for a second —”

“For a second you thought I’d completely forgotten who you were?” Ben asks, a smile tugging at his lips.

Now laughing at the absurdity of it, Arlo says,“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Well, stop underestimating me. I know you so well. That’s why tomorrow we’re celebrating with a giant cake made with eggs and milk and we’re having a roasted chicken.”

And in that moment, Arlo realizes he’s going to need scientists to design a pill to prevent eyerolling because at this rate, he really will roll them out of his head.

* * * 

“We can stop and get some nasal spray?” Ben suggests on the drive to the church.

“Ndo; wod’t help.” Arlo has resorted to speaking in the shortest, most clipped sentences he can manage, hating the blatant “sick” way he sounds. While he was feeling fine at breakfast, something shifted in his sinuses, and now it’s like he’s breathing through cement. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Ndever helps.” In an exercise of futility, Arlo attempts a sniff. There’s nothing; he’s as stuffed up as he can possibly be.

“Okay. Well, I’m sorry you can’t breathe through your nose. Definitely makes the day harder, huh?”

“I guess it’s good ndobody expects mbe to talk mbuch.”

Ben casts a quick glance at Arlo, raising an eyebrow. “You know, I was worried because of the, you know, whole breathing thing. But you seem focused on your voice.”

“Because I soud ridiculous. I’mb already behavidg irrespondsibly by attedig a public event while likely codtagious. Ad it’s so… so udmistakable, Bed. Ad, I mead, I was already dreadidg it. There’s — there’s goidg to be so mady people.” He leans his head back against the headrest. “So mady people. Ad pictures. Ad food. Food I probably wod’t eat. Oh by god, I cad’t go.”

A hand lands on his thigh, giving a gentle squeeze. For a moment, the only sound is Arlo’s erratic mouth-breathing. When Ben turns into the parking lot of a Dollar General, he feels his eyes widen.

“Bed, this isd’t the church.”

After putting the car in park, Ben gives the store a thorough scan before facing Arlo. The bright yellow sign displaying “Dollar General” draws Arlo’s own attention.  “Oh my god, you’re right,” Ben announces. “Totally my bad. But it’s such an easy mistake don’t you think?”

“Bed, I cad’t — I cad’t —”

“Okay, whoa. Easy, baby. It’s okay,” Ben says, voice low and calm. “I was kinda wondering when you’d start freaking out. You made it pretty far, actually. Congrats on that.” He gives Arlo’s thigh another gentle squeeze. “It’s going to be just fine. I’ll be right next to you the entire time.”

Arlo’s mouth-breathing takes on a more aggressive pace. 

“All right, look at me,” Ben instructs. 

Complying, Arlo shifts his gaze from his bouncing knees to his boyfriend.

“What is your number one, main concern?”

Wracking his anxiety riddled brain, he searches until he finds it. “All the people lookidg at mbe. I’ll do sobethig stupid, like fall or… or sdeeze. Fuck, Bed, I’b probably goidg to sdeeze ad — .” 

“Okay, wow, a concern so big an f-bomb was needed.” Ben says before Arlo’s pitch can go even higher. “Easy solution — if anyone even glances at you, I will punch them in the face. So — next concern.”

Groaning, Arlo says, “That’s ndot a solutiond.”

“C’mon, next concern. I’m ready. Give it to me.”

“That whed I talk, everyode will hear how sick I amb and accuse mbe of being ibboral.”

Blinking several times, Ben shakes his head before it seems to finally click. “Immoral. Gotcha. Okay, another easy solution. It is literally cold and flu season. And it’s a wedding. People RSVP’d for it. People took off work for it. So, babe, there will be other sick people there. So if anyone accuses you of being immoral, then just point out how ‘little Timmy’ has snot pouring down his face and yet he’s still at the wedding.”

“Oh bmy god,” Arlo says, but the slightest of laughs slips out of him. 

“It’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be so fine. You’re going to see your sister get married. I know you're happy for her.”

“I amb,” Arlo admits. “I’m thrilled. But… —”

“But your sympathetic nervous system is an asshole, I know,” Ben says, his expression a mixture of pained and understanding.  

“What if I sdeeze and ruid the wedding?”

“What if I sneeze and ruin the wedding?”

“That’s dnot fair. You probably wod’t,” Arlo retorts.

“It’s me, Arlo.” Arlo winces because, yes, he has a point. “So, what if I do? What if I sneeze, like, twelve times. What’s going to happen?”

“It’ll be… awkward.”

“Yeah, then what?” Ben encourages.

“Then it’ll be awkward,” Arlo huffs.

“And then we’ll all move on because who gives a shit? Same applies to you. Even if you fucking fall and eat shit, babe, it will be fine. It’s a wedding. So many stupid and dramatic things are bound to happen. No one’s gonna care about you.”

“Geez, thanks,” Arlo says, but oddly, his heart is beating at a more steady rhythm now, and his shoulders are relaxing.

“And the food thing — you know Becca made sure there’s options available for you to eat.”

“I kndow,” Arlo concedes.

“Okay, so we’ve established that your fears are unfounded and that there’s nothing to worry about. So everything’s fine. It’s gonna be a good day.”

“That’s dnot how adxiety works, Bed. It doesd't mbatter if the lide of thidkidg is udreasodable, or dnot. Adxiety isd’t based on logic.”

Letting out a long sigh, Ben says,“Yeah, but I just wanted to pretend for a moment. That can help sometimes, right? ‘Fake it til you make it?’ and all that?” At Arlo’s expression, he adds, “It will be a tolerable day, and sometimes that’s all you can hope for.

Arlo gives a vague approximation of a nod. 

“Listen,” Ben says, voice taking on a more serious tone. “You don’t have to go. You have a solid excuse, even. I can call one of your sisters and tell them that you can’t make it — that you’re simply too sick. You probably are too sick.”

Flashbacks surface of all the times Arlo’s had to cancel plans with his sister because of his chronic illness. “Ndo,” he says, meeting Ben’s gaze. “I’mb goidg.” 

“Okay, then. Your decision.” Ben flashes a smile. “I, for one, am excited. I love a good wedding,” he says, putting the car in reverse and checking his backup camera. 

There’s nothing to say to that because how can that be possible? So, Arlo shifts his attention back to his nasal passages, hoping that with enough willpower he can make them no longer swollen. It’s a lost cause, of course, and by the time they arrive at the church, Arlo’s given up on getting any to make it through his nose.

The parking lot is the first sign that this was, indeed, a mistake.

“A lot of cars,” Arlo mutters. 

“ A little bit, yeah.”

“A little bit of a lot?”

“Yes, a little bit of a lot.” Ben agrees, giving a tight smile. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

Breathing out a laugh, Arlo says, “You’re supposed to be positive about this.”

“Shit, yeah, you’re right. I meant — Let’s go!” Ben exclaims, pumping his fist in the air with feigned excitement. 

After Ben opens the car door for him, Arlo takes several deep, long breaths through his mouth. “Okay.” He takes another breath, releasing the tension in his shoulder. “Okay. Okay. O—”

“Okay,” Ben stretches out the word. “No more of that. C’mon,” he says pushing open the door to the church.

“Whoa!” Ben’s hand wraps around Arlo’s waist, guiding him out of the way from being run into by Brooke’s son and daughter. The two children run off into the hallway screaming and laughing.

“Arlo!”

A smile instantly forms when he sees Addy. She practically sprints to him before wrapping her arms around him. “Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re here!”

“Hi, Arlo,” her boyfriend, Tom, says.

Arlo smiles politely and nods at him before turning his attention back to his sister, who’s still clinging onto him. “You look pretty,” he says, as she finally steps back. “Kida weird seeidng you id a dress.”

Looking down at the navy blue bridesmaid’s dress, she scrunches up her nose. “Wouldn’t be wearing it if Becca hadn’t insisted.”

“At least it’s just onde day.”

He chews the inside of his cheek as Addy gives him a scrutinizing look. “You look good, too,” she finally says. “But, you’re still pretty sick, huh?”

“Ndothidg too bad,” he says. “Just, uh, cadn’t breathe very efficiedtly.”

“I can hear that. How’s everything else? Your wrists? Fingers? Elbows? Mom and Dad expect you to help set things up a little, but if your RA’s flaring up, then you shouldn’t push it.”

“No worries. That’s why he brought me,” Ben interjects, flexing his arm. “He is only with me for my muscles, after all.” 

“Oh bmy god, I amb dnot.”  Arlo says, heat creeping into his cheeks.

“I’m kidding, babe. I will, however, not be letting you lift a finger. You’re not gonna make yourself miserable over something I can easily do.”

“Great!” Addy exclaims before Arlo can argue. “Arlo, what you can do is talk to Becca. She’s getting ready. I’m sure she’d love to see you before the chaos of the wedding and reception. I’ll take you to her. Ben and Tom can go do all the, you know, unpleasant stuff.” With that, she shoots a grin at their boyfriends, before taking Arlo’s hand and guiding him away.

“You should’t get too close,” Arlo says, staring down at her hand touching his. “I dod’t wadnt you to get sick.” A tickle suddenly flares in his nose and, instinctively, he pulls his hand away, turning away from his sister. “Hgkk’t! Hehhkg’kKT!” 

“I was already exposed the other day. I don’t care,” Addy says, shrugging.

Once the two make it to the room Becca’s using to get ready, Arlo’s realizing his sinuses are not going to let him have an easy day. Those last two congested sneezes somehow worsened the situation. His head now feels full of pressure. But his attention is drawn away from his discomfort when he sees Becca in her wedding gown.

It looks like most wedding gowns Arlo’s ever seen. It’s white and it’s long. But something still catches in his throat when he sees her.

“Hey! I’m glad you made it,” Becca says, her smile bright. “Addy said you weren’t feeling well. If you want to just stay for the ceremony, then ditch, that’s seriously okay.”

He directs the smallest glare at Addy before shaking his head. “Imb gettidg over a cold, is all. I wadt to be here.” 

“Aw, you sound so hoarse and stuffy. I’m sorry you’re sick.”

“Uhmb, that really isd’t sombthindg you should worry about. Imb really excited for you! Ad happy to be here!” That last part is a lie, but if you can’t lie to make your sister feel good on her wedding day, then when can you lie?

“Liar,” Addy says, disguising it as a cough.

Becca  laughs and rolls her eyes. “He is a liar.” Turning back to Arlo, she says, “you have never once been happy at a social event in your entire life.”

Cheeks now slightly burning, he says, “I wasd’t lyidg about beindg excited for you. I amb, and really do wadt to cele - hh - celebrate it -hh - excuse me — ” The words rush out of him right before he ducks his head into his shoulder to stifle a sneeze. Which, of course, turns into two. Then three.

