Uh yeah

.

After the nurse weighs him, shows him to the private room, takes his blood pressure, and leaves, Steve has nothing more to do than stare at the bland, cream-colored walls and try not to fall asleep on the exam table. He fights the urge to lay down on the crinkly, uncomfortable paper, praying that this won’t take long, and he can be back home in bed as soon as possible.

The stuffiness in his nose that has been bothering him for days once again reaches capacity, and he feels a tell-tale tickle which gives him just enough warning to fumble a tissue out of the small pack he has shoved in his pocket. “kknnnxXGT!” The fountain of snot that pours out is miraculously all contained in the one feeble tissue. He groans and a couple coughs escape him. This cold, or whatever the hell it is, is just starting to settle into his chest.

The trash can on the other side of the room is too far away for his aching body, so he sets the used tissue to the side of him on the exam table. The waxy cover always reminds him of the kind of paper used for takeout orders. He feels enough like a vegetable right now that someone could just wrap him up like a sandwich and put him out of his misery.

Fiddling with the packet of tissues, he sees he only has two left. There’s a full box sitting on the counter across the room, but he doesn’t want to embarrass himself by hoarding the entire box like some kind of snot monster. He should be able to control his nose for the next ten minutes or so.

After a few more minutes of waiting, there’s a knock on the door. It swings open to reveal a guy about his age, with long curly hair pulled back into a bun, and the biggest brown eyes Steve has ever seen. The dark ink on his forearms swirls all the way up his biceps until it disappears under his scrubs. Steve instantly feels his face warm, and he’s about ten times more embarrassed to be here. He thought he was going to be examined by some sweet middle-aged lady, not this bad-boy doctor that sends heat crawling up his neck.

---

Eddie enters the exam room and commends himself on his professional conduct when the first thing he notices is how awful the guy on the table looks, rather than how gorgeous he is. The third thought that runs through his head is how familiar he looks. This has to be the guy that stops by the coffee shop where Eddie studies.

He’s shaken from his thoughts when the guy curls forward with a powerful sneeze that rips through him, thankfully caught in a waiting tissue.

“Whoa,” Eddie says, stepping over to the counter and immediately donning a surgical mask. The guy looks truly miserable and Eddie’s not trying to fuck around with this.

“Hey,” the guy says weakly into his bundle of drenched tissues.

“Hi,” Eddie says, “It’s, uh…” He looks at the chart in his hands. “Steve, right?”

“Yeah.” Steve follows his resigned answer with a clearing blow that rips through the otherwise quiet room.

“So, you’re not feeling too hot, Steve?” Eddie pulls the swivel stool to the center of the room and takes a seat.

“Not really, bman.” Steve pulls the tissue from his face, gives a hearty but futile sniff, and sets the dirty thing on the table next to him. “I just dneed a doctor’s dnote for class. The professor is such a hardass.”

“Yeah, I totally get it,” Eddie says as he pointedly places the trash can next to Steve, who sheepishly tosses the soiled kleenex. “It still looks like you’ve caught a hell of a bug, though, so I gotta do the required examination.”

Steve smothers several wracking coughs into his elbow. When he emerges, he looks even more wiped out. “That’s fine.” It comes out as Thad’s find, and Eddie shouldn’t be charmed by how the congestion mangles his words, but he is. He gets the feeling that he’ll find anything this guy does to be charming.

“Alright, let me get your temperature first.” He grabs the infrared thermometer from the counter, then, noting the nearly empty packet of Kleenex Steve has on him, also grabs the box of tissues, and places it next to Steve on the exam table. “You look like you might need these.”

“Thaggs,” Steve manages, and now Eddie is close enough to see the flush that blooms high on his cheeks, under a constellation of beauty marks. Is he covered in them all over?  Eddie mentally chides himself for the thought, forcing himself to focus. He stands over Steve, aiming the temperature gun at his forehead.

“W-wait- I - iihh!” Steve’s eye flutter and he leans back as far as he can, twisting to the side. “hih-HIH’RUUSSHHH’IUE!” The sneeze is heaved into his cupped hands, no doubt contaminating them with contagious spray. “Ow.” His poor throat must be scraped raw. Eddie pulls two tissues from the box and hands them over. Steve takes them gratefully, burying his face into the soft, white folds and releasing a sickly, gurgling blow.

“Ogkay,” Steve says as he straightens up, his throat still thick with mucus. Eddie winces in sympathy, taking his temperature while Steve still has the clump of tissues pressed under his chapped nose.

