Upon first arriving, it seemed as though Sam’s insistence on his own well-being was actually genuine. He greeted Milo at the door with clear eyes and a beaming, slightly crooked smile. Feeling like a delinquent for doing so, Milo gave a cursory glance at his nose and found it not even the slightest bit red or raw looking. He tried to temper his disappointment in favor of relief. This was good, actually. If Sam’s allergy meds really were doing their job, this was going to be a lot easier for him to sit through.

Sam threw a lean, muscled arm around Milo’s shoulders and guided him inside. He smelled like fresh laundry and sunshine and was already talking a mile a minute. 

“I think you’re really gonna like the new stuff, Sebastian’s been working on some lyrics that really brought the whole ting together--” he glanced at the tote Milo had clutched under his arm, “Oh shit, you really did bring snacks! I could kiss you, dude.”

They entered Sam’s room—always surprisingly clean for a man so full of boundless energy—and Abigail snorted. 

“Ugh, save it for when I leave,” she muttered, “The three of you can make out on your own time.”

Milo blushed dark red, the freckles on his cheeks nearly dissolving into the pools of color as the heat crawled up his face. Just as his step faltered, Sebastian appeared at his side and snaked an arm around his waist. He pulled Milo free of Sam’s golden aura and cocooned him in his own: velvety and dark and every bit as distracting.

“It was a figure of speech, jeez,” Sam’s cheeks went a little pink too, much to Milo’s delight. The blonde palmed the back of his neck sheepishly while he kicked off his shoes. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Milo caught Sebastian smirking. He never quite knew where the lines between them all existed. He and Sebastian were dating, he was pretty sure of that. But Sam and Sebastian had a thing all of their own too. And for their part, Milo and Sam always seemed to get tongue-tied around one another, a phenomenon Sebastian relentlessly encouraged. 

The only one who could clock all of them from a mile away seemed to be Abigail, who rolled her eyes and snatched the tote away from Milo before retreating back to the couch with it. Cracking open the lid made the room fill with the sweet scent of fresh baked scones. Abigail’s eyes went wide.

“Milo, you outdid yourself,” she gasped.

Milo, who’d just stopped blushing started right up again, and raked a hand through his dark curls.  

“It’s a new recipe.”

“Oh hell yes! Gimme one!” 

Sam darted past and snatched one out of the bin, jamming nearly half of a scone into his mouth with glee. Both Sebastian and Abigail rolled their eyes, but Milo merely watched with unmasked affection. Sam never did anything elegantly. It was all wide-toothed grins, exaggerated movements and unapologetic mirth.

By contrast, Sebastian was more delicate about the whole ordeal. Taking a scone for himself, he held it between his long, pale fingers and inspected the glaze. His dark eyes flickered to Milo.

“Strawberry?” he asked.

Milo nodded, “Picked this morning.” 

Sam had already demolished his first and was onto his second as he stooped down to his guitar case. Scone in mouth, he snapped the latches with his hands and shook hair out of his face like a dog. Milo’s chest squeezed. So cute.

En route to the keyboard, Sebastian stopped and placed a soft kiss on Milo’s cheek. “Thanks, farmer.” His hand strayed to his hip as he passed and pinched at the bone playfully. Milo almost yelped but managed to keep his reaction from emerging. 

He whirled an accusing gaze on Sebastian who merely gave a pointed look over at Sam who now held a half-eaten scone in one hand and was furiously rubbing at his nose with his other.

—

Abigail used to joke that Milo was a captive audience for these practice sessions. But the truth was, there was nowhere in the world Milo would rather be. As music filled the room, Milo sank back into the old couch Sam had dragged in and pushed against the wall.

He couldn’t hold a tune to save his life and he’d never learned to play an instrument, so the best he could offer was a pair of listening ears for Goblin Destroyer’s new material. He tended to think everything they did sounded great, but he at least pretend to offer varying opinions. He mostly just liked being a part of it all. Plus, watching both Sebastian and Sam in their element had a kind of hypnotizing power over him. 

Unfortunately, not hypnotizing enough to distract Milo from the losing battle happening before his eyes.

Sam turned his head against his shoulder and rubbed his nose against his shirt. With both hands occupied by his guitar, it seemed to be his only option, and one made effortlessly casual at that. It was over and done with in a second, having not missed a beat for his efforts, and it seemed Milo was the only one who’d noticed. It could have been a fluke. 

But of course it wasn’t. 

A few moments later, Sam sniffed hard. The sound was lost behind the music but Milo could see it happen clear as day. The bridge of his nose crinkled a few times and then the tip wriggled as he tried to assuage an itch without actually scratching it. Milo squirmed on the couch, wondering what it might be like to help him. To reach up and rub his nose for him while he played, or run his fingers along the bridge of his nose to try and coax out— 

Sam sneezed without warning. A tightly controlled thing, just one bob of his head and a brief shuttering of his expression. It was impossible to say if he’d made any sound or not given the volume of the music, but Milo doubted it. For as inelegant as Sam could be, he’d been suffering from his allergies for long enough that he’d gotten good at suppressing them. Normally he didn’t bother, at least not around them, but Milo supposed these were different circumstances. There was a certain veneer of professionalism here.

Sam sniffed hard enough to wrinkle his nose again and continued playing, unbothered. But Milo knew where this was going. And he was certainly bothered. 

Sam’s fingers never missed their mark on the neck of the guitar as his eyes fluttered and his head snapped forward once, twice, and then a third time with completely suppressed sneezes. His mouth was shut in a tight line, his expression pinched. He shook his head after the third as if to clear the sensation and arched his shoulder to wipe under his nose as he played. 

Milo felt the room turning to molasses around him. Heat crawled up his throat. Worse still, Sebastian had caught that last outburst. A tiny smirk played on the keyboardist’s pale features as he continued to play, his eyes flashing almost wickedly as he met Milo’s gaze. 

His expression seemed to say Told you. 

There were a few moments of peace. Milo tried to will himself not to look at Sam again but his eyes were pulled there like a magnet. He could tell the fit was getting away from him. Sam’s eyes closed and this time his hands paused their rhythm on the guitar as the tickle distracted him. He tilted his head toward the light, a lock of blonde hair falling limp across his forehead, and then whipped to the side after a brief pause. 

“—tiiew!” 

Milo only caught the tail end of the sound over the music, and the resounding-undoubtedly wet-sniffle was swallowed up by Sam falling seamlessly back on beat. He blinked a little groggily as he continued playing. Then, he must have noticed Milo staring, because he grinned sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders at him. 

That slight acknowledgement of it all went right to Milo’s dick. He somehow plastered on what he thought was a convincing smile in return and then had to cross his legs. His heart began jackhammering in his chest. Fuck, was he really about to have to sit here while this happened? Maybe he really was a captive audience.

Sam struggled in vain to keep playing but his nose had other ideas. Surrendering to the tickle, his hands went slack against the instrument again and his upper lip curled over his canine. Milo couldn’t hear the uptick of his breath but he could imagine it well enough, watching the plane of Sam’s chest swelling against his t-shirt. Hh—hh? Hh?

Sebastian stopped playing. And the pause between Abigail’s drumming was just long enough for the first, clear sneeze to strike through the room crystal clear.