By the sixth sneeze, his eyes are prickling with tears. 

“Oh, Arlo. Bless you. You really don’t sound great.” Becca’s voice is laced with sympathy. 

“Told you he was dying,” chimes in Addy.

“Imb okay. Just, uh, dod’t get close. Dod’t want you to catch this before your hondeymood.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I really do not want to be sick in Mexico. But, oh my god, you look so pitiful that it’s hard to care,” Becca says, her expression soft.

“Okay, well, you ndeed to care, so Imb godda go ad, uh, try to isolate, I guess? As much as I cad. But, adyway, you look beautiful. Ad Imb happy for you. Ad I love you.”

“Aww, Arlo. My baby brother,” she says, tears welling in her eyes. “I am so emotional today, you have no idea. I love you so much.” Becca starts moving closer, her intent to hug him practically written all over her face. But then she takes a step back. “Oh, better not, right?”

“Better ndot,” Arlo agrees, stifling another sneeze into his shoulder.

“Oh, Arlo, you’re here!” 

Arlo turns around at the sound of his mother’s voice. “Hey momb.” Arlo sniffs thickly, desperately trying to not sound stuffed up. But there’s simply nothing he can do; his nasal passages are completely swollen. There’s no amount of sniffing that will open them. 

She scrutinizes his face for a single moment before stating, “You’re sick.” The next thing Arlo knows, there’s a hand on his forehead. “I think you’re a little warm. You should leave after the ceremony and rest.”

“I wadt to stay.”

His mom lowers her hand from his forehead. “We know that’s not true. You hate parties.”

“Yeah but, I mbean… Ndot always. And ndot if they’re important. I’b dnot idcapapable of celebratig thidgs.” 

“Of course not,” his mom says, hesitantly. “But, we know how often you’re not really feeling up for a lot of things. And how you need more rest than we do. Especially when you have a cold on top. It’s fine, sweetheart. You can’t help it. Nobody blames you.”

“I dod’t always deed to rest. I mead, I have a job. I amb able to take care of mbyself.” 

“Of course you are. And I think it's working full time while having a chronic illness that wears you down, honey. So, like I said, nobody blames you if you need to leave early. Anyway,” she says, shifting her attention to Becca. “Sweetie, I was talking to the —”

“Beidg chrodically ill doesd’t mbean I dever do fund thidgs. I do thidgs.” The tips of his ears burn.

His mom stares. Actually everybody stares. He shifts his weight uncomfortably. 

“Arlo, we know,” Addy says, letting out a nervous laugh. “Nobody thinks that. We just worry about you.”

“You dnod’t dneed to,” Arlo mutters, the words coming out more harshly than intended.

The sound of the door opening has everyone turning their heads. Matilda and Brooke both stand there looking beautiful in their bridesmaid’s dress. He smiles because surely this is an opportunity for a subject change.

“Oh, yay, Arlo’s here!” Matilda announces as she meets his gaze, striding over to him.

“He is ideed,” he answers, still smiling. “But, dod’t get close. I’b a little under the weather.”

Not heeding his warning even a little, she wraps her arms around him in an embrace, then pulls back, scrutinizing him in a way he’s becoming all too familiar with today. And once again, there’s a hand being pressed to his forehead.

“I think maybe you’re warm. And you look exhausted. Do you think you’ll be able to stay for the reception?”

“Um, Matilda, maybe don’t —” Addy begins, sounding cautious.

“Yes, I’b stayidg for the receptiod. I’b dnot a … a ndewborn baby or a toddler or ad eighty year old mad. I’b capable of mbakidg it through the day without a ndap.”

Eyes widening, Matilda says, “Okay, I don’t know where that came from.”

“Why’s everyone look so tense?” Brooke asks. “What’s going on?”

“You kind of walked in at a bad time,” Becca says, rubbing the back of her neck, her cheeks tinged pink in a way that has nothing to do with makeup.

“It’s fine.” His mom’s voice is stern in that kind of way he remembers it being when he and his sisters were all still kids and fighting over a toy. “Arlo’s not feeling well, but he’s decided he’s going to tough it out and stay for the reception. So, no need to discuss it any further.”

“It’d dnot a mbatter of ‘toughing it out,’ Mbom. I have a cold. I cad handle a cold.”

“Yeah, but colds are different for you than they are for us,” Brooke adds, her voice and expression utterly sincere.

Arlo knows she’s only just walked in and missed all the discussion beforehand. And he knows she loves him and is completely well-meaning. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop him from saying, “I kdnow that. How could I dnot kdow that when every sidgle persodn is codstadtly tellidg mbe?”

He internally winces at how much he’s sounding like a petulant child. He doesn’t even know what he wants. Most of the time, he craves for people to acknowledge the limitations his health causes. But here his family is — acknowledging it — and he’s throwing a tantrum.

And just like that, because of him, there’s an awkward silence. 

“Sorry,” he finally mumbles. “I — I dod’t kdow what’s wrodg with mbe.”

“You’re not feeling w —” his mom begins.

“Nothing is wrong.” Addy interrupts, her tone emphatic. “Listen,  I’m sure everyone will be thrilled if you’re able to last all day. But also, we want you to know it’s okay if you can’t. ” 

“I cad.”

At this point, he needs to stop talking because he’s only sounding whinier. And stuffier. And the worst part is, he really does want a nap. The pressure in his head is making it hard to think straight and standing is taking more energy than he remembers it taking.

“Okay, great!” Becca says, smiling brightly. “I’m happy you’re staying. It means a lot that you’re here. Now, Mom, what were you wanting to tell me?”

The words immediately pull his mother’s attention to Becca. As they should. Since it’s Becca’s wedding day. It’s her day. Not “Everyone fuss over Arlo Day.”  As they talk, he decides to go see if Ben and Tom need any help.

The place they’re having the reception is right across the street, but the walk over feels like it takes several miles. The last wedding Arlo attended was Brooke’s, which was many years ago, so he’d forgotten about all the organization and moving parts it took to make a wedding happen. When he enters the building, there’s people carrying flower arrangements, a photographer setting up, and people arguing about table placements. Ben is somehow carrying five folding chairs at once. Arlo’s first thought is that he should offer some help, but his second thought is that he literally can’t. As much as he’s trying not to alert anyone to his health, his joints are decidedly not having a good day. They’ve been worse, but they’re definitely not equipped for carrying chairs.  

Looking around, he searches for any task he is capable of doing and ultimately concludes that he is utterly useless.

Ben, though, spots him before he can slip out to head back to the church. He grins hugely and begins striding over before he looks at the chairs under his armpits and frowns. Arlo smiles in acknowledgement and waits for Ben to return from setting up the chairs.

“Hey! How’s Becca? No cold feet or anything?” Ben asks.

“Huh? Oh, dno. She’s mbore thad ready to marry Robert. She’s great.”

“Okay.” Ben elongates the word, frowning. “Then why do you look like someone kicked our cat?”

“I thidk mby endtire fambily hates mbe.” 

Ben’s eyes narrow as one eyebrow goes up. “I just don’t think that can be true.”

“It is. I was mbead to theb.”

“You were mean?”

Nodding, Arlo says, “Yes, because they dod’t thidk I cad do adythindg.” 

“Mhmm, and they said this?” Ben asks, brow still raised. 

“They basically did.”

The particularly bright lights and the sounds of chairs and tables scraping against the floor have him squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. 

“And what words exactly did they use?” Ben’s voice is so gentle that Arlo wishes it could be the only sound in the room — only sound he hears for the next several days until this horrific illness is over with. 

“Mobm told me to leave after the ceremony. Because I’b sick.”

Ben continues staring at Arlo if waiting for more. “Oh? That’s all?” he asks, finally.

“I mbead, ndo. She… she said thidgs about how I ndever mbake it to family stuff because of the RA and how Ibm always tired all the timbe. And ndobody even cares if I leave, Bed, because they dod’t expect mbe to stay. They all kept tellidg mbe to leave.” 

Ben’s nodding along now, but in that way people tend to do when they’re listening to toddlers explain something even they don’t quite understand. “Right, I hear you,” Ben begins. “So, you went to see your sister in her wedding gown, and your mom came in and said ‘All right, Arlo, now you better go home because we hate you and don’t want you here because you have a chronic illness that makes you tired’?” 

“Obviously not like that,” Arlo says through a heavy and congested sigh.

“But she wants you to go home early? Why exactly? What words did she use?”

“She told me to rest.”

“Uh-huh. And why does she want you to rest?”

“Because of this stupid cold,” Arlo grumbles. “But it’s ndot just that. She medtiodned how I dnever go to thigs.”

“She said you never go to things? Weren’t we at their Sunday dinner just a couple weeks ago? And your dad also had his birthday last month and you were sure to be there for that,” Ben reasons.

“Yeah, I mbead I guess she didn’t exactly say ‘ndever’ but she… ibplied it.” He sniffs, but it’s pointless. Still no air. “Ad, okay, mbaybe I acted just a little ibbature. Well, okay, I know I did. But everybody just keeps tellidg mbe to leave like they could’dt care whether or dnot I was here. Like I’b dnothidg more than … thad wallpaper, or somedthidg. Sombethidg idcodsequedtial.” 

He’s definitely still whining. Maybe he should go home. He’s not exactly spreading positivity. 

“This has been a hard week for you,” Ben states, his gaze assessing. Assessing for what, Arlo can’t begin to guess. 

“It’d beed…” Arlo grimaces as unwanted memories play through his mind. “A particularly challedgidg week, yes.”

“Yes, and sometimes, when we’re having ‘particularly challenging’ weeks,  it can be easy to interpret well-intentioned words and gestures as, um, more —” Ben stares at the ceiling, searching for a word. “Malicious than you’d maybe interpret them, otherwise, you know?”

“You’re psycoadalydzidg mbe.” Bringing up his aching wrist, Arlo dabs at his nose, which is now somehow running while simultaneously being stuffed up.  

“And how do you feel about the analysis?” Ben asks, digging into his pants pocket. “Any merit to it, or total shit?” He asks, handing over a tissue.

“Hodestly, I dod’t kdow.” The tissue is rough against Arlo’s sore nose even though he’s dabbing as lightly as possible. “You thidk they were well-idtedtioned?”

There’s that same assessing look again. “I think I’ve been to enough of your family dinners to know your family genuinely loves you and cares a lot about your well-being. And that if you’re feeling this way, you should maybe talk to them about it.” Quickly, he adds, “When your head doesn’t feel stuffed with cotton, I mean. I think you need to probably be thinking clearly for that conversation.”

“I’b begiddidg to thidk that day will ndever come,” Arlo complains, scrunching up his nose and trying — and failing — yet again to inhale through it. The noise that results makes him cringe.