“101. You definitely have a fever.” Eddie makes a note on his chart. “How long have you felt feverish?”

Steve swipes his nose clean, throws the Kleenex into the trash, and answers, “About a day or two…”

“Have you been drinking fluids?”

“Trying to.” Steve covers a wet little cough with his fist. “Bmostly Gatorade… or if my roobmate bmakes bme tea.”

I bet he’s a jock, Eddie thinks at the mention of Gatorade, and tries to ignore the mental image of a healthy Steve running around in short shorts.

“That’s good. How about your appetite?”

“Umb… m-mostly – heh-” he frantically pulls a tissue from the box as Eddie steps further back, eyebrows raised. “heh-KIISSHH’AH! Ugh. ‘Scuse bme. SNF. Bmostly soup.”

“That’ll work. It’s important to stay hydrated and keep up with your meals.” Eddie tries to focus on his damn job and not how adorable Steve looks with his red nose and his sleepy eyes. He wants to take him home and tuck him into bed.

“And the congestion? The sneezing? How long has that been bothering you?”

The mere mention of it has Steve’s nose staging a rebellion. The unrelenting itch causes his breath to start hitching as the tingling spreads. His lungs fill with a stuttered gasp before he’s rocked by a sneeze that sends him lurching forward into his soggy tissue. “Huh-AEXXTSHHH’uu!” Jesus, that sounded like half of it came from his chest. It takes him a moment to come back to himself. He pauses, clearing the mucus from his throat.

“Yikes… That sounded like it hurt. You good?” Eddie’s forehead creases with concern.

“Mmhmm,” Steve answers, although he doubts he’s very convincing, seeing as his response was more of a pathetic pained sound than actual words. He forges on anyway.

“Idt started about a day and a half ago a-and iihh – hih – it won’t – sto- hah – HA’ESSSHHH’uh! SNF. Ugh, God, idt won’t stob.” He grabs another kleenex to clean himself up. “I feel like saying I’b stuffed ubp is an understatemend.” He snuffles up the liquid threatening to spill out his nostrils, the sound of it somehow both syrupy and jam-packed at the same time.

“What about headaches? Body aches?”

“Y-yeah – I – h-hang ond - hah-K’GGSSHHoo! Heh-D’TSHH! Oh bmy god.” The poor, crumpled tissue that’s now completely sodden is thrown away, immediately replaced by a fresh one, brought up to halt the flow of snot that threatens to run onto his cupid’s bow. “Sorry for beigg disgusting. This cold is killing bme.”

“You’re fine,” Eddie says with a smile that’s mostly hidden by the mask. “It comes with the territory.”

Steve gives a weak smile and nods. Eddie’s candor helps open the floodgates and he continues, “Umb. So yeah, bmy head’s beedn hurting for a couple days. And bmy body hurts, but that’s probably the fever. It’s just –” He smothers a crackling cough into his wad of tissues. “It’s jusdt beedn shitty all around.”

“Sorry, man. I feel for you.” Eddie meets his eyes before scribbling some notes down on his chart. “Hopefully we can suggest something for that cough at least, and have you feeling better soon. Some Tylenol would help with that fever, too.”

“Thaggs.” Steve’s eyes track Eddie’s nimble hands as he writes. The fever must be loosening his tongue because he asks, “Hey, you look kind of fabmiliar. Do…do you - hih’AEESSH’iue! Do you go to the coffee shobp around the cordner?”

Eddie’s heart stumbles over itself and he looks up to meet Steve’s glassy eyes.

“I do! I thought I’d seen you before. I study there a lot because it’s so close, and I concentrate better with a little bit of chaos, you know?”

“For sure. I stob there before bmy night class sobetimes. They have really good lattes.”

“And those croissants, oh my god. Sometimes I think they’re the only thing getting me through med school.”

Steve laughs at that, which of course turns into a hoarse cough that he has to race to cover with his elbow. Eddie looks at him with undisguised concern; can feel himself falling fast. He’s going to need to call on every bit of professionalism he possesses to act normal when he has to get up close and personal with this guy.

---

“They let students work in the university clinic?” Steve asks. The fever is making his head swim, but he’s got to learn more about this guy. If he says anything stupid, he can blame it on the fact that he’s sick as a dog. When he would sneak glances at this guy – he reads his nametag – Eddie Munson – in the café, he’d practically salivate over his tatted forearms peeking out from his rolled-up sleeves. He usually had his hair back in a messy bun if he was studying – wild strands escaping here and there, chewing on the end of his pen, his foot jittering with barely-restrained energy.