“h’h’JIISHZSHh’huu!” Sam gripped the neck of his guitar and angled away from it. Milo couldn’t tell if he was worried about sneezing near it or just using it as a point of stability. He gasped and let his head snap forward with a second, wet, “hh’tiiISChiew!” 

Abigail stopped playing too. Silence descended, to which Sam quickly shook his head. He turned to the others even while his head bobbed between sneezes, eyes struggling to open during the quick cadence.

“N-no, don’t—nNNCH!—stop, I’m—hNGT!—fiii-nnGXT!—hGNT!—I can keep—tschh! TSCH! Going!”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, you sound like it.”

“You know when you hold them in like that it only just makes it worse,” Abigail scolded him.

Milo felt like the walls were closing in on him. He quickly angled himself towards the arm of a couch and placed one of the pillows on his lap as strategically as he could. 

Sam lifted the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth as he geared up for another. “h’Hsshhh-ue!!”  "Bless you," Milo said, his mouth dry.

“I thought you took your allergy meds,” Sebastian sighed.

Sam remained under the cover of his shirt, eyes cinched shut. He gasped wildly and ducked down, “HHh’uPSCHh’ue!” A watery, pathetic sniff followed and Milo could think of nothing else besides the wet mist most likely spraying his own chest. 

As Sam emerged, his nose was pink, nostrils an angry shade and twitching. “I did,” he groaned, “God, I fucking hate sp-sprhiing.” 

Lifting up his shirt again, he pinched the fabric around his nose and shuddered into another, “hh’eSCHh!” 

Milo couldn’t help but notice the slight spot of dampness now forming on the shirt. "Bless you," he said again, trying to keep his voice steady. His eyes were apt to roll back into his head if he wasn’t careful.  "Thagks," Sam sniffed hard.

“Maybe sit this one out,” Sebastian suggested as Sam pawed at his nose, “Abby and I are the ones who have to learn the run anyway.”

To anyone else, it might have sounded like something a concerned friend might say. But Milo could hear the edge of playfulness to it. The slight lilt of teasing that was meant for him, and only him as Sam nodded glumly, shrugged out of the strap of his guitar and made his way over to the couch. 

Milo stiffened, eyes going wide. Sam flopped back, completely oblivious, one arm going behind him around the back of the couch. He dropped his head back, gave a liquid sniffle and groaned. Milo could feel the heat of his arm near his shoulders and chewed on the inside of his cheek so hard he could taste blood.

“Just don’t sneeze all over Milo,” Sebastian warned. 

Milo gave him a desperate look. It must have been really desperate, because Sebastian even laughed and managed to appear a little apologetic. 

“Or the scones,” Abigail added.

Sam gave them both the finger even while turning his face to the side and half-stifling into the open air. The frame of the couch shook softly and his knee brushed against Milo’s as he released it. “hH’NGXtssh!”  He groaned and shifted back. Sam hardly ever looked grumpy, but he was absolutely pouting now. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something else but his arm quickly retracted from behind Milo so he could lean forward. He ducked beneath the safe haven of his shirt again, head dropped and hair falling over his brow as he buried his nose into the fabric. "hh'tscHH!! hhi'zESHhhiyew!"

Milo instinctively reached for him, his hand smoothing over his spine. Sam startled at the sudden contact and bit down the next series of sneezes seemingly on instinct, folding into himself further with each quick set.

"hH'nNNT! nnGSST! nnGXCH!"

"Sorry!" Milo said hurriedly, retracting his arm.

Sam tried in vain to shake his head through and speak through the last of the tickle, "No, my ba-haa'aSScHIEW--bad! Sorry, hh'tssch!--fuck! There."

He'd thoroughly soaked the front of his t-shirt now. Sniffling wetly behind the cover of it, he lifted his gaze with no small amount of bashfulness. A hoarse, weak laugh escaped him. "Bless you doesn't seem to cover it," Milo said, breathless for entirely different reasons.

"Sorry, sorry," Sam continued to apologize, sluicing the moisture from his nose with his shirt.

"Do you not own tissues?" Abigail balked. "My house, I can sneeze where I want," Sam sniffed again before standing up and unceremoniously stripping out of his sodden shirt. Milo blinked, stunned, and could do nothing but stare at the lean muscle on full display as Sam walked towards his dresser. Sebastian cleared his throat and when Milo caught his eye, he was practically grinning. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him look so happy. Milo sank further into the couch and forced his eyes to the floor. "Okay, I think the worst's over," Sam declared as he grabbed a fresh shirt. Though Milo caught his profile just as the telltale hitch of his breath followed the statement. "Hh? Hh!"

His long, blonde lashes fluttered as turned to the side, eyebrows lifting in expectation. Milo watched his bare shoulders swell softly as he inhaled, muscles along his ribs flexing. Sam sniffed and seemed to ignite the tickle fully, directing one last tired sneeze towards his elbow. "hH'tishew!"

The exhausted nature of it did something irrevocable to Milo. His mind went completely blank as Sam sniffled through tossing his new shirt over his head and eventually returned to his guitar.

“I’m getting over a cold,” he admits. He hates that this is the first thing he’s said to Okkotsu aside from an addendum-greeting when he opened his apartment door in the clothes he’d slept in, irritated with his immune system for lagging and with his sensei for calling unending attention to it. “I’m alright. Gojo-sensei likes being dramatic.”

He considers offering to take Okkotsu’s jacket and hang it somewhere for him, but stays back when he realizes he probably shouldn’t be touching another person’s things before washing his hands.

“That’s too bad,” Okkotsu says graciously. “A lot of people are getting sick with the seasons changing lately.”

Megumi thoughtlessly says, “It gotten you yet?”

“Not yet!” Okkotsu chimes. Good. Megumi can’t picture him with a cold right now, not with Okkotsu right in front of him and Gojo in the room. “But please don’t worry about me, Fushiguro-kun. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Of course he’d know that Megumi was going to express concern about that next. Megumi wants to reassure him that he’ll still try his best to keep his germs to himself, but Okkotsu keeps talking.

“And let me know if you need to stop and rest. I can probably take care of everything once I have more background on what I need to do tonight.” 

Okkotsu isn’t arrogant when he says it, but he backpedals regardless.

 “Not that your help isn’t appreciated! I didn’t mean it that way. It helps a lot with someone like you to guide me through what’s going on. You’ve studied the history of the district, right?”

“Yeah, uh.” Megumi scratches his neck. “I had extra time this week.”

“He means he was stuck in bed,” Gojo interjects with a vexing, waggling finger. Obnoxious. Megumi doesn’t mention that he’d been more hiding than he was stuck, and was recently devastated to find out that Gojo somehow knew that he was sick anyway. “He’s still mad about it, too, but you can’t exorcise with a fever. I’m actually surprised it broke so quickly. Sure you didn’t hack the thermometer, Megumi?”

“Yes,” Megumi says.

“I forgot about that rule,” Okkotsu says. His mouth twitches unhappily. “Does it only apply to certain techniques?”

Megumi wants to say that Gojo made it up just to be overbearing and piss him off, but the others do stay home if they have an infection bad enough to spike their temperature. He’s always had a harder time parsing when it’s best to quit, even if a cold is negligible and doesn’t impact his ability to work.

Gojo laughs and says, “It’s there to prevent mistakes in case of delirium or distraction. You’d think it was for morale, but they don’t really care how you’re feeling so long as you don’t screw anything up.”