“Hey, no, don’t think like that. You’re going to feel better soon.”

“Hgnt’t! Hngtshhxx!” Arlo can’t help the little groan that accompanies the two painful sneezes.

Wincing sympathetically and pulling out another tissue, Ben adds, “Like, eventually, I mean.”

* * * 

Yawning for the fifth time in ten minutes, Arlo rejects the impulse to rest his head on Ben’s shoulder as they sit in one of the church pews. Not a good sign. There’s so many hours to go. 

“Perk up. It’s about to start,” Ben whispers, nudging Arlo lightly.

Ben’s right. The music begins playing, so Arlo averts his attention to the aisle in anticipation. 

When Becca begins her walk with their dad, Arlo’s eyes begin watering for non-cold related reasons. They both look so ridiculously happy. At this moment, his stuffy nose, aching joints, and fatigue are trivial compared to having the honor of witnessing his oldest sister on the happiest day of her life. 

Except, well, his nose isn’t exactly stuffy anymore. It’s actually starting to run quite incessantly. Or pouring may be a more accurate way to describe it. Wordlessly, Ben slides a few tissues over to Arlo. He must have been audibly sniffling. He wonders how many tissues Ben managed to cram into his pockets. If Arlo’s mind hadn’t been so anxiety riddled, he’d have thought to bring his own. 

Blowing his nose at his sister’s wedding isn’t exactly the most appealing prospect, but neither is letting snot run down his face. So, he gently folds the tissue over his nose and gives a light blow. Or, it should be light. He really thought it was light. Instead, though, fluid rushes out and he’s quickly realizing he needs another tissue immediately. 

As he soaks through his two tissues, his sister continues walking down the aisle, and it’s all very beautiful. 

His nose seems to quiet down when the music stops. So, he can watch Becca and Robert stare lovingly at each other. It’s incredibly sweet. Almost painfully so. His other sisters are there, too, radiating happiness in their own ways. A part of him, though, can’t stop wondering why anyone would voluntarily stand in front of so many people. That may be slightly hypocritical of him, considering his profession, but for his brain, there’s a difference between standing in front of teenagers he was trained to teach and standing in front of a hundred people watching you simply exist.

A frightening thought strikes him.

How will I do this when I marry Ben?

This isn’t the first time he’s contemplated marriage to Ben, though it’s the first time it’s come to him in such a clear, inescapable way. It’s not a blurred, vague abstract thought. It’s a fully formed question that he fully feels and this is not the place nor time to be having it.

That doesn’t stop him from having it, of course.

The topic has come up before between them. In little ways. In joking ways. In ways that Arlo sometimes struggled to interpret as Ben being authentic or just as ways of testing the water. 

Like when they’d been watching that one home renovation show that one time and Ben had said “Babe, when we’re an old married couple, that’s what I want our home to look like. We’re gonna be two old men on our giant front porch with our rocking chairs and it’s gonna be awesome.”

Or even last month when Ben had said, “Do you think it’d be weird for a couple to make up a completely new last name? Like, when you and I get married, instead of using Williams or Thompson, we could just, like, use Burke? You know what I mean?”

At the time, Arlo’s brainpower had been spent trying to figure out what Ben did, indeed, mean — because why out of all names, he’d think of Burke? So, his choice of “when” in that sentence had been slightly lost on him. But, not entirely. His brain had opened a drawer and surreptitiously filed it away for future contemplation.

A future that has now, apparently, arrived. During his sister’s wedding vows.

He redirects his attention to his sister and very-soon-to-be brother-in-law. They’re both teary-eyed and speaking with cracking voices.

Will Ben cry on our wedding day?

He shakes his head ever so slightly, imperceptibly, as if to physically dump the thought onto the church floor.

He will, though. He definitely will. 

And he’d be so effortlessly charming. The same he’d been when they’d first met at the coffee shop. And the way he’d been on their first date when he was even sicker than Arlo is now. He’d flash that bright smile, probably say something off-script, then do that thing he did. That thing where he’d somehow made Arlo feel safe, warm, and overcome with the realization that he was getting everything that for eight years he’d thought he’d never have.

Ben’s hand finds his. “You all right?” he whispers into Arlo’s ear.

“Itshhh’uuh! Hh uh HUHTshoo!”

“‘M fucking… I’m fucking wet. What the hell happened?”

Ben’s voice is gradually beginning to sound more coherent, which is great, because maybe he can figure things out himself soon; there’s already another buzzing sensation traveling through Arlo’s sinuses.

Tilting his head back, he’s stuck in what seems to be a perpetual inhalation. His chest heaves and heaves until finally he jerks forward.

“EHH’Idtzshoooo!”

There’s shuffling and the sounds of sheets being moved. But Arlo can’t focus on what’s happening around him because he’s too busy drawing in another deep breath. 

“HhhhhhhHHHHHH!”

Tears trickle down his cheeks as his chest expands and his shoulders tense. 

“HHH ick’shooo! Ickshooo! IHHghhshoo!”

Those last three shifted something inside his head. Congestion loosened, he suddenly has a new, messier problem to deal with.

He reaches for the tissue box on the bedside table, but it falls off the edge of table right as — 

“HHTgshhhhuh! Ehtshhhhoo!”

A light comes on, which Arlo would have been thankful for moments ago, but now he wishes he weren’t seeing the damp spray on his pajama pants. 

Suddenly there’s a horrible yelp from across the room. 

“Well, if you don’t want to get stepped on, then don’t walk underneath my feet, Jesus Christ!  Fuck!” Ben yells.

“Ben, don’t yell at her. She — HUHH! Huh’ngt! Huhhngt’shoo! Het’tshh! Hehtsssh! Tshhh! Tshooo! HHH — Hand them to me, please,” Arlo says, his voice quavering with the urge to keep sneezing. Ben’s standing in front of him, holding a box of tissues.

“Here,” Ben says, tossing the box of tissues.

He blows slowly, at first. Experimentally. Everything seems fine. He just needs to be careful so that he doesn’t trigger another — 

“Hhhtshhh! HHTSSHoo! ETsshh! HEHTSHH! Etshhoo! HH! Mpshooo! Mpshhh!”

“Holy shit, you are sneezing so much,” Ben says.

“I know. Sorry for waking you up,” Arlo mumbles before taking in another huge breath. “AHHihhtshooo!” 

“Didn’t say that to get you to apologize. Just making an observation. What time is it?” Ben asks. 

“Hhhhhhhh! Oh my god, still?” Arlo asks, staring at the ceiling, more tears trailing down his cheeks. “Hddtshoooo!”

There’s more moving around before Ben says, “2 am? Holy shit.”

“Sorry,” Arlo says again, grabbing more tissues.

“No sorrys. I’m just… disoriented.” Ben reaches out his hands for Arlo to take. After noticing Arlo’s expression, though, he rolls his eyes and smiles. “Get off the bed, silly. It’s wet for some reason.”

“I dumped water on it,” Arlo says, taking Ben’s hands, wincing as he tries to not think how many germs he’s passing on. He knows Ben can’t catch this cold, but the thought is repulsive, nevertheless. 

“... Why would you do that?”

“Why would I do what?” Arlo jerks away from Ben to aim a sharp, “hHTSHHoo!” at the ground.

“Why would you dump water on me? Oh my god, come here. Let’s go sit in the living room for a minute.” An arm wraps around Arlo’s waist, and part of him wants to lean into Ben, but there’s another prickle sparking inside his nose, so he snaps forward into his elbow, not even having time to regret the pain it causes.

“Huhhngt’shoo Ngt’shhh! Shh! SHhh! EtSHooo! Hh! Hhh!”

“Whoa, okay, let’s get you sitting or you’re going to get dizzy.”

Arlo does get dizzy, but thankfully he’s already at the couch when it starts. He practically collapses onto it. 

“HhhhHHHH! Hhh! HHH!”

“Press your tongue to the roof of your mouth.” Ben’s now next to Arlo on the couch, lightly rubbing his thigh.

“Wh — hh? What?” So much liquid is trying to escape his nostrils. He feels like a rabbit as he takes five quick sniffs in effort to keep it all from spilling out.

“Your tongue. To the roof of your mouth.”

As Arlo follows the command, Ben suddenly pinches the bridge of Arlo’s nose. 

The urge to sneeze flares full force. He feels the pressure build behind his cheekbones and in the center of his forehead.

“Ben — sthh-op — stop, stop, I — Ekmphsshhhhhh! KCHMpgsthhoo! Mmpgktshhhh! Mkptkshhhhh!”

“Shit!” Ben’s exclamation is hardly noticeable. All of Arlo’s focus is fully on alleviating the burning sensation in his nose. 

Although he’s not been awake for long at all, his joints have already made it clear that today is not going to be a good day. Regardless, he reaches to rub vigorously at his nose, but winces, letting his hand fall almost immediately. 

“Hey, don’t mind me, just gonna help out super quick.” Before Arlo can question what this means, Ben is pressing a tissue against his nose. 

And because there was never going to be another outcome to this situation, Arlo sneezes.

“NGT’sh! HEHNgx’tshh! HEHNGT! Eshhhooo! EHHshooo! Emkpt’shh! Beh-hh-en! Ben,” Arlo moans from behind the now extremely soaked tissue. 

“No worries, it’s all good. Everything’s fine. Just need more tissues,” Ben says, removing the current one. 

Arlo reaches his hand out to stop his boyfriend from pressing more tissues against his pouring nose. The problem, though, is how stiff his fingers are. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Let me help you.” Ben’s voice is soft. Soothing. “I know how fucked up your hands are in the mornings, okay? And your nose, uh, seems to be a pretty pressing issue. And, I absolutely hate to say this — I really do. But, you’ve kind of already sneezed all over me. So the damage is done.”

Before Arlo can say anything, Ben’s already grabbing the tissues and reaching them up to Arlo’s face. There’s a short moment where Ben hesitates, but after Arlo says nothing, he swiftly runs the tissues over Arlo’s nostrils. He also wipes away the liquid that had come close to dripping onto Arlo’s lips. 

“See? No biggie. Now — oh, okay, you’re gonna sneeze again.”

“Mkptkshh! Eshhhooo! GNt’shhhh!”

This time, when the tissue comes, instinct takes over and Arlo blows. It’s a raw need that overrides any embarrassment. After the first tissue, a second comes. Then a third. Then an entire clump.

When he’s finished, the buzzing in his nose has finally abated. He relaxes against the couch, closing his eyes. His abdomen aches as though he’s just completed a workout and his head is splitting. 

“Come here,” Bens says, softly. 

“Why did you tell me to put my tongue against the roof of my mouth?” Arlo asks, his eyes half-shut as he nestles into Ben’s hold, resting his head on his shoulder.