“They sure do,” Eddie answers, snapping Steve out of his reverie. “Third- and fourth-year med students do clinical rotations as part of the MD program.” He pulls a tongue depressor from a glass jar on the nearby counter. “Doctor Byers should be in to check my work when we’re done. She’s chill though.” He walks back over to stand in front of Steve. “Now comes the fun part,” he says, wiggling the tongue depressor in his fingers.

“Do we have to?” Steve scrubs a finger under his raw nose.

“Doctor’s orders, I’m afraid,” Eddie says with a smile that crinkles his eyes.

“F-finde… Let bme j-just – heh - hih…ha'iggSHH’IUE!”

“Get all those sneezes out?”

“Y-yeah – hih - gshHT’Chuh! kx’GSSHT’iiew!”

“You ready?” Eddie asks when Steve stills, blinking above the barricade of tissues pressed desperately to his face.

“Uh huh.” Steve fights against the perpetual tingle in his sinuses by snorting as much of the mess back as he can.

“Just try not to sneeze on me,” Eddie jokes.

Steve flushes, mortified that that’s even a possibility. He’s been eyeing this guy for weeks - why couldn’t they have met under normal circumstances that weren’t designed specifically to humiliate him?

“I’ll try.” Steve tries to sound reassuring, but who’s he kidding – judging by the past couple days, the likelihood of him controlling his nose is slim to none.

“Okay, open your mouth.”

Steve does, relieved that he can blame his warm cheeks on the fever. Eddie is right in his face, and Steve doesn’t know where to look. Half his concentration is spent on not staring at his lips, or his chocolate brown eyes, and the other half is trying to not cough all over him. He should’ve brought some fucking water with him, or stopped at the café for some hot tea.

All the thoughts fly from his head when Eddie crooks a couple fingers under his chin to tilt his head up for a better view. A sharp curl of desire sizzles at the base of his spine, his insides turning gooey at being handled in such a way, with such intense scrutiny – like he’s a particularly interesting bug under a microscope.

Eddie tsks. “Your throat’s pretty red, and a bit swollen. No surprise there.” He pulls back and tosses the tongue depressor. “How long has it been sore for?”

“A couple –” He’s cut off by a chesty, rattling cough muffled into his cupped hands. “Sorry,” he rasps. “A couple days ago. Idt was the first symptom I had, other than - Kngxxt’shoo! – other than beigg tired.” While he grabs a handful of tissues to clean himself up, Eddie pulls the stethoscope free from where it rests over his shoulders. Steve groans inwardly. He hates this part. It’s always so awkward having someone listen to every sound you make – inside and out – in a silent room. He gives a viscous blow into the Kleenex, hoping to clear out as much sludge as possible. How disgusting must Eddie think he is right now? Or is this truly just another day at the office for him?

“Ready?” Eddie gestures with the stethoscope. Steve takes off his jacket and fights a shiver. “I’m going to listen to your lungs for a second. Just breathe deep for me, okay?”

“Ogkay.” Steve gives one last small cough into his fist before taking a deep breath. His nose is so stuffed that he’s forced to breathe through his mouth. It’s silent in the room as Eddie shifts the disk on his back from his left lung to his right, his other hand a warm, steadying presence on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve continues to breathe in and out, but as Eddie is about to switch to his front, his breath catches and a deep, wet cough is forced from him. He twists away again, and Eddie gives him space. The cough sets off the irritation in his nose, and he’s helpless against the harsh, scraping sneeze – “hah’ITXXXCH’ah!” – that bursts into the waiting crook of his elbow, the mess of it leaving the fabric damp.

“Christ, I’b so sorry.” He catches his breath and cleans himself up. His voice is starting to go hoarse. “I really don’dt wanna get you sigk.”

“No worries, I think you have whatever has been going around for a while. I’m sure I’ve already been exposed.” He leans into Steve’s space again and sets the cool disk on Steve’s chest. “We definitely don’t want you going to class and spreading this around, though. We’ll get you that doctor’s note, no problem.”

“That’s a relief. Thaggs.”

“Happy to help. Another deep breath for me?”

Steve does as he’s asked, focusing on the feel of Eddie’s hands on him as a sense of calm sinks into his bones, the tension inside him unspooling. The room is quiet enough for him to hear Eddie’s breath echoing his own. If he wasn’t so goddamn stuffed up, he’s sure he’d be able to smell the salt of his skin. As much as Steve hates being poked and prodded when he’s sick, it turns out it’s not that bad when Eddie’s the one doing it.