“He’s right,” Megumi confirms. “Higher grades get less leeway in general, but it’s case-by-case.”

“It’s really unfair, isn’t it?” Okkotsu says, even though he could probably get the organization to change the rules if he wanted to. He’s got the clout for it. Megumi wonders if they’d let Okkotsu stay home if he asked, then chastises himself for thinking about Okkotsu with a cold again. It’s going to ruin him.

“Yep!” Gojo grins and pats Okkotsu on the back, which makes him stumble forward. “See why I like this guy? Real big heart on him.” 

Uh-huh. Megumi knows all about Okkotsu’s real big heart, and he won’t bother entertaining Gojo about it. Not like this. He nods toward a pair of guest slippers and Okkotsu gets the memo, sliding them on and stepping up into the main area of Megumi’s home. 

“And turn up the heat a little, will you? No wonder you’re still sick,” Gojo adds as he crosses his arms. “It’s fuh-reezing in here, man.”

With a frown, Megumi tries to figure out whether Gojo is messing around or not. He’s really not adept to host right now and his mind’s yet to fully clear, so he doesn’t take his chances.

“Sorry,” he offers only to Okkotsu, since Gojo should have left already. “I didn’t notice. Are you uncomfortable?”

“No, not at all!” Okkotsu says eagerly. “I can keep my jacket on.”

“Shit,” Megumi says. “No, I’ll change it. Sorry. I’ve been drinking a lot of tea.”

“That’s good! It must be warming you up, then.”

“I should’ve checked the thermostat,” Megumi continues, aware that Okkotsu can probably hear the regret in his self-scolding. He looks at the wall and shifts his frown to the other side of his face. “Sorry again. You can come this way.”

“If only Megumi would invite me into his apartment, too,” Gojo whines. “Ah well. Hope you enjoy cramming! And I’m sure I’ll see you in the morning, if all goes well tonight.”

“Sure,” Okkotsu says pleasantly, and when the door shuts, Megumi can’t help the humiliated blush riding up the back of his neck. Okkotsu is behind him and can probably see it, but it would look suspicious for Megumi to pull his hood up. “Thanks for taking the trouble to relay everything to me beforehand, Fushiguro-kun. I really do appreciate the intel.”

Megumi sniffles and awkwardly says, “It’s no problem.” 

Without Gojo’s boisterous diversion, he can hear his own voice all too loudly. He might be feeling better than yesterday but he still sounds sick, and he’s supposed to teach the second strongest sorcerer in the universe about a rogue curse for an hour with half his consonants pinched and fuzzy.

“Table’s over there,” he directs with a nod toward his and Yuji’s kitchenette. Neither of them have been cooking this week so it’s relatively tidy, but he’s left a couple bottles of medicine on the counter near the sink. “Unless you prefer the couch? I can sit over by the window.”

He should probably put on a mask too, but he lost the one from yesterday after taking it off to eat.

“No, please,” Okkotsu argues politely, “that’s okay. You shouldn’t strain your voice. I, um… Did I already say not to worry about it?”

“You did,” Megumi answers. He clears his throat to stop himself from coughing, and it sounds rough and a little disgusting. “I’ll, uh, still try to keep you safe.”

What a ridiculous thing to say. If it wouldn’t be such a problem for everybody, Megumi would ask for his fever back so he’d have something to blame.

All Okkotsu does is smile at him and say, “Okay.” Megumi sits down at Okkotsu’s risk and takes his institution-issued tablet from underneath one of the books on his table.

“How much do you know about Shinagawa?” he asks first. “I don’t want to go through anything redundant and waste your time.”

“They have a Zambia embassy,” Okkotsu says thoughtfully. That isn’t relevant at all to jujutsu, which tells Megumi that he may have to start from the beginning. “Oh, and the mangaka of Kaze Hikaru was born there too, I think.”

While he pulls up his own report, Megumi says, “Yeah? I don’t know that one.”

“It’s pretty good,” Okkotsu says. “I reread it with Toge last year, actually, and he’s a lot more critical of those things than I am. It’s, um, a shoujo series?”

“Sounds…” Megumi stops himself. It could be rude to say Inumaki seems like he’d have a soft spot for shoujo or perhaps an anthropological interest, but his mind is still cloudy from the medicine he took earlier and it’s hard for him decipher what kind of commentary is appropriate.

He changes the subject instead.

“You spent time in Zambia, didn’t you?”

“Oh!” Okkotsu follows him. “I did, for a few weeks.”

“You like it?”

The app with all of Megumi’s info is still loading. Maybe he can airdrop the report and have Okkotsu ask questions so Megumi doesn’t have to think so hard about which pieces are most important.

“It’s hot,” Okkotsu answers with flitting eyes and a smile. “But the food was pretty good. I got to try a lot of different things when I was down there.”

So… he didn’t like it and doesn’t want to be rude, but Okkotsu is too transparent to hide his feelings. Why pretend?

Megumi sniffles and looks back down to the tablet while he wipes his nose on a napkin, god forbid he embarrass himself further as it starts to run. He says, “Most people would have a tough time. It’s supposed to be a worse culture shock with the jet lag of changing hemispheres.”

“I wish I’d known that before leaving,” Okkotsu comments, still smiling and still uncomfortable as Megumi tends to his congestion. “It would’ve been a lot easier if I’d been prepared for the change. It was weird to be so hot in January.”

Finally, the program loads and Megumi relieves Okkotsu of having to tolerate his foggy-headed small talk.

“I’ll send this to you and we can follow together,” Megumi says, looking from the tablet to Okkotsu, then opening the app’s sharing option. He sniffles again and wonders whether Okkotsu will have to watch him take another shot of cold medicine.

“Oh, um…” Okkotsu says. “Sorry, I didn’t bring my device with me. I can read upside down, though, I think?”

“No, you don’t need to do that,” Megumi insists. He clears his throat. “I’ll move my chair.”

Any objection from Okkotsu is cut down by the assertive scrape of Megumi’s chair against the floor.

Okkotsu takes the tablet and slides around it to face the right way, leaning forward and starting to scroll through the report. Before Megumi sits down, he takes advantage of the extra space to cough into the plush fabric of his sweatshirt and cringe at the way it rattles in his chest. When he emerges, Okkotsu is looking right at him.

“Fushiguro-kun,” he says, “are you sure you’re okay? I’ve had a cough like that before. It’s painful, isn’t it?”

Megumi needs to clear his throat again before he can answer, because his initial response is a whispered, crackly squeak.

He tries once more and says, “It’s okay. I’m just shaking off the end of it.”

“What if I made some tea before we get started?” Okkotsu suggests, already standing, rubbing his hands together. Damn it. He’s still cold. “You said it was helpful, right? Toge always does that for me and I don’t think I’ll make it as good as him, but I’ll try.”

Being sick is so awkward. As much as he wants to keep Okkotsu from floating through his kitchen and curiously taking in all of the evidence of the week Megumi has spent with a vividly exorbitant head cold, he can’t stop him because now, he needs to sneeze.

If Okkotsu is in the kitchen focused on finding the kettle and navigating the stove, then Megumi could get away with avoiding the kind of concern and commentary that only shows up when he’s alone and fantasizing. With Yuji out for at least another hour, Megumi had been optimistic about his restraint from the emergent, contradictory arousal that comes from the incredible and electric and awful experience of showing off a cold in front of his rudimentary crush.