Ben’s chuckle is warm and soft. “I was Googling ways to stop a sneezing fit. That’s what it said to do. To press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, then pinch the bridge of your nose.”

“It didn’t work,” Arlo mumbles. 

Laughing again, Ben says, “No. It absolutely did not. I should’ve known. I think I’ve tried that a time or two, myself. Seems like when the body really wants to sneeze, it’s just gonna sneeze.” 

“That was all, um, really, really gross. I’m so sorry.”

“Mm, yes, it was so gross and repulsive, which is why I’m holding you right now and kissing your curls.” He plants an especially hard kiss to Arlo’s head as if to demonstrate. 

“Sorry about the water.”

“Did you spill it on purpose?” Ben asks.

“No. I was just tired… and couldn’t stop sneezing. But still. It’s not fair that you’re losing sleep, too.”

“It’s not fair that either of us have to lose sleep. But you’re sick and these things happen. It’s a normal part of life.”

“Dropping a glass of water onto one’s sleeping boyfriend is a normal part of life?”

Ben breathes out a laugh. “It appears it’s a normal part of your life. And your life is basically my life, which means it’s a normal part of our lives. Which is honestly all I’m concerned with.”

“But then you're disregarding the definition of ‘normal,” Arlo mumbles, frowning against Ben’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you know what? I am. Fuck that word, honestly. We can make our own normal.”

“So you want me to wake you up every morning by spilling water or —”

“Okay, well, no. Let’s refrain from doing that again. For a little while at least.” 

“Okay, I’ll try.” The words come out as a sleepy mumble.

“Strech out. I’ll go get some pillows and we can just crash here for the next few hours,” Ben says. 

So that’s what they do.

* * * 

It’s Ben’s alarm that wakes him up first. Then his own. Then, Ben’s second alarm. Then Ben’s third alarm. By the time Ben’s fourth alarm sounds, Arlo must resign himself to the fact that dozing time is over and he needs to actually get up, and probably wake up Ben while he’s at it.

After several minutes of hoarsely whispering for Ben to untangle himself from Arlo’s body, the two are both finally awake. Ben, though, is hunched forward rubbing his palms against his eyes. 

“I want to die,” Ben proclaims before letting out a dry cough, which is hopefully the last remnant of his cold.

 “I’m sorry I kept you up,” Arlo mutters, rubbing a hand over his throat in an attempt to soothe the soreness there.

“If you’re sorry, stay home with me today.”

Frowning, Arlo shakes his head. “We… we can’t. We both have to work.”

“Fuck work.” Ben wraps an arm around Arlo, pulling him into an embrace.

“We can’t, Ben.”

“We can. We’re sick.”

A small smile curves at the corner of Arlo’s mouth. “You’re being purposefully obtuse.”

“Nope, can’t be true,” Ben says, now resting his head against Arlo’s shoulder. How effortless it would be right now to let his own eyes close and sink into this comfort.

“Why can’t it be true?” Arlo asks, sniffling slightly. 

“I’m not a triangle.”

When the meaning hits, Arlo’s eyes roll in that profoundly dramatic way they often do when speaking to his boyfriend.

“I know you know ‘obtuse’ has multiple meanings. You’re just being….” Arlo lets the sentence hang in the air as his eyes narrow.

“Being purposefully obtuse?” Ben offers, flashing a smile.

“HHt’sshhhoo!”

The sneeze is small, but so unexpected and completely wet. That’s… unusual. No warning at all is not normal and definitely not ideal.

“Sorry for, um, not covering. I — I didn’t know it was coming.” 

“And this is why we need to stay home,” Ben says, giving Arlo’s back a gentle rub. Arlo partly feels bad for ruining the morning cuddle by jerking away with the sneeze, but also, they both really do need to get ready for work.

“Hmpt’sshh!”

This one sprays against the back of the hand that barely made it up in time. He imagines standing in front of his students all day sneezing like mad, unable to stifle or even cover. The wince he feels taking over his features can’t be stopped.

“Are you okay? How’s your throat?” Ben asks, his voice unmistakably concerned. “You look like you’re in pain.” 

“No… I was just thinking about…” He pauses to sigh, letting his head fall back against the couch. “I don’t think I can work.”

“That’s what I was saying,” Ben says, the concern replaced by something that sounds like excitement. “You’re sick. I’m still a little sick.” He stops to punctuate his sentence with another dry cough. “Let’s stay home and sleep.”

His brows knitting together, Arlo asks, “You never miss work. You hate missing work.”

“Normally I have more than three hours of sleep.”

“I’ve seen you go to work in far worse shape.”

“Maybe I want to take care of you,” Ben says, his voice soft, a hint of vulnerability there. “I don’t like when you’re not feeling well. I know you’re a grown man and I know you can take care of yourself. Even when you’re having a bad RA day. And, I know you’re going to say that all you’ll be doing is spending the day in bed anyway and that there’s nothing I can do to help. But… there was yesterday and…” His voice trails off, gaze fixed on this floor.

Arlo focuses his own gaze on his bare feet. “I don’t see what yesterday has to do with anything.”

“Yesterday,” Ben begins, then hesitating in that kind of way people do around delicate subjects. And Arlo hates that something so stupid and meaningless has become a delicate subject.

“It just reminded me that I worry about you. That’s all,” Ben finally finishes.

“I know you do.” Arlo rubs Ben’s thigh in a way he hopes is soothing. “But what happened yesterday… um, won’t happen again. Obviously. So, there’s not really anything to — hHtshh! HHtshhoo!” After two quick liquidy sniffs, Arlo continues. “There’s nothing to worry about, I mean.”

Ben stares at Arlo for a long moment before he lets out a breath. “Yeah, sure, I’ll agree that the, um… confrontation that happened yesterday isn’t likely to happen again, but still, you’re sick and, yeah okay, it’s a cold. But sometimes colds get worse. I mean, it can turn into bronchitis or pneumonia, or even something as simple as an ear infection. But, if you don’t treat an ear infection, Arlo, you can end up with hearing loss. Permanent hearing loss. And life’s already hard enough without having that challenge added to it, you know?”

For a moment, all Arlo can do is blink before he chews on his lip, trying to keep the creeping smile at bay. “Let me clarify. You want to stay home with me so you can protect me from permanent hearing loss? From an ear infection I don’t have, I want to add. And what exactly, may I ask, is your plan?”

Ben huffs out a breath in such a way that images of dragon smoke pop into Arlo’s head, which only makes the smile harder to hide. 

“Force you to stay in bed so you don’t work on that paper I know you’re planning to work on.”

Stomach sinking, Arlo groans. “I forgot about the paper.”

“Ask for an extension.”

Squeezing his eyes shut against a sudden, unprompted memory of Jeremy’s smiling face, Arlo shakes his head. “No… No, I need to work on it. Keeping busy is good.” He stops at Ben’s expression. “I mean, it’s better to do something productive than just lying in bed all day.”

“Lying in bed all day is productive, silly. At least, when you’re recovering from an illness, it is.” 

Since articulating the actual reason for why he wants to keep busy isn’t an option, he instead smiles a tight smile, before reaching for his phone. “I’m going to call in.”

Ben nods, then begins extricating himself from the tangle of blankets he’d wound up in. 

Dialing his boss's number and then having to continue holding up the phone is not a fun activity when he’s in the middle of an RA flareup, but he manages.

“Hi, Mr. Simpson,” Arlo croaks when the school’s principal finally answers. “I’m, uh, calling because I’m still not feeling well. I know it’s not a good time, but I really don’t think I can make it in today.”

There’s a long pause then a long sigh. Then another long pause. Arlo can practically see his boss running a frantic hand through his hair.

“How sick do you feel?”

“Uh… Pretty sick?” He feels himself blush. The conversation was not supposed to go like this. 

“Do you have a fever?”

“A… a slight one, maybe? I honestly haven’t taken my temperature. But I — HHt’shhoo! HEHNgt’shh! HEH’SHoo!”

“Bless you. I’m sorry to have to ask. You’re obviously not well, but… We have somewhat of a situation going on.”

“What kind?”

“You know about the PD conference half the staff is at today, right?”

Arlo dabs at his nose with a tissue as he thinks, remembering Felix mentioning something about it. “I do,” he says. “I went to it last year.” This is a detail that is completely unnecessary to share, but phone calls discombobulate Arlo at the best of times, and these are certainly not the best of times.

“Yes, that’s good. You never have a problem getting in your PD hours. But, my point is that half the upper grades staff is out because of this PD. That wouldn’t be an issue, except —  Well, several of the subs – all but one, actually – have called out. Two are sick. Another had a family emergency. So, that leaves one substitute teacher and, you know, with this kind of staff shortage, we usually combine classes and have the students work on homework or watch a movie, or something. But for one substitute to handle that….”

Arlo sneezes wetly against his wrist as his murky brain connects the dots. “That does sound like it has potential for calamity, yes.”

There’s a light, nervous laugh on the other end of the phone line. “Yes. Calamity is a good word for it. So you understand. I wouldn’t ask, normally. I mean, if you’re sick, you’re sick. But, we really are in a kind of ‘survive the day situation,’ if you know what I mean. I can try to get some emergency subs, but… well, you know how that goes. And even then, I don’t want to subject a substitute to the behavior issues that will certainly arise from this kind of arrangement. I would like someone experienced there, is what I’m saying.”

“HH’tshhh! Hhh hhhngnt’shhff! Sorry, uhmb, cad you give mbe a second?” Muting the phone, Arlo blows his nose, trying to ignore the aching in his wrists as well as the embarrassment and dread settling within him. “Excuse me, sorry about that. I understand what you’re saying. And, yes, I see the issue. I…um, I guess, I can come in.” 

“Thank you,” Mr. Simpson says, his relief palpable even over the phone. “Again, I want to reiterate. Today is about survival. I shouldn’t say this, probably, but I think it’s obvious that there’s no expectation for any actual meaningful learning today.” There’s another nervous laugh. “I mean, it’d be great, of course, if the kids learn something. But, if all you can do is hand out worksheets, or play a movie, I, well, I won’t object to that, is what I’m saying.”

“I understand,” Arlo manages to say, as all his hopes for spending the day taking it easy are vanished. 

* * * 

Arlo began the day craving distraction, and distraction is what he got, so he supposes he has no right to complain. However, when Felix calls him from his conference, curious about how the school day went, he can’t exactly not complain.

“I’m not feeling my best, and this may have been the worst day at work I’ve ever had,” he says, his voice weak and cracking after he spent the day projecting it almost constantly. 

“Not feeling your best? Is that an understatement? Because your voice is, like, frighteningly bad,” Felix says. 