“Sounds like it’s moving into your lungs,” Eddie says, and Steve only nods dazedly, surrendering to the exhaustion and the feeling of his mind floating somewhere above him. “Some over the counter cough medicine would help with that.”

“I can ask Robin to pick me up sombe,” Steve says, thinking out loud. Then he clarifies, “Robin’s my roobmate.”

“Well, that would be nice of her.” Eddie loops the stethoscope back around his neck and moves to stand in front of Steve. “I’m going to check if your lymph nodes are swollen.”

Steve sits up straight and tilts his head up. The cool touch of Eddie’s hands against the fever-hot skin of his neck is enough to make him shiver again. He’s going to melt into puddy if he’s not careful. His eyes threaten to flutter shut as Eddie gently prods at him, and Steve must really be out of it now, because he’s letting his eyes roam greedily all over the other man – his broad shoulders, dark eyelashes and lightly freckled skin. There are a couple loose curls that Steve wants to brush off his forehead, and his thumb itches to press into the little furrow of his brow that forms as Eddie concentrates fully on Steve. On getting Steve better.

The words spill out of him without his consent – “Robin is jusdt a roobmate.”

“Oh?” Eddie’s hands still, but he doesn’t remove them from the underside of Steve’s jaw. Steve blinks – realizes what he just said.

“I bmean – yeah. She’s – I was just clarifying. Only roobmates.”

Eddie pauses, his eyes searching for something in Steve’s gaze. “Good to know.” His tone is genuine and deliberately light.

Eddie continues his exam, gentle fingers exploring along Steve’s skin. Steve swallows against the dryness in his throat, sniffing in an attempt to keep his nose from running. Another desperate, ominous sniffle has his damn nose prickling again. Steve reacts in a flash – pressing his hand into Eddie’s solid chest to push him out of the way before inhaling sharply and curling into himself as a sneeze tears out of him and sprays over his lap. “Hiih-ZZSSHHESSH! G-god, sorr-eee – heh - huh’GGSSHH’IEW!” His hands are loosely steepled in front of his face, not enough to completely contain the spray, but enough to hopefully give him some semblance of privacy so Eddie doesn’t have to watch such a disgusting display of illness. Not like he hasn’t had a front-row seat this whole time. “Fugk.” He reaches for the tissues as gracefully as he can. “Sorry, this is disgusdtigg.”

“It’s okay, Steve. It’s not your fault - you’ve got one hell of a cold.”

“Still,” Steve insists, then marvels at the fact that against all odds, Eddie looks charmed.

“Alright tough guy, I think it’s safe to say we can write you that doctor’s note now.” Eddie winks. Steve doesn’t know whether to blush, grumble at him, or thank him profusely. He somehow finds a middle ground.

“Thagg you.” The words are a self-deprecating groan into his now ever-present fistful of tissues.

“We’ll email you a copy, but they can print it for you when you check out, if that helps.” Eddie smiles under his mask, and Steve wishes he could see it. There’s a knock at the door, and Eddie tells whoever it is to come in. It’s Dr. Byers. Joyce, Steve gleans from her nametag when she gets closer.

“Hey guys. How is everything going in here?” She steps into the room and Eddie hands her the chart.

“Good. It looks like he’s got that nasty cold that’s been going around. I told him we could get him an attendance note for class, and recommend some over-the-counter cold meds. And lots of fluids and rest, of course.” He sends a look Steve’s way, who returns it with a nod, their eyes catching and holding. Joyce studies the chart a moment longer.

“Everything looks good. Do you have any questions, Steve? Anything else that you have concerns about?”

“No, I don’t - hah-iiGhhShoo! ‘Scuse mbe. I don’t thigg so.”

“Alright, if there’s nothing else, I believe you’re free to go,” she says with a sweet smile. Steve is hit with an odd flash of happiness that Eddie has such a nice mentor to work with.

“If anything gets worse, come back and see us, for sure.” Eddie hastily adds, his hands clicking his pen with excess energy.

“I will. Thaggs again,” he says for good measure. As he stands up to leave, Eddie’s voice rings bright in the dull room.

“And hey – next time you see me at the café, stop and say hi, yeah?”

Steve’s heart gives a silly little lurch, warmth spreading through him. “Yeah, of course. I’ll – iihh - hih’KISSHH’uu! SNF. I’ll see you there.”

A fond laugh rumbles from Eddie’s chest. “Preferably when you’re feeling better. You’re like a walking biohazard right now.”