But his senses are dulled by the heaviness in his head. Megumi can’t tell how much of himself is showing, and that’s dangerous with Okkotsu around.

With permission from Megumi’s lack of protest, Okkotsu carries himself into the kitchen, eyes fixed on a box of assorted herbal sachets. Megumi allows himself to sit as the prickle in his sinuses blooms toward the inevitable.

“htCHsh!” It’s soft, and quiet enough not to be worth acknowledging, except… “chSH’iu! CHshh’iu!” …that they come in fast, annoying sets that he isn’t able to delay. “gktCHhyeu!”

“Oh, you’re sneezing,” Okkotsu sympathetically acknowledges while Megumi is still preoccupied. Fuck. “You’re like Toge. He always needs to sneeze a few times, too, before he’s done.”

And he’s comparing Megumi to his boyfriend. This is a disaster.

“hh’H–hDT’chyeu! Yeah,” Megumi says in a hurry to get himself under control, prioritizing his response over actually catching his breath. He feels every last word of Okkotsu’s statement pulsing through his body, moving along his limbs and spreading heat as they go. “Dunno why.”

The napkin he’d been using is more or less useless now, so Megumi takes another one and blows his nose to delay another episode. If he’s lucky, it could actually work.

“Is it like that for you all the time? With Toge it is, but I guess it’s normal for people to sneeze a lot when they’re sick,” Okkotsu laments. Megumi hears him start the kettle and tries to focus on that, but he’s already getting dizzy thinking about how that statement is sometimes true for Okkotsu himself. “Is chamomile okay? Or will that make you too tired?”

“It’s fine,” Megumi says. “You can make whatever you like. There might be sweeteners in one of the cabinets if you—”

“Oh, what’s this fruit one?” Okkotsu interrupts. Megumi looks over his shoulder. “Apple something?”

“It’s good if you mix it with the chamomile,” Megumi offers, satisfied with the distraction, pressing that same napkin underneath his nose as he turns back around for privacy.

“Okay.” Okkotsu loiters by the kettle and prepares the cups. Megumi considers mentioning the food thermometer and the tea’s temperature recommendation, but Okkotsu seems confident without much instruction and is busy asking questions about the campus-appointed dishware and whether he thinks it would be worth it to invest in some of his own mugs and plates. It’s enchanting how interested he is in everything. Megumi can’t say the same for many others.

With the detour, they’re going to take much longer than an hour. Yuji will get home before this is over and Megumi will have to update him on his cold in front of Okkotsu, because Yuji is definitely going to ask. Okkotsu might even participate with a report of his own, which would be nothing short of an erotic nightmare.

Having already failed at keeping Okkotsu from having anything to report on, Megumi’s best chance of survival now is to keep him focused enough to fly through the briefing.

The tea only takes a few minutes before it’s ready. Megumi can’t fulfill the courtesy of pouring Okkotsu’s serving, but Okkotsu doesn’t seem to think twice about it. He fills Megumi’s cup first, before he even sets the teapot down on the other side of the table. 

“Thanks,” Megumi says through the steam. Holding the cup does make him realize how cold his hands are, which makes him feel kind of stupid for not noticing sooner. “I’m sure it’s great. What do you think of the brew?”

Okkotsu nods and smiles after taking a careful sip. Seems he knew enough to keep the water from boiling too high after all.

“It’s good!” he says, smiling wide like it’s something impressive. Maybe it is, and Megumi is simply jaded. “I’ve never had fruit in an herbal tea before.”

“Fruit and flower buds taste good together,” Megumi says. “They tend to highlight each other.”

“I just hope it helps your throat feel better,” is Okkotsu’s apparent priority. His kindness is truly agonizing, and while Megumi isn’t surprised that this is his response to having to spend his evening with a sick person, he doesn’t know why the universe has decided that for the first time, it had to be him.

🍲⌚️🧺🌙

📱🥡🌿🧣

Not only does Yuji show up early, but Okkotsu dawdles so severely that they aren’t even halfway through page one by the time their meeting hour is up. 

He’s being thorough and is perhaps anxious about what kinds of questions he should be asking, given the uniqueness of his background, but he’s also distractible and curious and painfully easy to talk to. It means they were doomed to waste each other’s time from the start, because Megumi can’t help indulging with answers.

To ice the cake, Megumi had realized just a few minutes in that unless he sips on something hot at least every couple of minutes, he starts to lose his voice. Okkotsu has already made him another pot of tea by the time Yuji opens the door and announces himself with mellow cheer.

“Megumi, the door was unlocked!” he calls as he presumably moves his shoes, voice unbalanced as he hops into his house slippers and moves down the hall. “You’re home, right?”

“Yes,” Megumi says. Okkotsu sits up straight when he realizes Yuji is on his way in.

It’s past dinner time, but Okkotsu has his eyes on the fridge like he wants to get up and cook for Yuji, too. He taps his fingers on his bouncing knee.

“You must still be pretty sick if you forgot,” Yuji says. He comes into view and his concern brightens into surprise. “Senpai! That’s right, I forgot you were coming.”

“Hi, Itadori-kun,” Okkotsu says, smiling as his leg goes still. They’re always visibly happy to see each other. “Sorry if I’m in the way – I know we weren’t supposed to take this long.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Yuji says. He’s at the table quickly, his chin poking the top of Megumi’s head as he leans over him and reaches a hand up to touch his cheek. “Hey, you’re warm again.”

“Your hand’s cold from being outside,” Megumi corrects. “I’m fine. Got Gojo’s approval and everything.”

Even though it doesn’t supplement his case, Megumi coughs into the upper part of his sleeve. He can admit that it sounds troubling, but that’s how these things tend to go. A few days of misery and then another week of shitty half-symptoms that aren’t enough to keep him home in bed but still get in the way and prompt everybody to check on him. He clears his throat to get himself under control.

“Megumi was pretty sick a couple days ago,” Yuji tells Okkotsu while he rubs Megumi’s back. “It was so sad, dude, I thought we would have to go to the doctor or something.”

“That is bad,” Okkotsu agrees diligently. “I was saying earlier that I get the same kind of cough sometimes – it really isn’t fun. You said you’re getting better though?”

To avoid disturbing his lungs with another useless sound, Megumi nods and sips more of his tea. Yuji will cover for him.

After a moment of quiet, Yuji picks up on it and says, “Yeah, I think he’s okay. Colds just hit Megumi real hard, I think.”

As calmly as he can, Megumi lowers his hand to set his cup back down and then very quickly returns that same hand back to his face.

“ihCHht–! chtsh’iu!” It’s going to take a few more, he can tell. So can Yuji, apparently, thank heavens, and he puts a napkin directly into Megumi’s other hand so that he doesn’t need to open his eyes or reach blindly. “hk’chzsh! CHffZShh!” Finally, he manages a fuller breath to finish it off. “…hh–ihKTsh’uh!”

Of all the ways his body could respond to the reflex to sneeze, it’s just Megumi’s luck that he was built to need several tries for a single spark. The involvement of his voice is always involuntary and seemingly up to chance, and often pulls some sort of response from the people around him. At least it’s over fast. He wouldn’t ever leave the house if he were prone to drawn-out, explosive fits like Okkotsu is while fighting a cold.