“I guess I’m feeling pretty rough.”

“You sound like Palpatine.” 

“I hate Star Wars,” Arlo mutters before turning to cough into his shoulder.

“That’s something we will discuss later when you sound a little bit less like you’re dying. It's after four, so you can go home right? You should do that.”

“Yeah, just waiting until I can drive,” Arlo mumbles, closing his eyes against the bright, fluorescent classroom lights. 

“You can’t drive?”

“I don’t think it’d be safe. Can’t really see well.” Arlo winces, instinctively rubbing at the center of his forehead, then wincing again at the pain it causes his knuckles. 

“Elaborate maybe?” Felix says, a dubious note to his voice.

“Headache. Or, I don’t know, I’d guess it’d technically classify as a migraine, since there’s an aura.” He sighs. “The lights… all the loud noises from the students. On top of being sick. I guess all of it together triggered one.”

“Oh that is not a fun time. Have you taken anything?” 

“Yes. Waiting for it to kick in. But, it’s been a while. And, no progress. May just lay my head down on this desk and fall asleep.” He laughs to show he’s joking, but the prospect is not as unappealing as it should be. Maybe he can rest for twenty minutes? Then he may be in a suitable condition to drive. 

“Can you call someone to pick you up? You should really get home.”

“I thought about it, but there really isn’t anyone who I wouldn’t be posing a major imposition upon.” Addy was a possibility, but when he’d texted her earlier, she’d been starting her evening shift at the hair salon. “I’ll be fine.”

“Arlo you are literally incapable of getting yourself home. You are not fine. I assume Ben’s working?”

“He is.” Staring at the bookshelf at the back of the room, Arlo’s forced to come to the realization that not only is the migraine not getting better — it’s getting worse. Half of the bookshelf has been taken over by a cloud of gray. He closes his eyes and when they open, more of the bookshelf is obscured. 

“You sound miserable. Oh my god, Arlo, you can’t die. You are one of the only coworkers I get along with.”

“Dorothy’s all right,” Arlo mumbles, finally giving into the urge to put Felix on speaker so he can rest his head on the desk.

“Dorothy’s over seventy years old and batshit crazy,” Felix says, sounding incredulous. 

The smallest of smiles manages to form on Arlo’s lips. “Sure, but you like her.”

“I do,” Felix says, fondly. “Never a dull day when Dorothy’s around.” There’s a pause as though Felix is finally remembering the point of this call had nothing to do with their school’s

 Calculus teacher. “This still does not mean you can die. I will call Ben and make him — oh. Oh, wait.  I have an idea!”

* * * 

“Do you want me to stop anywhere and get you something? Tea, maybe? For your throat? Or soup? You should probably eat.”

The voice should probably be soothing to Arlo. It’s deep and warm and all the other good adjectives people usually use to describe nice voices. But between the pounding in his skull and the part of him that associates masculine voices with something akin to fear… it’s anything but soothing.

“I don’t think I can eat.” It’s now to the point that Arlo’s own voice is exacerbating his migraine. Nausea swirls through him and he squeezes his eyes shut as he takes careful, controlled breaths. 

“My bad, sorry,” Connor says, lowering his voice. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a migraine. Eating is probably the last thing you’re thinking of.”

Arlo acknowledges the comment with a small grunt.

“You do need to stay hydrated, though. You’ll only be in worse pain, otherwise. Once we get you home, I’ll make sure you have plenty of water. Unless you want me to stop and get tea? Like I said, it’ll feel nice on your throat. May as well try to alleviate one aspect of your misery, right?”

When Felix had suggested Connor pick him up, Arlo had been adamant that it was completely unnecessary and that he’d rather sleep in his classroom than be subjected to that level of embarrassment. Then he’d thrown up into the classroom trash can — still on speakerphone — and wanted nothing more than to be home in bed. So when Felix insisted again, after expressing understandable disgust at the noises Arlo emitted, he couldn’t decline. He couldn’t do much except groan and wallow in self-pity, actually. 

Not only was there the ever increasing severity of his migraine, but his cold was putting up an absurdly valiant fight. His throat was beyond sore and, after spending an entire day sneezing with no warning, his nose had decided to switch things up.  There was a constant, insistent buzzing that would never culminate in any actual release. So Arlo was forced to sometimes spend a single minute, breath hitching endlessly, until finally he was left with tears running down his face without a sneeze ever surfacing. And of course, there was his RA, which had taken root in his wrists, elbows, and knuckles. So even if he hadn’t been suffering from the migraine, it’d still be challenging to drive.

But even with these reasons, he’s extremely close to regretting the decision. He couldn’t possibly be more of a nuisance if he tried.

“If you’re —” Arlo has to stop to clear his throat and can’t hold back a wince as he does so. “If you’re going to stop somewhere anyway, then, a tea would be good, yes. But, um, only if you’re getting yourself something.”

“I could go for some coffee, honestly,” Connor says, his voice still low. It’s only hurting Arlo’s head a little now. “I’ve spent the day writing, and my brain’s a bit on the foggy side, so caffeine sounds perfect. We’ll stop at the Starbucks up ahead.”

“Plain tea, please. Nothing with, um — it needs to be —” Arlo trails off, completely unable to articulate his thoughts. “Nothing from an animal, I mean,” he finally manages, then mentally reprimands himself for being unable to think of the word ‘vegan.’

“No dairy, got it,” Connor says.

“Or honey.”

“All right. Dairy free and honey free. No problem.”

The two fall into a comfortable silence for the rest of the car ride, except when Connor places the order and hands the tea over. If there’s one positive to being in a state of complete, abject misery, it’s that there’s no expectation for Arlo to feign the ability to hold a conversation like a regular human. 

He finds himself falling into a bit of a doze, so it's slightly jarring when Connor states, “We’re here.”

Blinking open his eyes, Arlo has the stomach sinking realization that his vision is still completely obscured by giant gray splotches. So, he closes them again. 

“Have you taken anything?” Connor asks, his voice practically a whisper.

Arlo manages a humming sound that he hopes conveys his affirmation. 

“You’re not going to be sick are you? You’re white as a sheet.”

Another hum. This time, Arlo doesn’t even know what he means by it.

“Okay…. So, here’s the plan. We’ll get you inside. Maybe you can try to sip some of the tea? Or a little water. I’ll make sure all the lights are off, all the blinds are down, etcetera. Sound good?”

Arlo’s silent for a while as he tries to make sense of Connor’s words. When it clicks, he knows he must grow even paler than before. “Nope. No. No. You don’t — you don’t need to come in.” 

There’s a beat of silence. “I understand that you don’t want me to come in, and I can understand why expressing vulnerability in front of someone you don’t know all too well is… less than desirable. But, we should be reasonable about this. You can’t even open your eyes. How are you going to get to bed?”

Another wave of nausea takes hold of Arlo. He manages to jerk open the car door before proceeding to be violently sick.

This quite possibly may be the worst day of Arlo’s life. It’s certainly the most humiliating. 

The worst part isn’t the now searing pain in his throat, or that his nose is streaming uncontrollably, or that he can’t stop coughing. Or even that Connor witnessed the entire thing and is now trying patting him on the back and guiding him to a standing position. No, it’s that Arlo is in such a pitiful state, that he has no choice but to accept the assistance. With the sun shining brightly, causing glares to bounce off each car in sight, keeping his eyes open is simply not an option. So he lets Connor guide him around the puddle of vomit and onto the front porch.

He continues to cough while his nose still buzzes with stuck sneezes. He digs out his housekey from his pocket with a shaking, aching hand. Connor wordlessly takes it and opens the door far more quickly than Arlo could.

Cracking his eyes open, he spots the couch, and makes to hurry over to it, but stumbles and knocks his knee against the coffee table instead. 

“Easy,” Connor says, voice gentle. “Go slowly, you’re almost there.” 

After this experience, there better never be another instance of Arlo breaking out in hives during a social situation because he has surely reached the pinnacle of embarrassment. This has to count as exposure therapy. 

With Connor’s hand on his back as a guide, he does manage to make it to the couch. He’s immediately horizontal, burying his head into one of the bed pillows left there from last night. 

His  nose is running so much, though, that he is rendered incapable of becoming comfortable. 

A particularly sharp tickle flares in Arlo’s sinuses, and his breath hitches and — 

Nothing. 

“Here’s some tissues,” Connor says, handing over a box that Arlo has no choice but to accept. 

Aching fingers grip the tissues over his nose as he releases an obscene amount of mucus.

“Okay, so,” Connor begins, sounding hesitant. “I texted Ben and he has to work late.”

That statement should not cause his eyes to prickle with tears, yet here he is, blinking them back. 

“I don’t feel great about leaving you alone, is the thing. I know you’ll probably be fine, but it’s hard not to feel like a dick, you know? If I just left you here, I mean. You’re obviously not in a good state, and all my work obligations are finished, and with Felix away — well, there’s no reason for me not to stay. So, I’ll just hang around for a few hours until Ben gets here.”

An objection begins to bubble to the surface, but unfortunately, so does another bout of nausea so he grits his teeth and stays silent as Connor shuffles around the room.

Arlo’s not sure how much time goes by — maybe ten minutes? Twenty? — when he finally opens his eyes. It seems the pain medication may be finally kicking in. Or it may simply be that he’s finally somewhere quiet and dark. Connor, true to his word, made sure all the blinds were down and curtains pulled. The only sound he hears is the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. As he has the thought, he hears another noise, something he can’t quite identify. Then he hears it again.

“Ht’chh!”

A sneeze?

“Ht’chiew! Hh hh’chh! Ht’chiew! HHtchiew!”

Definitely sneezes. He can hear Connor moving around the kitchen, but it’s obvious he’s trying to be as quiet, his steps soft and controlled. The sneezes, though….

“HHTCHIEW! HEH! HETCHIEW!”

They’re only getting louder. 

Thankfully Connor doesn’t sneeze in that obtrusive way a lot of men do. They’re far from scream-sneezes. The last couple did sound forceful, though. Hopefully whatever is bothering Connor’s nose gives him a  break soon because the only way Arlo can survive this evening without combusting from embarrassment is to pretend Connor’s not here in his house — a hard feat to manage when the man’s letting out sneeze after sneeze.

“HEH’CHIEW!”

And it goes on like that for a while. Arlo’s own nose teases him again as though encouraged by the sound of someone else letting loose their sneezes. But his sinuses remain stubborn, refusing to grant him relief.

“You’re awake. That’s good,” Connor says, making his way into the living room. “Do you - hh - have any….” He stops, closing his eyes, holding a finger in the air in the universal sign for “wait a minute.” Then he reaches into his pockets, pulling out a tissue that he wraps carefully around his nose. “Hmp’shh! Hmp’shh! Hehchiew! HEhchiew! Etchiew!” 