Steve groans and rolls his eyes. “Ugh, you don’dt have to rebind bme.”

“I know, I’m just giving you a hard time.” When Eddie turns back to Joyce, she’s looking between them with a question in her eyes. He huffs an awkward laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Well, take care Steve. I’ll see you around!” He hesitates a moment longer before giving them both a little wave and heading out the door to his next patient.

Joyce shares a look of friendly exasperation with Steve. “He’s quite the character, but he’s going to make a great doctor someday.”

“Seembs like it.” Steve looks to the door Eddie has already disappeared from. He’s a romantic at heart in spite of himself, and he already knows he’ll be imagining how Eddie is spending the rest of his day while he’s laid up in bed fighting this thing. He wants to believe that Eddie will be daydreaming of him too.

“Come on, I’ll show you where to check out.” Joyce leads the way out of the room.

Steve follows, already doing the mental math to figure out the timing of when he’ll be feeling better and when Eddie will be studying at the café. What should he wear? Which outfit would Eddie like best? Maybe he can try to find him on social media. After all, he’s going to have plenty of time to lay around with nothing else to do.

~*~

At five minutes to the hour, Eddie strolls into class as though he has all the time in the world. He’s learned from years of being punctually challenged that it’s easier to fly under the radar if you don’t appear rushed and frazzled when you make your entrance. There are only a few seats left in the large lecture hall, and they’re all up at the front. Reluctantly, he chooses one on the very end of the curved row, the seats in the hall forming a semi-circle that fan out like those ancient Greek theaters the professor had mentioned last week.

World History 101 – the most basic of basic history classes. Almost everyone here, Eddie included, is taking it as a required core class. But it isn’t the worst thing in the world; Eddie makes a game of it, searching for little tidbits he can add to his D&D games when he’s in need of inspiration.

The eye-candy isn’t half bad either. The professor, Mr. Smith, is actually pretty hot. Dark hair, a well-trimmed beard, glasses… Eddie can get on board. And halfway through his lecture, without fail, he’d take off his suit-jacket, loosen his tie, and roll up his sleeves, drawing the undivided attention of half the class. Aged to perfection, he can’t be more than in his early 40s, his hair just starting to get that salt and pepper color to it.

Unfortunately, he’s also known for being kind of a hardass. One of those guys with lots of chili peppers on RateMyProfessor, tempered by lots of comments about what a stickler he is for the rules.

The doors at the top of the hall open just as the professor is about to get started, and Eddie looks up.

Speaking of eye-candy, he thinks. It’s the guy that he’s had his eye on for half the semester. Hot-prof doesn’t hold a candle to this guy.  Steve. The name floats through his mind and his heart gives a little kick.

He hasn’t managed to talk to him yet, or even figure out how to covertly snag a seat near him. This class is pretty much just lectures and tests, no group projects – which doesn’t offer a lot of openings for an introduction. Eddie only knows his first name because he’d heard Mr. Smith use it once or twice. He may be an asshole about the rules, but he does try to learn their names. As much as one can with a class of 100+ students.

Steve hurries down the steps to the first row of seats. The only open desk is in the dead center, about 10 feet away from Mr. Smith’s podium.

“Shit,” Steve says under his breath, looking embarrassed. Eddie’s glad he’s not in his shoes. Even though he’s in the front row himself, he’s somewhat hidden off to the side. The curvature of the row gives him a great view of Steve without it being obvious he’s looking at him.

The professor greets Steve with a firm nod as Steve sits and pulls his notebook out of his backpack, settling in. Eddie sees his nose scrunch up in a sniff. Probably just from the run over here to make it on time.

“Welcome, everyone,” Mr. Smith pulls up a PowerPoint on the screen behind him, “Today’s lesson is going to cover the Renaissance, which is a period in time ranging from the 1400s to the 1600s. The Renaissance was a cultural movement that profoundly affected European intellectual life in the early modern period.”

A sound crackles through the air, and Eddie’s eyes snap back to Steve. He’s got his face buried in a tissue, eyes closed, blowing his nose for all he’s worth. Heat sparks to life low in Eddie’s belly. Oh god…is he-?

Mr. Smith shoots Steve a look over his glasses, waiting for him to finish. Steve sighs and swipes at his nose, managing to find a dry section of the ruined tissue. When he notices the professor’s gaze, he looks sheepish and whispers, “Sorry.”