“Aw, bless you,” Yuji actually says, out loud, in front of Okkotsu. He’s absolutely forgotten how Megumi’s cross-wired response extends beyond hearing other people sneeze. Talking about it is sometimes just as bad, especially with him in the spotlight.

What really nails the fucking coffin, though, is Okkotsu characteristically joining in on the fun.

“Oh yeah! ‘Bless you’,” he echoes in the wrong accent. “I forgot about that.”

Electricity nearly freezes Megumi’s every last muscle, nerve, and neuron. These interactions always escalate, and he has to respond.

“Thanks,” is all he says, and all he’s expected to say, but it’s enough to make his blood run at least twice as fast. He and Yuji had sex twice this morning, and he took care of himself to the memory of it in the afternoon. He shouldn’t still be this frustrated, but at the same time he isn’t surprised. Maybe it’s the rarity or even the exhibition of it all, but this part of him is insatiable.

His hair covers his eyes when he bows his head to blow his nose, and Yuji rolls his hands over both of his shoulders while he does it and makes him feel a little better.

“I think you’re the only one I know who says that when people sneeze, Itadori-kun,” Okkotsu says. Megumi focuses on keeping his breath steady like that comment didn’t just drown him in lava.

“Huh. Really?” Yuji is behind Megumi and out of sight, but he still knows he’s trying to find a memory by looking at the ceiling. “I guess nobody really says it here. People do it in movies and I just thought it sounded cool.”

What the hell?

“It was customary when I was overseas,” Okkotsu explains. “I picked it up to blend in but I forgot sometimes. I think they don’t mind as long as you say something.”

Honestly, Megumi might like that better. If there’s a built-in expectation, then people would move past an incident of sneezing without having to make an entire conversation out of it. 

Like Yuji and Okkotsu are doing now. If it were anyone else, Megumi would be comfortable sinking into the ether and waiting for the end. But with the two of them, he can’t help listening fondly and excitedly, and also feeling massively uncomfortable for both the fondness and the excitement. If he could focus on one feeling, or even two that go together, then maybe Megumi could manage.

But with the contrast storming inside him? He isn’t sure he’ll survive.

“How’d you know when to say it?” Yuji asks. “I mean for people like Megumi who always sneeze more than once.”

Okkotsu hums and taps his jaw, looking to the ceiling for help with recall before he says, “That happened to me sometimes. I think you can just do whatever feels right.”

“Huh,” Yuji replies. “I’m usually one-and-done. Guess I’m lucky, even if… uh, yeah.”

Even if Megumi isn’t, he’d nearly said, Megumi is sure of it, because they’ve talked about that before. It’s cute that Yuji is a horrible actor, but it’s dangerous, too. Hopefully Okkotsu won’t notice or try to figure out what he means.

At worst, he could play it off as Megumi being unlucky solely because he’s prone to those occasional rapid bursts when Yuji isn’t, and it’s inconvenient and uncomfortable. Not because he’d love it on Yuji so that he could watch.

Damn. If only.

“I didn’t think about this before, but it’s kind of opposite,” Okkotsu explains, thank god. “Most people here don’t care if you sneeze once, but in English they usually respond right away. But if you keep sneezing, they leave you alone.”

“What?” Yuji says. “I could never do that.”

“I know…” agrees Okkotsu. “I’d feel too bad about it. They did do something in French that was different for each sneeze, if you had a few in a row? But I can’t remember how it went.”

Megumi knows. He won’t say so, not just because he’s sick and can’t bear listening to himself, but because he doesn’t speak French and there’s no innocent reason for him to have ever learned about that.

“Wow. I forgot how cultured you are, Okkotsu,” Yuji remarks.

“Oh, no, no. No, I don’t think that’s true!” Okkotsu argues with that too-charming, nervous and flattered laugh. “My French is so bad. I barely speak it, and I’ve actually never been to Europe or anything except for layovers.”

“Still. You’ve seen a lot of stuff,” Yuji offers. “You never talk about it.”

“Mmm. I guess it doesn’t come up a lot.” While Okkotsu’s response sounds cheerful, it contradicts his history. It came up just earlier this evening, which had been Okkotsu’s doing. He’d mentioned Zambia specifically, even if it wasn’t in response to himself. Perhaps he’d thought that Megumi had forgotten his travels, too?

He feels Yuji nodding before he says, “It’s interesting though! Did you get to do anything crazy? Other than the curse stuff.”

Okkotsu nods back and bounces his leg a couple of times, then stops himself and switches to tapping his hand.

“I’d have to think about it,” he says. “I guess there were a couple, um… Oh, do you still have to sneeze?”

It seems that Okkotsu is just as ready for the next distraction as Megumi is dismayed. He’s going to fulfill Okkotsu’s prediction whether he likes it or not.

First, twice in a row as he tucks his chin into the collared hood of his clothing, which is almost as high up as the neck of his uniform. They’re so close together that they’re basically connected – “it’TSch! tzsh’iu!” – without a chance for a breath between them. He gets about a second before the third, which comes roughly and with enough strength to make him shiver. “htCHzsh’yu!”

Both Yuji and Okkotsu are overbearingly kind, waiting for him to continue, but Megumi transfers his face from cotton to paper to signal that he’s finished. He sniffles against the driest patch of his table napkin and revels in the tactile comfort of Yuji casually, solidly patting him on the shoulder he hadn’t just sneezed into.

“Bless you. Good job!” he says. “Hey, where are those tissues you were using? Didn’t we have  a box somewhere…?”

Honestly, Yuji is a dream. So much so that Megumi is humbled by how much he likes him. He’s struck by a depraved thrill at how private this feels.

“I left it… huh’ISsh’u! in the bedroom,” he explains in a hurry, apparently not so done with sneezing after all. “HTT’chyu! Fuck, sorry.”

“Ah, poor Megumi,” Yuji says, still casual in tone and dreadfully endeared. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, Itadori-kun,” Okkotsu says. “Maybe… I think Fushiguro should go back to bed?”

“Huh?” Yuji says, already having let go of Megumi in preparation to gather supplies from his sickbed. “It’s only eight.”

“No, it’s a good idea,” Megumi says. The more he talks, the less he wants to explain a cursed neighborhood to Okkotsu. He doesn’t feel as achy and miserable, but that doesn’t mean much when he’s showing symptoms so blatantly. He even sounds contagious. “I’m not sure we’re going to get very far, and I don’t want you to catch this off of me.”

He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t.

“Oh, Fushiguro-kun…” Okkotsu frowns and moves the pads of his fingers against each other. “You aren’t going to get better if you keep worrying about that kind of thing.”

Yuji returns and resumes his lean on Megumi’s back, pushing air from his lungs in a grunt.

“Senpai, you should buy some of the lemon vitamin drinks,” he says as Megumi clears his throat to delay a cough.

“I’ve seen those,” Okkotsu says. “Do you think they work?”

“Well, I’ve been chugging them and I haven’t gotten sick,” Yuji says. “Megumi doesn’t like them and look what happened to him.”

“They’re too sweet,” Megumi explains, hoarse as he thinks in passing about how handsome Yuji is with a cold, and how it’s unfair that Megumi is more often on the other side of it instead. “Nothing with that much sugar can be good for you.”

“But they’re so tasty,” Yuji replies. “That’s gotta count for something.”