“You look worse than I feel,” Arlo says before being able to stop himself. Connor’s grip remains tight around the tissues, ensuring no spray escapes, but his eyes are swollen and leaking uncontrollably. 

“I forgot you had a cat,” Connor admits from behind the tissues. “That’s what I came to ask about. Do you keep - hh - do you keep any antihistamines?” 

Oh.

 There’s been a time or two where Ben or Arlo’s fur-covered clothes have been enough to set off Connor’s cat allergy. Since realizing, the two always make sure to lint roll the fur off as much as possible when they know they’ll be meeting Connor. Aside from that, it’s not something Arlo’s ever needed to think much about, so he’d forgotten.

It’s, however, now at the forefront of his mind.

“HEH’chiew! It’s not - ht’chh! - it’s not gonna stop until I take s-hh-somethihh -hitchhiew!”

Somehow even in the middle of a brutal sneezing fit, Connor manages to maintain a certain composure; every single sneeze makes it into the tissues.

“You don’t have to stay here and poison yourself. Just go home,” Arlo says. But the last words catch in his throat and he’s left coughing desperately into his elbow. When he’s able to breathe again, the stars in his vision force him  to close his eyes again.

“I’m not leaving a sick friend to suffer alone when he can barely move. I’m not an asshole.”

Arlo’s cheeks flush for a different reason. “You don’t have to do that,” he says, fixing his gaze on the hardwood floor. 

“What?” Connor asks.

“Say… that. That I’m, you know.” The blush intensifies and Arlo’s one step away from burying his face beneath the blanket. “A friend. I’m barely even Felix’s friend. It’s just — you don’t have to do that.” 

Connor looks like he wants to say something, but he’s occupied with another set of sneezes that he deftly catches into the tissues. “HT’shh! T’chiew! HHtchiew! Holy shit, I forgot how bad this can be,” he says, as if to himself. “Anyway, I don’t understand what you’re talking about. You don’t feel like Felix is your friend?”

This conversation is making him feel like he’s five years old. “He’s a work friend.”

With the aura clouding his vision finally fading, he can see Connor’s brows raise. “I think he’d be disappointed to hear that.”

“What? He wouldn’t.” The words replay through Arlo’s mind and his eyes widen. “I’m not trying to be mean. It’s just that’s — that’s how it is, I think. I don’t really make friends.”

“Arlo, please look me in the eyes as I say this,” Connor says, sternly.

Not realizing he’d even been looking away, he forces himself to meet Connor’s gaze. 

“Felix one hundred percent views you as his friend. He has never referred to you as an ‘acquaintance’ or even a colleague. You’re just Arlo. Or, on occasion, ‘the best thing that’s ever happened to Ben.’ So, I promise, there is no reason to be dubious about calling Felix a friend. Or, myself, for that matter,” he adds, rubbing a knuckle against his nose. “I’ve told you before that I want to get to know you better. You’re very, uh, what’s a good word for it? Calm. You’re very calm compared to everyone else Felix spends time with, which is something I appreciate.”

“Oh,” Arlo says after a moment. “Uh, thank you.”

As inadequate of a response it is, it’s surprising when Connor actually laughs. “Succinct. I also appreciate that about you.” He pauses, breath hitching again. “I’d appreciate you even more if you could tell me whether or not there’s any antihistamines in this house.” That last part comes out rushed and it only takes a second to realize the reason.

Connor’s tissues are back and he continues letting out sneeze after sneeze into them. After about the ninth one, it occurs to Arlo that he should probably mention that there are antihistamines in the house.

He sits up with every intention to stand, but the world starts spinning before he makes it up. So he squeezes his eyes shut for the thousandth time today. 

“You okay?” Connor asks in what is probably only a brief respite of sneezing.

“Dizzy,” Arlo mutters, then leans forward, with his head between his knees.

“Do you need a garbage can?”

Shaking his head, Arlo mumbles a “no,” then immediately regrets moving his head at all. “Uh, maybe?” he adds. “Oh, and there’s something in the bathroom cabinet. The medicine cabinet. For your allergies, I mean.”

Connor hums, then disappears out of the room. Deciding there’s no imminent threat of puking or passing out, he relaxes back into the couch, curling up on his side.

“Found the Benadryl,” Connor states when he returns a few minutes later. He has a wastebasket in hand that he worldlessly sets down in front of Arlo. “Also found the reason for why I’ve been sneezing my head off. She was sitting next to the bathtub. Does she get scared of new people?”

“Yeah, terrified. Surprised you managed to see her at all.”

“Well, after I said hello, she rubbed herself all over my leg, so I think I won her over.” He takes what Arlo hopes is a fresh tissue and folds it over his nose in that same careful way. “HHT’shiew! Hhh’tshiew! Shh! ETshiew! Ht’shhiew! ‘Shiew!”

“Sorry she’s having such an effect on you. I knew you were allergic, but, uh, I didn’t realize it was like this.”

“Yes, I’ve been cursed. That's why instead of having a nice fluffy cat in our house, Felix and I have a snake.”

“He does love snakes,” Arlo says, laughing. 

His phone’s ringtone interrupts the conversation. It’s an unknown number, but the area code checks out, and since he’s been waiting on a call from his doctor’s office about rescheduling an appointment, he reluctantly accepts the call. There’s a split moment where he realizes the phone is still on speaker mode before he hears the voice on the other end.

“Arlo?”

If he hadn’t been lying down on his side, it may have been easier to maintain his grip on his phone, but he’s spent the entire day straining his joints. So, it’s not surprising when the phone slips out of his fingers and onto the hardwood. 

“Arlo? Hi, listen, don’t hang up.”

This can’t be happening again.

“Arlo. Hey, I know you blocked me. I know. But, I’m using a buddy’s phone because, well, I wanted to check on you. I know we didn’t leave on the best of terms yesterday.”

Once again, instead of doing something productive like grabbing the phone or telling Jeremy to leave him alone, he simply freezes. He stares at the device as Jeremy’s voice continues to come through the speaker. 

“And I didn’t want to part ways when we still had such a misunderstanding.”

“Arlo, who is that?” This voice is different. 

Connor.

Connor, of all people, is still in the room witnessing this. Arlo needs to grab the phone.

“Arlo, who is that?” Connor asks again. “You’re shaking.”

Before Arlo can answer the question, Connor’s already picking the phone up off the floor. 

“Hi, there,” Connor says into the phone. “Arlo’s busy. May I ask why you are calling?”

He sounds as though it’s a run of the mill work call, as though nothing is amiss. As though he answers Arlo’s phone every day.

There’s a long silence, and then, “I don’t know who you are, but this is between me and Arlo. So just hand the phone over to him.”

“I would do that, but the fact that you’re using a ‘buddy’s phone’ after he blocked your number is enough for me to infer that you’re a piece of shit, so, I’ll pass on that.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Let Arlo speak.”

The speakerphone conversation unfolds like a play, like Arlo is nothing more than an audience member with no agency, no ability to change anything. 

“There’s some pretty clear evidence showing me that he doesn’t want to speak with you. So, I think I’ll do everyone a favor and disconnect this c —”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Jeremy’s voice is venomous. “Listen, you can’t, you can’t —” He stops, taking in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “You can’t judge the situation by what he tells  you. Exes say things. They’re not always true. I want to apologize. You’re keeping me from doing something that would make him feel better. Just give me one minute.”

Brow furrowed, Connor gives Arlo a meaningful look. Without making the conscious decision to, Arlo gives a barely perceptible shake of his head.

Turning his full attention to the phone, he says, “Not happening. Listen, I work in law enforcement. If we need to take legal action to arrange a restraining order, I can assure you it won’t be a problem. And if you violate that restraining order, well… Let’s just say I advise you not to do that.” Connor’s voice is even and calm, but the underlying threat is impossible to miss. 

There’s some frustrated huffing noises on the other end of the phone before the line finally goes dead. 

Connor sets the phone down onto the coffee table before taking a place next to Arlo on the couch. When Connor’s gaze meets his, he looks away, lightly pulling at a loose thread on a throw blanket. The wall clock audibly ticks away for several minutes while the two sit in silence.

“Do you think he believed me?” Connor’s question finally causes Arlo’s gaze to shift away from the blanket. “About the law enforcement thing? I don’t know shit about filing for a restraining order. Is that even what you say — filing? Fuck, I really know nothing.” He laughs, running a hand through his hair. 

A startled laugh breaks free from Arlo. “You sounded confident enough. I think he bought it.”

“Good. The guy’s obviously a dick.” Arlo gives a tight smile and nods before Connor continues. “So, clearly, there’s a story there. One I’m not interested in. Unless you want to tell me, of course; I’d gladly listen. But seeing how just  a few minutes ago, you couldn’t even call me a ‘friend,’ I’m leaning toward you not being comfortable with that.” 

“Um….” Arlo begins, but no other words follow. “Uh, I —” He tries again before shaking his head.

The corners of Connor’s eyes crinkle when he smiles this time; he’s not offended. Arlo’s shoulders relax. “Like I said, you don’t have to. It’s extremely personal; I get it. But, I don’t need details to know that I loathe that guy. If I see his face, I think I’d happily punch it.”

Eyebrows shooting up, Arlo asks, “I didn’t take you for the kind of guy to get into fights.” 

“I wouldn’t provoke one, but, I’m also not going to let an abusive asshole take advantage of someone just because he can.”

Once again, Arlo’s gaze finds the throw blanket. Connor knows nothing about Jeremy aside from the minute long phone call. How is everyone so quick to call him abusive when Arlo dated the man for eight years and still isn’t sure the word applies? 

“How’s your migraine?” Connor asks, and for once Arlo is glad to have attention drawn to his health.

“Fading,” he says. “As long as I stay still.” 

“Good. Your voice still sounds wrecked, though, and you’re incredibly pale. But that could be from the —” Connor stops, chews his lip, then continues. “Could be from a few things, I guess. Anyway, I think I’ll still stay for a while. And the antihistamines seem to be working pretty well, so I won’t be sneezing my head off anymore, which is a plus. Is it okay if I cook something? I saw a few things in the kitchen I could use. I’d replace the ingredients, of course. It’s just that I’m feeling pretty hungry myself and you should probably eat, too.”

“Help yourself to whatever you like,” Arlo says, before curling back up on his side, resting his head on the bed pillow. “Good luck, though. There’s not much to work with.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

* * * 

“You let him sleep in his shoes! His fucking shoes. Not to mention he’s still wearing jeans and a polo.”

“I’m sorry, but are you implying you wanted me to undress your boyfriend? Because that’s what I’m hearing.”