Steve hides the crumpled tissue away in a pocket of his backpack and then pulls out a fresh one from – Is that a fucking car pack of Kleenex? Eddie wonders. Leave it to pretty-boy Steve to go out and buy the perfect size tissue box to fit in his backpack. Eddie would’ve just brought a roll of toilet paper.

With a nose that beautiful, he deserves the best, he can’t stop himself from thinking. Then he chastises himself for being so gone on this guy. He focuses back on his own notes, or rather, the doodle he’s already started, and tries not to be too much of a creep.

Mr. Smith drones on for several minutes, punctuated every so often by Steve’s wet sniffles. Eddie can see him rubbing the bridge of his nose out of the corner of his eye. He wonders if the whole class can hear him – auditoriums are designed to carry sound, after all – or if Eddie’s just hyper-aware.

The sniffles turn ominous, and Steve reaches for a tissue just as his breath starts to hitch. He holds it at the ready, splayed over both hands, inches from his face.

“Ha... ehh…hih…hih’AEESSHH’IUE!” The sneeze bursts from him as he snaps forward and buries his face in the waiting tissue. The sound ricochets throughout the room and lightning pulses through Eddie’s veins, white-hot. Oh fuck.

“’Scuse be,” Steve mumbles, his eyes glazed over as he snuffles up the loosened congestion.

Jesus, he’s actually really sick, Eddie thinks, his own elation at the sight at war with the pity he feels for the guy.

Mr. Smith gives a small, put-upon sigh. “Where was I? Oh yes - The unique political structures of Italy during the Late Middle Ages have led some to theorize that its unusual social climate allowed the emergence of a rare cultural efflorescence.”

Now that Eddie knows for sure that Steve is sick, it’s a struggle to keep his eyes off him. He doesn’t want to miss a moment; his gaze darts across the room without his permission, tracking every movement of those busy hands, the fluttering eyes, the flaring nostrils.

As the minutes tick by, anticipation curls warm through Eddie’s gut. Steve is holding a Kleenex in his hand, wiping his nose with it as subtly as he can, forced to breathe through his mouth due to the congestion that has taken up permanent residence deep in his sinuses.

Eddie wonders how long he’s been sick. If these are brand new symptoms or if he’s been suffering for the better part of a week. He looks contagious as hell, red nose constantly dripping into the tissue that he presses to his septum. Eddie feels for the students who were unlucky enough to sit next to him, but he would also happily take their place.

His thoughts are interrupted by a hitch in Steve’s breath, no doubt building to something more obscene and uncontrolled than the first go-round.

“Ehh… Oh god, haa-… hih-EETSSHHOO! Ha’AEESHHah!  Uhh…huh…ITTSCHHuh!” He groans, low and pained. “Oh bmy god. SNF. Sorry.” Eddie watches as Steve holds the destroyed tissue to his nose while fumbling in his bag for a fresh one. There’s no way that abused tissue contained all those haphazard sneezes. If the students next to him have to sit through an entire hour of that, they’re definitely screwed. Hell, Mr. Smith is probably screwed too, being directly in front of him, albeit several feet away.

“Are you quite finished?” Mr. Smith says primly.

“Ugh.” Steve gives a liquid sniffle and swipes under his nose with his bare hand. “I hobe so.”

Jesus Christ, Eddie is going to pop a semi in the middle of class. He slides his jacket off - it’s getting fucking hot in here anyway - and sets it over his lap.

The professor clears his throat and continues. “As I was saying, one theory is that the devastation in Florence caused by the Black Death, which hit Europe between 1348 and 1350, resulted in a shift in the world view of people in 14th century Italy.”

“Ha….HA’EHSSHHOO!” Steve’s whole body shakes with the strength of the sneeze, drenching his fistful of Kleenex. Oblivious to the teacher’s glare, Steve’s eyes flutter, his brows inching higher and higher with each sharp inhale, fighting against the prickling itch deep in his nose that’s begging for release.

“Italy was particularly badly hit by the plague,” Mr. Smith continues, pausing to direct a stern, pointed look at Steve. “And it has been speculated that the resulting familiarity with death caused thinkers to dwell more on their lives on Earth, rather than on spirituality and the afterlife.”

“Huh-ITTSSH’IEW!” The relentless barrage continues, Steve struggling helplessly against it. “uh…huh’GGKSSHH’IUE!”

Eddie stares, entranced. He can hear how wet they are, thick with mess that’s barely contained in the clump of increasingly soggy tissues Steve’s got a death grip on. Eddie gets another glimpse of Steve’s disobedient nose - pink, wet, and sore - as he pulls back from the tissues with a wobbly inhale, clearly not done. A flush darts up Eddie’s neck, his toes curling in his sneakers.