“Maybe I’ll see if I can get some in the store on my way back,” Okkotsu replies brightly as he stands up. “Do you want to email that report to me, and I can just read it and ask you if I have questions? I’ll probably be awake late anyway.”

“It’s what we should have done to begin with,” Megumi agrees. “I’m sorry you had to come all this way.”

“No, it really was useful! And I’m glad I got to say hi, and try a new drink…?” Okkotsu looks down at the cooled porcelain pot on the table, now hollow without its bottom layer of herbs and flowers soaked and drained of their flavor. “But I have a feeling you were only doing better because you spent the day in bed, Fushiguro-kun, so please try and get some rest after I leave.”

Sitting up on a chair and having a conversation over hot tea shouldn’t have taken such a toll on him, but the stress of his misdirected blood flow and its accompanying shame could certainly be a factor.

But Megumi doesn’t say that.

“I will,” he promises in response. “I’ll probably be on in an hour if you need anything.”

His offer makes Okkotsu look nervous, but that’s par for the course. He nods and fidgets with something in his pocket instead of expressing his anxiety directly.

“Let me walk you out,” Yuji says. He smooths out Megumi’s shirt and touches Okkotsu’s shoulder right after, patting him with friendly familiarity and prompting a smile as Okkotsu relaxes. To Megumi, he adds, “Be right back for real.”

Both Okkotsu and Megumi say goodbye to one another as Yuji guides Okkotsu down the hall. He’s a much more chivalrous entertainer than Megumi could ever be, regardless of his health or energy or feelings toward their guest. It makes Megumi feel warm again, with admiration for Yuji and the motivation to do better next time, and the affectionate wave that comes with knowing that even if he doesn’t, Yuji will have him covered.

With permission from the relief of solitude, Megumi crosses his arms upon the table and lays his head on top.

A multitude of moments pass him by as he tries to process what the universe has just put him through, and he gets so stuck in himself that he startles when Okkotsu returns.

“Fushiguro-kun…?”

It’s soft, even softer than Okkotsu’s speaking voice, but Megumi still jumps.

“Oh! Sorry!” Okkotsu reacts, suddenly shrill. “Were you asleep?!”

“No.” Megumi clears his throat and sits up, pressure shifting in his forehead. “Uh, did you forget something?”

“Here, I just thought— sorry, is this okay?— I thought I’d…”

Megumi moves his eyes just enough to see Okkotsu reaching for his tablet, and he nods to approve him of doing whatever.

“I’m just going to send this to myself so you don’t have to worry about it, and I can text Gojo-sensei to let him know we’re done,” Okkotsu says. He taps on a few things, presumably going ahead with his task after Megumi unlocks the file for him.

“Thanks,” Megumi says. “He’s gonna spam me otherwise.”

“Mmm. I believe it.” Okkotsu smiles, then looks at Megumi again. “Okay, I’m really going! I’ll talk to you later when you’ve had some time to recover. I’m sorry if this is rude, but you really sound sick right now. Even if you do pass that regulation thing. Sometimes they make me go back to work when I’m not at a hundred yet, and…”

He doesn’t say how he chooses to return, too, without any pushback so long as his talents are truly needed when he’s called. Megumi has heard unmentionable stories.

Okkotsu almost laughs. “I guess I just don’t like that rule very much! So please take care of yourself, Fushiguro.”

One of Okkotsu’s draws is that he’s intense all over, in his feelings and actions and the way his body is always begging him to express himself. He’s intense in how much he cares about his friends, whether they’re injured fighting deadly monsters or stuck at home with the sniffles and a hot water bottle. This exchange feels like a weird dream, and the way Okkotsu is regarding Megumi specifically has left him groggy with esteem.

“Thank you,” he manages anyway. It hits him that Okkotsu has been analyzing the congestion defiling everything he says and thinking very hard about Megumi’s cold all this time. “…I’ll probably lie down for a while.”

Donning a perkier, more relieved version of his earlier smile, Okkotsu echoes the sentiment and says “thank you” as though Megumi is doing it just for him.

Nanami looks down into his leather travel kit to prepare supplies for his shower, presumably offering privacy as Suguru stands from his bed to access a tissue box. Before he steps into the bathroom, Nanami adds, “I’m going to fetch breakfast from the convenience store when we switch. Is there anything you need?”

“NGHT!uh…” An urgent, candid sniffle takes priority, and then Suguru’s answer is taken away by a heavy gasp. He gets his hands on a tissue just in time for the third sneeze, using it as insurance behind the reflex to suppress his relief. “NGKT’uh!”

So that’s in full swing already. Now that another night has passed, the congestion is settling as everything becomes inflamed and swollen with a fuzzy prickle that lingers no matter how hard he tries to scratch. Conversations will be difficult today, even with Nanami around as his understudy.

“Uh. Just more of whatever cough drops you got yesterday. Maybe a coffee,” Suguru answers after a moment. “Thank you. Feel free to take my card this time.”

“I’ll come back with the receipt.” Nanami clears his throat when Suguru’s inquisitive brow silently prompts him to explain. “I’ll submit an expense report on your behalf, if you won’t do it yourself.”

He doesn’t join in when Suguru laughs in response, but he does deliver an extra stack of tissues from the other room right before starting the water. Hopefully the steam will soothe the stiffness in Nanami’s muscles, so long as he takes his time.

– – – 

The freshness of Nanami’s hair and skin products had prompted several slow and heavy bouts of sneezing once Suguru had trapped himself in the room with them, which interrupted his morning routine and necessitated he take twice as long to wash his face and tie up his hair and figure out how to stay warm without violating any local fashion norms. Nanami is still out by the time Suguru is finished, and he uses the opportunity to call up Satoru at last.

“So, how sexy is it watching Nanami speak a second language?” asks Satoru upon pickup.

“I still haven’t seen much of it. We’ve been surveying college spots since we got here, all locals,” Suguru says. “But today’s changes are putting us in the Danish program’s building, so I’m hoping to get a taste.”

“…Suguru?!”

“What?” Suguru pulls back to check the microphone icon. “Can you hear me?”

“Man, how long have you sounded like that?! I can barely tell it’s you,” Satoru says. It sounds like he’s getting amped up, and Suguru has yet to know whether it’s a type of excitement he’ll want to follow him into.

“What are you talking about?” he answers. “We spoke on the phone yesterday.”

“No, there’s something different,” Satoru insists. Then, he says lowly, “Oh, I know. You sound like you need to sneeze.”

“…I do,” Suguru says at normal volume. “It doesn’t really go away for the first few days.”

“Hang on— I need to put you on speaker so I can rub my hands together.”

Suguru is missing something. Perhaps it’s the fog from unexpected sickness and irregular sleep, because Satoru’s tone is suggestive in a way that makes him feel like he should already be picking up on a subtext. What was it about sneezing…?

Oh. But…

“Hold on,” he says. “I thought that was Nanami’s thing.”

Satoru scoffs. “You ever heard of Pavlov?”

“All right. That’s fair.”

“Besides. There’s something to it, when you think about it enough. Try imagining the, y’know. The build up, the ah-ah-aaAH~! And then you get the—”

“Stop that. I’m suggestible right now.”

“Yeah? So do it, then. Nanami said you’ve got a really nice—”

“heh-igkSCHEU! IH’GZSCHEU! …What?”