“What. The. Fuck. Of course not. But if he was so sick that he’d been puking, you could have fucking encouraged him to do it himself.”

“Right, because I don’t know about you, but when I’m so sick that I’m throwing up, my first concern is definitely clothing.”

“That’s why you should have encouraged him! That was my entire point, but god forbid you ever listen.”

“Jesus, Ben, he’s not a toddler. He doesn’t need encouragement, and he’s fine. You just want to always make things as dramatic as possible and —”

“Hmppsshh! P’shh! Hep’shhhhoo!”

The sneezes spray wetly against the pillow, but Arlo’s still groggy brain is finding it difficult to muster any concern.

“Bless you.” Ben manages to convey so much concern in those two words. 

“Thanks,” Arlo whispers. He swallows, then winces.

“Fuck, you keep sounding worse and worse every time I see you.” 

Finally cracking open his eyes, he sees Ben heading toward him. He promptly takes a seat on the couch and lays a hand against Arlo’s forehead, then his cheeks. “You’re warm.”

“Hmmpshoo!” The sneeze is buried into the pillow, but he’s awake enough now to grimace at the grossness of being ill in front of people.

“I’m so sorry you had to work today. And that you got a migraine. And then threw up. And — worse of all — had to spend your evening with Connor.” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Connor says, groaning. He’s, oddly, rearranging items on the coffee table. 

Arlo wants to say that the evening was surprisingly nice. The two spent an hour watching Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory before Arlo’s body had given into the need for sleep. It turns out that Connor is the perfect person to watch a movie with. He didn’t talk through the entire thing, but he also didn’t stay completely quiet. He laughed at all the appropriate places and rarely needed to pause the film. It was relaxing. All that to say — he was a far better movie partner than Ben, not that Arlo would admit that to him.

Most importantly, Connor never brought up the conversation with Jeremy. They just watched the movie while they ate vegetable soup. When Arlo had finished his soup, Connor wordlessly took the bowl, then brought back some water and more tissues. While it was slightly embarrassing, of course, to be fussed over by someone who wasn’t Ben, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Connor’s demeanor is so confident and assured that it was as though he wasn’t giving any  thought at all to what he was doing; there was no judgement or even pity. He saw a problem — such as Arlo running out of tissues —and he solved it. Simple.

So, yes, Arlo wants to tell Ben the evening wasn’t bad at all, and he shouldn’t give Connor a hard time about it. But when he opens his mouth, that’s not what comes out.

“Hht’shooo! Hh’shh!”

“Here take some tissues,” Ben says, handing a few over. But when Arlo tries to take them, he finds his fingers have completely stiffened. He can’t keep the grimace off his face.

“We’ll use the hand warmer thingy in a minute. That always helps,” Ben says in a gentle voice, carding his hand through Arlo’s curls. 

“Htt’SHHH!” Arlo says in response, because this is apparently all he can do now. 

‘Okay, everything’s cleaned up,” Connor states. “So I’m going to head out. Arlo, I put my number in your phone, so please feel free to reach out. About anything.”

“Oh,” he says, feeling the urge to rub the back of his neck. “Um. Th- hhtshh!”

Connor chuckles softly. “Feel better soon. And, Ben, uh… bye, I guess,” he says, before turning toward the door.

“Bye, I guess,” Ben mumbles.

Once Connor’s gone, Ben curls onto the couch, facing Arlo. 

“You’re very brave, getting that close. I have no control over my nose today,” Arlo says, voice still a whisper.

“I give no shits. Just wanna lay with you. I’m so fucking tired, oh my god.”

“Sorry you had to work late.”

“And I’m sorry you threw up,” Ben says.

“You already said that. And, anyway, I’m sorry I kept you up all night.”

Smiling, Ben says, “And, again, I’m sorry that you got stuck with Connor. Your turn.”

Arlo feels his own smile forming. “I’m sorry that basically all the tissues are gone. And some of your Benadryl. It turns out Connor is very allergic to Classy.”

Ben grins smugly. “That’s my girl! Classy!” he calls out, turning his head away from Arlo. “There’s my baby!”

Classy saunters in as though she hadn’t spent the last few hours hiding in the bathroom. 

She stares at the two for one moment before hopping onto Ben’s side.

“Ow. You have claws, sweetheart. Be careful.”

In response, Classy purrs and rubs her face against Ben’s. 

“What was that shit about Connor giving you his number?” Ben asks, though Arlo notices his eyes are shut.

“Uh.”

Ben snorts. “You have to give more than that. You can’t just coast through life saying ‘uh’ to everything, you know,” he teases.

“Um…”

“Or ‘um,’ for that matter. Oh my god. You are an impossible person.”

“I think he wants us to be friends,” Arlo confesses.

“Connor?” Ben’s eyes are now opened and there’s an alertness there that wasn’t there before. “Well, of course he does. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with you? But, why would you want to be friends with him?”

“He’s very….” He searches for the word. “Calming. And he’s fun to watch movies with. And he may have threatened Jeremy over the phone to have a restraining order put on him if he ever contacts me again.” He’d buried his head into Ben’s chest as he said this, hoping they’d be muffled. 

They aren’t.

“He… how does he — When? How? Why did they even talk? What events led up to that? What the fuck, Arlo?”

“Ben?”

“What?”

“I don’t feel well.” He makes sure to say it in his most pitiful sounding voice, which isn't hard to do, given it’s been reduced to a rasp.

“I know, baby.”

“So, is it okay if I just sleep? For a bit? And talk about everything later?”

There’s a long sigh from Ben before he says, “Fine, but we do have to talk about it.”

Aside from Arlo’s frequent sniffles and Classy’s rhythmic purrs, they fall into a silence. 

“You’re not working tomorrow, right?” Ben asks. “I mean, surely not.”

“I really wanted to. If I miss tomorrow, that’ll be three days I missed in just this week ....”

“Mm hmm, I hear you, but here’s something to consider: you are literally dying.”

Arlo laughs, then winces at how phlemy it sounds. “Not literally dying. Just….” He chews his lips, considering. “Slightly incapacitated.” 

“Is that something you can be slightly?” Ben asks with a raised eyebrow. 

“Sure,” Arlo mutters. “Hp’ngt!” 

“Holding it in like that is bad,” Ben mumbles half-heartedly. He’s clearly close to sleeping, himself.

“So is sneezing on your cheek,” Arlo retorts.

“Rather you do that than get a sinus infection.”

And how that statement has Arlo’s heart twisting with an almost unbearable fondness. “I know you would,” he says softly, and even though his fingers feel unusable, he uses them anyway to lightly stroke Ben’s cheek. “You know, you got mad at Connor for ‘letting me’ fall asleep in my clothes. You realize we’re both about to do that, right? You still have your shoes on.”

“Shoes shmoes.”

“I… don’t have a rebuttal to that.”

“‘Course not. It’s a classic defense for a reason.”

“Let’s make a deal, maybe? If you get up and go to bed, I’ll stay home from work tomorrow.”

Just as Arlo expected, Ben’s eyes snap open. “Okay, you’re playing dirty.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m playing extremely fairly. My intent is for you to get some good rest.”

“And I hate you for that.” Ben’s yawn is huge as he stretches. Classy doesn’t seem to mind the movement, adjusting to the new position rather quickly. “But fine. I’ll go to bed, and you’ll stay home tomorrow. Deal?”

“Deal.”

It’s probably a good idea, anyway. With the wedding on Friday and the birthday plans on Saturday, he can use a day off work. Surely with the extra rest, he’ll be healthy — well, healthy enough — for the weekend.

He’d hoped the flu he’d had a couple of years ago had been a fluke. Never — never —  had he ever sneezed so much in his life. He’s confident he’d sneezed more during the course of that single illness than he’d had in all his other thirty plus years of life combined. But then there was the Christmas where he’d caught what he’d thought was an exceptionally bad cold — the kind that caused ceaseless sneezing he’d never experienced prior to that awful bout of the flu. 

He’s not one to be sick often. He can count on one hand how many respiratory illnesses he’s had in the last five years. The problem is that there seems to be a new development in how his immune system responds to these viruses.

Only now as he jerks forward to stifle his fourth sneeze in two minutes does he truly begin accepting that his body is changing and that this may actually just be his life now.

And if that’s the case, then… fuck.

Several trays with some sort of weird, cloudy liquid are in front of him, and his “table partners” are busy trying to design a test to identify the substance. The idea is that they work together as a team to make the experiment themselves, as opposed to following step-by-step instructions. There’s value to the method of educators assuming the roles of students. Felix knows this. But in this moment, he’s trying so hard not to sneeze all over everyone and everything that he no longer cares much about this.

He brings his wrist up to rub at his nose in hopes to alleviate the itch burrowed deeply inside his sinuses. 

Big mistake.

“HETchnnx’t!”

The sneeze is stifled against his wrist, which would be fine — would be great, actually — if that had been the only one trying to claw its way out. But there’s more — so many more — and Felix is more than ready to call it a day and retreat to his hotel room. 

But, no, he’s stuck here trying to record his teammates' findings without spraying snot all over the experiment. 

“Did you get that?”

Sniffling hard, Felix looks with bleary eyes at the man across from him. His nametag reads Kyle. “Huh?” Felix asks.

“My prediction. Did you write it down? Since you agreed to be the recorder?” the man says, his brow raised.

Felix had agreed to be the recorder. Because collecting data seemed better than compromising the integrity of the experiment by sneezing all over the unidentified substance. But he hadn’t anticipated how much attention this particular duty required. 

“Um, yeah, you — heh —” He shakes his head quickly, then rubs fiercely at the ridiculously inflamed organ he’s unfortunate to have as a nose. “I — hehhh —” Now a tear rolls down his cheek as the prickle sharpens. “Sorry, you s — hh — said that you noticed — I’m sorry, but I have to sneeze.” He’s barely able to get out the words before he’s spraying into the crook of his arm. “HEHNg’tCHhhhoo! HEHNkt’sssshhh!” 

“Bless you,” says the older woman to his left. Her name tag displays her as Barbara. She must be close to retirement and probably resents being here more than anyone, but she’s wearing a sympathetic expression now. This is nice considering the man — a young teacher who looks fresh out of college — is staring at him with an expression of disgust. 

‘Thadks,” Felix says, sending the older woman a quick smile before writing something down on notebook paper he vaguely recalls Kyle mentioning. 

The final member of their group, Amir, is entranced by his work and hasn’t given Felix’s mini-eruptions any notice, thank god. 

Someone mutters something about test strips and suddenly there’s beakers in front of him and the very distinct smell of vinegar and now he has to sneeze even more because that scent is just so — 

“HEHnk’t! HEPng’t! Ng’t-choo! HEHmpkt’shoo! HAHnk’xxt — ow!”