“It has also been argued that the Black Death prompted a new wave of piety, manifested in the sponsorship of religious works of art.” Mr. Smith soldiers on, agitation clear in his voice. “However, this does not fully explain why the Renaissance occurred specifically in Italy in the 14th centu-”

“Ahh…ihh…hih…HIH’EERRRSHH’IUE!” The last one tears through Steve in the middle of an attempt to grab a new batch of tissues. He curls into himself, unleashing the spraying sneeze across his lap and part of his desk. There’s a visible sheen on his cupid’s bow that he desperately swipes at with the back of his hand.

“Steve!” Mr. Smith says sharply. “I do not appreciate these interruptions!”

“I’b sigk, dude!” Steve argues, as if that isn’t obvious by the gurgling, cold-ridden noseblow that immediately follows. His features are a tired mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

“Please don’t call me dude, Steve.” Mr. Smith pins him with a flat look, clearly exasperated but unwilling to kick him out just yet. Steve glares at him.

“I’b sigk, professor – hih…ha’AESSHH’IEW!” The sneeze erupts from Steve, forceful and clearing. He puts much less effort into covering this one, holding the tissue inches away from his face and releasing a huge, spraying sneeze openly down onto it. Eddie can see the escaped stray droplets misting the air.

This motherfucker better not make me come in my pants, I swear to god, Eddie thinks as he adjusts himself, trying to find some kind of relief. He feels too hot in his own skin.

The students nearest Steve are leaning away from him in mounting horror, trapped without any open seats to flee to.

“If you’re feeling so poorly, why did you come to class today?” Mr. Smith radiates disapproval.

“Idt’s your attendance policy, bman.” Steve scrubs a finger back and forth under his raw nose. “I didn’t thigk it wa-aah…hah–Ha’ERRSHH’IUE!” The sneeze is only half-muffled against his fist, the rest scatters free into the air. “Ugh. Allowed.”

Mr. Smith’s mouth pulls into a frown. “Exceptions can be granted when there are legitimate… health reasons.” He eyes the growing pile of tissues on Steve’s desk with disgust, calculating the odds of how likely he is to catch his cold, no doubt increasing with every one of Steve’s careless, pathetic attempts at covering, with every slimy tissue added to the pile, cluttering up the desk, creating a foreboding minefield of germs.

Steve snorts up the clogged mess in his nose and clears his throat. He’s so congested that even his throat sounds thick with it. Pulling a tissue from his pack, he lays it across his cupped palms, ready, waiting.

“I didn’t thigk this would count. Idt’s just – heh – just a c-cold – Ha’GGSHT’CHUH!” His head snaps forward as he unleashes the sneeze vaguely downwards toward the tissue spread across his hands. Eddie can see the unrestrained spray of it swirling around in the several inches of open air between his agitated, rebellious nose and his hands.

He folds the splattered tissue up to release a crackling blow, so loud that Eddie thinks he must be doing it on purpose. When he’s done, Steve offers a pointed, “’Scuse mbe,” with a telling twist to his lips. Now apparently fully committed to his appearance as a plague rat, he breathes through his mouth, dabbing at his sore, chapped nose with the tattered remnants of the tissue. When he pulls it away, he has no shame – his red, glistening, contagious nose is on full display.

Oh, Eddie likes this one. A buzzy warmth fills him down to his toes, and he has to stop himself from shivering with it. His cock is rock-hard in his jeans. Has anyone ever died of blue balls? he wonders, shifting in his seat.

Rather than hiding it away in his backpack, Steve adds the sodden tissue to the pile on his desk like a challenge, trying to get a rise out of Mr. Smith. The brazen audacity of it is doing nothing to help the heat under Eddie’s skin.

“If you’re ill to the point of being a distraction in class, you should have emailed me, and I would have given my approval,” Mr. Smith says in a tense, clipped voice.

“I didn’t thigk I felt that ba-hah… bad – hih - odn the way over h-here,” he argues, quickly scrambling for a fresh tissue, “but I – huh… I cadn’t stob – ihh… s-sneeziihh… Ha-iih’ERRSSHH’IUE!” His brow furrows with the strength of it, shoulders curling in. He’s crumpled the tissue under his nose, anticipating the sheer amount of mess, which unfortunately leaves his mouth uncovered. The sneeze forces the breath from him in a violent gust that causes the used tissues on his desk to flutter and threaten to topple over the edge.