“Ooh. Mmhm, yeah… Now that I’m here…” Satoru pauses and hums. Suguru imagines him scrunching his mouth up, thinking it over keenly. “I get what he means, especially when they get loud like that. It’s just so unlike you.”

“I never would have thought that would work in my favor,” considers Suguru. Sneezing in front of another person has never been anything but an embarrassing obstacle to manage. Perhaps that’s part of the appeal, too. Humiliation has some eroticism even without any strange frills.

“Man, I can’t wait to hear what he does to you,” Satoru continues. “How come you couldn’t try it out yesterday, again?”

“We had an emergency call to the local school,” Suguru reminds him. “Only a Grade 2, but it was so close that it just made sense to take care of it ourselves. We were both too tired for anything afterward.”

“Bummer,” Satoru says. “And what’s the problem today? No time for a quickie before investigations?”

“No.” Suguru sniffles and reaches for a tissue. “We’re leaving after he ges back, and we have three sites to cover today.”

“You’re gonna drive him cuh-raaaayzee,” Satoru says as Suguru blows his nose. Suguru is going to drive himself crazy. It’s all getting harder to manage than it was yesterday. “Seriously, maybe do the guy a favor and find a private spot between assignments. The whole sneezing thing gets him going like nothing you’ve ever seen before. Zero to a hundred in like half a second.”

“Really?” asks Suguru. Even if Satoru is exaggerating, Suguru’s cock twitches at the suggestion of something so mundane and natural working that well for uptight Nanami, sending him into a frenzy in public despite the trigger happening by accident. “Huh. I wish I’d known earlier than yesterday.”

Wistfully, Satoru sighs. “Me too. I’m pretty sure he had to take care of himself four or five times after you went to take a nap.”

“What? Where?” asks Suguru. “There’s only one room here.”

“Keep up, Suguru. That cafe you sent him to, that extra long shower he took when he got home?” Satoru pauses, then says, “God, are you hard right now?”

“Yeah,” Suguru says. It was inevitable, given the content of their conversation. He glances at the time. “I’m bringing you to the other room with me; come talk me through it.”

“Hmmm. You sure you don’t wanna wait for Nanami?”

“We don’t have enough time. I’d rather not rush through that with him.”

“So you’ll get there a little late! No biggie, right?”

“We can’t all get away with being Satoru Gojo,” Suguru reminds him, and Satoru can’t really argue with that.

He ends up running late anyway, despite needing less than five minutes of Satoru’s babbling to successfully jerk himself off. Satoru waits on the edge and comes alongside him like a gentleman.

-

-

“Do you have a cold, Geto-san?” asks the assistant supervisor as she pulls into the street toward the embassy. It’s not so unusual that he’s wearing a face mask while traveling, especially given the weather, which means she had picked it up in his voice. Satoru must have been right about him sounding awful. 

“Afraid so,” says Suguru, embarrassment prickling at the back of his neck. “What gave it away?”

Next to him is Nanami, completely still and prim with his hands in his lap after placing Suguru’s coffee in the cup holder between them. Nanami nods toward Suguru when he takes it, then looks away when Suguru pulls his mask down for a sip.

“Your voice, sorry,” she confirms, “You just sound a little sick, is all. I’ve got tissues up here if you’d like some.”

“Sure. Thanks,” he answers. It’s more polite to accept now than to risk needing to ask in case his own stash doesn’t last him the ten minutes until arrival.

And not a moment too soon. Suguru hurries to set his cup back down in time to turn away with a hand braced over the bridge of his nose.

“ehhtGHXT!-ah…” He can’t help the vocal sigh that follows, barely stopping it from evolving into a groan as the pressure throbs in his head. “GXSST’chu!”

“Here you go,” says the attendant with an outstretched hand. “Let me know if you need some more.”

“This is a full box. Does it seem that bad?” Suguru says. He catches the attendant’s eye in the rearview mirror, and she flushes as her eyes flick back to the road.

“Uh… Yeah. More or less,” she replies as Suguru takes immediate advantage.

“HEH’nx-chu! Ah— you may be right. Excuse me.” Suguru takes a second sheet out and folds it in preparation, then adds, “You may want to turn on the radio or something. I won’t be offended.”

Nanami sips on his coffee, head turned slightly away toward the window. Discreetly, Suguru slides his gaze over and down to check for any crossed legs or suggestive outlines. He gets what he’s looking for, blows his nose twice, then induces a vibration in Nanami’s pocket with a text.

JUJUTSU TECH | Private Thread |  GET.SU[GrSpc] to NAN.KEN[Gr1]

GET.SU: I realized I hadn’t asked if this was weird for you. Satoru is pretty evasive. Is there anything specific you’d like me to know?

After reading the message, Nanami frowns and looks over. He lifts his phone and turns it around, points at the screen and says, “What?”

“We’re reviewing the case and taking notes before we start interviews,” Suguru calls up to the attendant, angling his head toward the front seat before she can turn around. He clears his throat and mirrors Nanami’s position, making eye contact and pointedly wobbling his phone before pulling it back to try again.

GET.SU: I mean about the sneezing lol. Are you uncomfortable? NAN.KEN: Why are you using the JuJutsu app to talk about this?? GET.SU: I don’t think the alternative would be fair to our poor assistant NAN.KEN: I’m not talking to you about my sexual preferences on company software. GET.SU: 👎

There’s a pause as Nanami readjusts his posture and stares down at his phone for too long, processing whatever it is he’s going to say next. Suguru acts natural and watches the street until his phone pings again.

NAN.KEN: But no, to answer your question. I’m not uncomfortable. GET.SU: That’s good to know :)

He hears Nanami click off the app and shove his phone out of sight, and Suguru mulls over his response until the ride to the university comes to a stop.

–

“I’d like you to do most of the talking today,” Suguru says during the walk down an empty campus hallway. It’s far from bustling, but the receptionist is in and several instructors have their doors open, presumably for office hours. “Is that all right?”

“I had assumed that was the plan,” confirms Nanami. “Are you asking because of the language barrier, or because of your…?”

Even hinting at it makes Nanami squirm. Suguru can’t help smiling.

“My voice is going,” Suguru says. “I'd rather preserve it if I can.”

“Of course,” Nanami replies. His stiffness is softened by some sympathy. “You can leave it to me, then.”

Suguru allows Nanami to knock and turn the doorknob of their first appointment interviewing a researcher of Scandinavian folklore. Her office is tidy, but so small that she struggles to maneuver behind her desk to reach the tea set once she beckons them both inside.

She serves the tea following a curt introduction. The cups and kettle look like they’re new.

“I was told you speak German,” she says as they sit. “My Japanese is fine, but I prefer German for this conversation. The situation is very private.”

“I do,” Nanami says. “Geto-san is supervising me, but I’m able to translate if you have any questions that I’m unable to answer.”

“I see. I was wondering why you came in a pair.” She stares at Suguru, gestures at her own face and says, “Are you sick?”

“A little,” Suguru says. Nanami looks at him too. “Just a head cold. I can work through it just fine.”

“Well yes, if it’s only a cold,” she agrees. Her tone is flat and direct like Nanami’s often is, but she’s harder to read. “Have this tea then, or it’ll go to waste. I don’t care for it much. And I won’t be uncomfortable if you take the mask down. I have much more to worry about than a germ.”