“Bless you,” says Barbara again, as Amir finally looks up from his own beaker with the barest hint of interest in his expression.

“You sound sick,” says Kyle, and there’s no way the statement is anything other than an accusation. 

“I think I may be a little under the weather,” Felix admits. Then, feeling moisture trickle out of his left nostril, he gives a huge sniff. A sniff that becomes extremely counterproductive because it ignites something inside his sinuses that has him, a moment later, expelling everything from his nostrils with a massive, “HEH’NGtffXxtchhoo!”

Kyle literally scoots his chair away from the table in a way that Felix finds overly dramatic  — though only slightly, because there is a fair amount of liquid now splattered across his page. The notebook sheet of data now serves more as evidence of his cold than of any actual science. 

“Excuse me,” Felix says, sheepishly, his cheeks heating.

“It’s a bad season for colds and flus,” Barbara says, giving a soft smile. “It’s hard to stay healthy in this line of work.”

Still staring at the dampened sheet of paper, Felix only nods quickly. 

“I’m, um, not usually like this,” Felix says, sniffling thickly. “Okay, I mean, well, I didn’t used to be like this. Like, a cold was a cold, you know? But now, the past couple of times I’ve been sick, I —” His eyes are practically rolling into the back of his head as he crushes his arm against his mouth and nose. “HEH’NGtfXx’tch!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be here, then. You surely know as a teacher of biology that with a cold this symptomatic, that you are highly contagious,” Kyle says.

Laughing awkwardly and rubbing his neck, Felix can only mutter a small, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Hey, go easy. Surely you know what it’s like to need the PD hours. He’s already here. Of course he’s not just going to stay in his hotel room because of a cold,”  Barbara says. Felix is beginning to love this woman.

“I mean, if I were this sick,” Kyle says, his sentence trailing off, as he gestures at Felix. 

Felix wants to launch into defending himself. To say he’s not actually that sick. He doesn’t even have a fever, thank you very much. But it’s as though something’s taken possession of his sinuses because with no warning, he snaps forward and begins sneezing over and over again.

“Hngtchoooo! Gnt’chooo! EHHshooo! EHHHckSHOOO! EH shoo eh shoo! Eh shoo! AH eh EHSHOO!”

He’s not going to make it. He’s not going to make it to the end of this damn conference. 

He should’ve known better. He should have known from past experiences that when his nose is this full to the brim with a virus, he is no longer in control of his body. That trying to maintain any semblance of control is utterly futile and will only end in him being humiliated.

There is still a small amount of control he does have, though.

So, standing up, he gives his teammates a quick smile and apology before standing up from the table to make his way to the conference room’s exit. 

* * *

Connor’s POV

He’s halfway through reading a Blake Crouch novel when he hears the sound of the hotel door opening. Frowning, he checks the time on his smart watch. The watch confirms that, yes, it is indeed too early for his boyfriend to be returning from his conference.

Yet there he is walking through the door. Felix has a certain tendency to look messy at the best of times. Connor is sure he’s never seen the guy successfully button a shirt on the first try or even make it through an entire day without spilling something on himself somewhere. His current state, however, is more than the result of being carefree and chaotic. His nose is a distinct type of red and there’s a tear trailing down his right cheek. There are only two possibilities. Connor’s boyfriend has either spent a significant amount of time crying. Or  —

“Hmpkxxxt’ch!” 

“Oh, bl —”

“HMPKxxxT’CHH!”

Connor almost laughs because that second sneeze was a much more aggressive form of the first one, as though his body was pissed off at him for trying to hold it in. 

“I think if you’d let them out, you’d feel better,” Connor says slowly, testing the waters.

He’s met with a vigorous head shake and a finger held in the air.

“HAP’tCHNnk!”

“Right,” Connor says, drawing out the word. “Or you can let your sinuses explode. A completely logical and reasonable choice.”

“I let them out earlier. Di-hh-disaster.” 

Connor winces, imagining the scenario. “Ideally, you’d release them into tissues.” After the comment earns him a glare, he sighs, standing up from the bed. He walks over to the bathroom and grabs a handful of tissues. When he returns, Felix is leaning his back against the wall. 

“Here, use these. No need to let it just leak like that,” Connor says, handing over the tissues.

“It’s going to be so gross,” Felix says, biting his lip.

“It’s okay. You’re allowed to be gross.”

Taking a shaky breath, Felix shoots Connor a dubious look before he crushes the tissues to his face and begins to… well, to do something very gross.

As Felix fills the tissues, Connor heads to the bathroom to grab more, mentally making a note of everything he will need to buy. They will definitely need tissues for the eight hour long car ride home. 

When he sees Felix again, he’s somehow still blowing his nose — into paper that’s practically mulch at this point. Felix takes the new handful from Connor, looking grateful. 

As Connor heads toward Felix’s suitcase, pulling out some sweatpants and a hoodie, Felix’s noseblowing has somehow gotten more aggressive. Would one box of tissues last an entire car ride? Surely so… but, to be safe, he should buy a couple. He’ll also need something for the sinus headache Felix will undoubtedly develop. So, tissues, Tylenol, possibly cough drops, though there’s not been any coughing yet. Maybe a thermometer in case he starts running a fever while on the road? 

“Eck’fshhuuuhhh!”

“Bless you!”

“EHHH’CkkSHHUH! Oh my — ugh, ew. I hate being sick.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Connor responds, turning around to face Felix. The tears streaming down his face make Connor’s heart clench. “How about you sit on the bed and get more comfortable?”

Felix blinks slowly, looking at the bed as though the thought never occurred to him. He manages to make it to the bed, breath hitching the entire time. His body is clearly preparing for another grand display of illness. 

“I’m going to unbutton your shirt, okay?” Connor says, placing his hands on the bottom button of the shirt. “No need for you to be this dressed up when our new plans involve only resting and relaxing.”

“Hhh hh hhh hhh!” is Felix’s only response.

“Maybe a thumbs up? A nod? Kind of feel weird stripping you down without explicit permission.”

After a weak, short-lived, but definitely there thumbs up, Connor begins the process of undressing his boyfriend in a way much different from how he’d earlier been fantasizing. Although there are definitely similarities. Felix is flushed and gasping for breath; his expression even resembles the one he makes when he’s right on the cusp of — 

“HEH’TSHOO!” 

Warm spray coats Connor’s hands, and he closes his eyes, gritting his teeth for just a moment. 

“Sorry,” Felix gasps out before managing to turn his head this time for a “EHtshhhoo!”

“It’s all right,” Connor murmurs. Because it’s Felix and that’s what makes the words true.

He continues unbuttoning, Felix’s abdomen moving in response to the apparent ever-present desire to sneeze. 

“It was so embarrassing. At the - hh - conference. I just kept- hh — I mean, I just couldn’t stop sneezing.”

“It sounds like you were miserable,” Connor says, removing the shirt, laying it down on the mattress. “Raise your arms.”

Felix’s arms immediately go up. Connor pulls on Felix’s old, gray college hoodie over his head. He chews the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. There’s something so unfair about how adorable this man looks while sick. His mouth is partially open, each of his breaths coming out shaky. His eyes are red-rimmed and still leaking tears. Hand covered by the hoodie sleeve, Felix scrubs at his nose sniffling thickly at the same time. Never has anyone else ever looked so endearing while so utterly cold-ridden. Even with his nostrils glistening.  His brown eyes meet Connor’s and he remembers in that moment that he’s so fucked when it comes to Felix. The things he would do… the crimes he would commit without question if Felix so much as asked…

“ECKshoo!” The sneeze, thankfully, doesn’t land on Connor’s face. It was a close call. “I really wanted to be there, you know? I think I’ll still have my hours without all of today’s activities. But I was excited for the - hh - the next speaker.”

It’s when unzipping Felix’s pants that Connor gets a direct hit. “EKMKT’shhoo!” It somehow feels as though wet spray is coating his entire upper body. He feels it on his face, his neck… it must be all over his hair.

“I’m so sorry. I tried to hold it. But all my body wants to do is sneeze. If this is what being sick is - hh - gonna be like from now on, I’m w-w-whhhh - wearing a hazmat suit to work.”

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Connor says as Felix lies flat across the bed so Connor can strip him of his khakis. 

Felix sneezes only once as Connor pulls the black joggers over his legs, though his breath hitches the whole time. Once comfortably dressed, Felix gets under the covers. Finally settled, he looks at Connor and there’s something to his expression that seems… he can’t quite pinpoint it. Almost frightened? Apprehensive? But why would he feel…

Ah. It clicks as Felix snaps forward. 

“Hmkptshhh! PTSHH! EHNg’txxxshhh! AHH pshh! Ahh’pssh! Eh’shh! EH’sshh!”

Felix continues sneezing, one after the other, sounding as though they’re toppling over each other with the force of trying to come out. Connor joins his boyfriend in bed, wrapping an arm around him and rubbing his shoulder, the way he’s done in the past when Felix hasn’t gotten like this. 

“HHuhHHTsnkkxxx! HHHH! Oh my — oh my god. HEHNkt’sssshhh!”

Heart twisting, Connor rubs harder as though that will make the discomfort go away.

“Would you still l-hhhhh- love me if I heh… if I … HEt’SHOOO! HET’SHOO! Goddammit! Hemkpt’shhh!” 

Cold-laden droplets are absolutely coating this hotel comforter — not to mention the air.

But Connor only grimaces. 

“Would you still love me if I HET’SHoo!”

“Would I still love you if you were a worm?” Connor asks, brow raised. He’d managed to move past that particular meme unscathed, though now, it seems that is changing.

Felix aggressively shakes his head. “N-n heh no. If I — HH! Ugh. If — I never stopped sneezing? Would you still love me?” 

A laugh falls from Connor’s mouth before he even fully registers the words. “Sweetheart, if I can still love you after you’ve had two bean burritos from Taco Bell, then I can certainly love you if you never stop sneezing.”

Connor’s about to get up to fetch more tissues when Felix’s now hoarse voice asks, “What if I never stopped sneezing but was also a worm?” He pauses, staring at the ceiling, chewing on his lip. “And also ate two bean burritos from Taco Bell?”

“Would I still love you if you were a sneezy, gassy worm?” Connor asks, the words coming out slowly.

“Mm, yes,” Felix says, shooting Connor with such a bright, crooked smile, that he wonders how his heart is still beating because surely it melted from that smile.

He looks at his extremely sick, extremely disgusting boyfriend. The need for a tissue is, as far as Connor’s concerned, dire at the moment. Felix’s nose is producing mucus at a, quite frankly, alarming rate. As if struck with the same thought, Felix reaches out an arm and swipes it underneath his nose and Connor only winces a little.