Eddie’s pulse jumps and he almost snaps his pencil in half, tapping his foot on the ground in an effort to not shake out of his skin with want. He tries not to openly stare as Steve pulls back the Kleenex from his face, having to pinch off the mess that still clings to him, wiping the spit from his lips with his other hand.

“Ugh, what a bmess.” Steve says, really playing it up. “Sorry. I’b trying to stob but they’re too strogg.”

“I can see that,” Mr. Smith grinds the words out between his teeth.

“I thigk I’b really contagious.” Steve presses the tissue to the underside of his tender, dripping nose. “I already godt all of mby roobmates sihh-sigk. Heh…Huh-HA’IIGGGHHH’SHOO! Ughhh. Trust mbe, you don’t want this…” He punctuates his warning with a truly miserable-sounding noseblow.

“I agree. We don’t need you getting the whole class sick.” Mr. Smith takes a few careful steps back, looking like he’d rather be running from the room entirely. “You can get the notes from one of your classmates.”

“Are you s-sure?” His nostrils flair and he cups a hand several inches from his face in a sluggish attempt to cover another impending outburst. “ihh – hih’iiiiGGHH’shue!” It scrapes from his throat, the last syllable drawn out into a pained exhale.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Mr. Smith says. Having reached the end of his rope, he points to the door. “Go. Before you infect us all with your pestilence.”

Satisfied, Steve gathers his things, touching them all with his germy hands in the process. The used tissues are scooped up and crammed into an open pocket in his backpack. The car-pack of tissues stays out. Clinging to it like a lifeline, Steve pulls two fresh ones from the cylinder.

“Thaggs, professor.” He quickly bunches the tissues to his face, his chest heaving with every hitch of his breath. “ahh… hiiiih… Hih’AAIIGH’shoo! SNF. I’ll see you next weegk.”

With that, he turns and makes his way up the stairs, pausing every few steps to shudder with a wrenching sneeze, barely contained in his damp fistful of Kleenex. Now that he’s not even trying to control them, it seems he’s completely at their mercy, pitching forward in several small fits, trying to cover as much ground as he can between them until he finally makes it to the door. Fumbling the clump of tissues into his pocket, he pulls at the door handle, finally making his escape into the hallway as an awkward hush settles over the rest of the class.

Mr. Smith attempts a joke and tries to refocus everyone’s attention. Eddie doesn’t hear any of it. His head feels all floaty and he’s trying not to come in his pants. That was insane. He blinks, trying to shake himself out of it.

By the time he’s managed to bring himself back to reality, Mr. Smith is making a show of marking off Steve’s excused absence. “Steve Harrington,” he announces as he notes it down, enunciating clearly as if to let the entire class know who’s to blame when half of them come down with this cold from hell.

Harrington. Something clicks in Eddie’s mind at that. Chrissy’s knowing smile flashes through the haze. A months-old memory washes over him in waves – she was telling him about some guy she made friends with in class… going on and on about him. About how one time he’d shown up for class sick as a dog, and how she wished Eddie could have been there - he’s just his type. She had wanted to introduce them.

At the time, Eddie’s interest had been piqued, how could it not? But this guy sounded like a Grade-A jock, and although he trusted Chrissy, Eddie dating a jock went against practically every facet of the Munson Doctrine. He had filed it directly under “Never Gonna Happen” in his brain, and they’d both forgotten about it, buried in finals, before heading off for winter break.

Since then, Chrissy might’ve mentioned her and Steve meeting up for coffee once or twice since they didn’t have a class together this semester, but her hopes of introducing them got lost in the throes of a busy Spring semester. If Eddie had known this was Chrissy’s Steve – a bit of a jock, sure, but still sweet and smart and with sneezes straight out of Eddie’s wildest fantasies – he sure as fuck would’ve made that introduction more of a priority.

Fuck. Now Eddie has to see if there’s still a shot. If Chrissy was going to introduce them, that means there’s a slim chance Steve might be into him, right? He’s going to text her as soon as class gets out and tell her he’s seen the light.

Eddie wonders if he could give Steve his notes from class. Didn’t the professor say something about that? Yeah, he’ll get his number from Chrissy, then bring him the notes… maybe some tea…

Shit, he’s got to get ahold of himself.

For once in his life, Eddie tries to take flawless notes. He’s only partially successful. It’s almost impossible to focus with replays of Steve’s little spectacle parading through his head. And if that wasn’t distracting enough, he can’t stop himself from imagining scenes from their future together like some kind of lovesick fool. He taps his pencil to the page, daring to hope.