Suguru reaches for the kettle and pours. 

“In that case, I’d argue that getting sick is the last thing you need right now,” he says, then hands the first cup to Nanami before pouring his own. “Please fill us in on why you called us here.”

The tea is nothing special, but it gives Suguru something to focus on as the client switches languages and Nanami follows suit. Suguru’s throat does feel better from inhaling the steam, but the worst of the soreness still exists in his windpipe and sinuses.

It’d be best not to sneeze during the meeting. Suguru is practiced at holding back and holding in, but his colds override his methods and they lose reliability fast. Everything is swollen and sensitive, and it takes nothing more than time to push him to his breaking point.

The worst and most disruptive option would be leaving the room to do it, not only because the meeting would pause but because the mystery of leaving would likely distract Nanami more than the fast and explicit nature of a sneeze up close. Either way, Suguru doesn’t have an opportunity to decide. 

He barely gets his cup on the table before he’s reaching for a reinforcement tissue and using it to pinch off a thick, pressurized set of three: “NGHht! NGHHT’uh! … heh-NGSHhh’uh!”

As expected, the conversation divots and the client says, “Gesundheit.”

The scratchy tingling persists, and Suguru realizes he has no choice but to yield and prepare for the consequences.

“EHGZSHEU! Thank you,” recites Suguru. He pulls around his nose with the tissue he’s holding, then takes a second sheet and cleans up the damages. “Excuse me. I doubt that’ll be the last of them, so please feel free to ignore it.”

The client nods and returns to the meeting as Suguru finishes up with a pathetic, strangled sniffle. 

Nanami crosses his legs. The tablet he’s holding is angled carefully over his lap.

– 

Generally, Suguru is capable of assessing social dynamics and acting accordingly, even when dealing with language barriers and the many distractions of a muddling head cold. Even the complications of an intercultural exchange weren’t supposed to be this much of a challenge. Perhaps he would have managed better if it were anyone but Nanami in the seat next to him, because nothing destroys a person’s focus more than a pervasive and spontaneous opportunity for sex.

Since Nanami’s trigger is so specific, Suguru can read his arousal easily. He checks for it every time because it’s exciting to know the meaning behind Nanami’s shifting posture, the flex in his jaw and glow of his ears, but Suguru is also interested in the depths of Nanami’s resolve. It’s impressive how well he’s holding the conversation, especially when their client insists on switching languages every so often without obvious reason.

“So, you have more experience with these… things?” she says to Suguru in Japanese. “You’re his boss?”

Suguru frowns. “I wouldn’t say it necessarily works like—”

“For the most part, yes. Geto-san is famously powerful,” interrupts Nanami.

Their client looks at Suguru with high eyebrows and tight lips. “I must be in good hands, then.”

“Nanami is near promotion to our highest rank,” adds Suguru. “Once he fills me in, I’m confident we’ll be able to—”

“To take care of me?” she finishes in a wry lilt that Suguru is unable to parse. It sets Nanami off for some reason, and he says something in German that appears to divert the conversation back to its intended topic.

It permits Suguru to resume tending to his body. It’s humbling to need to pull the tissue box closer to him, but that’s still better than bending forward every few moments or contributing nothing to the appointment aside from a ceaseless queue of irritating sniffles. He keeps the noise down by holding tissue after tissue up to his nose, because there’s no stopping it from running as his body adjusts to the temperature change inside.

Every once in a while, he checks on Nanami and is impressed at how he’s able to maintain composure. His profile is handsome even as he speaks blankly, and he twitches one of his fingers every once in a while when Suguru’s breath skips or suspends. At least one of them is able to multitask.

Fifteen minutes pass before Suguru’s cold gets the better of him, and he’s battling his nose for control with a shaky breath that comes out much too loud. He turns away in his chair and foregoes the tissue he was in the middle of using, because he knows it’s already too spent to do much good.

“EHTgzsh!” The sleeve of his uniform sweater will have to do instead. “EHGZsheu!”

“Bless you,” says Nanami promptly, before Suguru can even manage a recovery sniffle or reach for another tissue to drain the consequences from his sinuses. Nanami blankly resumes speaking German and pushes his cup of tea closer to Suguru’s side of the coffee table, and he leaves no gap in the conversation for Suguru to express his thanks.

-

“I need to blow my nose,” Suguru confesses when they’ve closed the door to their meeting and stalked off down the hall. He’s sure he saw a restroom somewhere. “Wait here for me, then we can debrief.”

He’s glad he wasn’t able to participate much in the interview after all. Not only for the sake of Nanami’s reintegration into the job, but because he doubts most people would be able to understand his raspy voice and burbly consonants. Suguru doubts he’ll sound much better even after clearing some of the congestion, but it’s better than nothing and he’d rather take advantage of the privacy while he can.

“Wait,” says Nanami. His finger twitches again, and his hand floats up just slightly as though his subconscious wants him to touch. “We have a half hour until our ride comes. There’s an empty floor downstairs.”

Wading through the fog in his head takes Suguru a couple of moments, then he understands.

The stairwell makes his sniffling abrasive with its echo, but Nanami doesn’t comment on it even though he’s obviously got plenty to say. Suguru continues to wipe his nose as they walk,  just intermittently, to try and manage the mess.

Once they’re in the building’s half-basement, Nanami speaks. It’s not the statement Suguru had been expecting.

“That woman was exhausting,” he says.

“Is that so?” Suguru says as they enter a quiet, unlit space in the back. He doesn’t bother looking for the lights before he’s both hands tented around his nose, holding a tissue in place and relieving some of the pressure in his head with a controlled, gentle blow.

“Yes,” answers Nanami, and his next statement abruptly stops Suguru’s process as his breathing halts from surprise. “She really, really wanted to fuck you.”

“What?” Suguru drops his hand and exhales the rest of his breath through his mouth in a short laugh. “Are you sure you aren’t just projecting?”

That startles Nanami into making a noise from the back of his throat, satisfying Suguru’s itch to fluster him. Nanami is still pink when Suguru rolls his eyes and ticks the corner of his mouth up into some sort of smile.

“I don’t want to repeat any of it,” Nanami says, “but she became very… explicit.”

Suguru can’t help but laugh again. He doesn’t mean to, but it’s cute to think that Nanami was trying to tame her advances while juggling two languages along with his own erection.

Aloud, Suguru wonders, “Could she have had a thing for sneezes, too?”

“Lucky her, if so,” scoffs Nanami. “But no, I doubt it. And don’t play dumb, please. You know what your… your face does to people.”

“I’m sorry,” laughs Suguru. He tends to react strangely to those kinds of compliments – the embarrassment makes him feel primal and strange in a way that mirrors giddiness. It’s always been that way. “You sound resentful. Am I having that effect on you, too, Nanami?”

“Touch me,” Nanami demands. “See for yourself.”

The room isn’t so dark that Suguru can’t see the look in his eyes, bold and exasperated all at once. Suguru doesn’t break his stare even as he grips Nanami and feels the warm, strained fabric around his cock.

“That’s incredible,” Suguru says. “Is it really just from—”

“Yes,” says Nanami instantly. His voice is deeper, quieter, aimed low toward the envelopment of his dick in Suguru’s hand. “Damn it. Geto-san, I’m half-certain I’ll come if you just say the word again.”

Suguru hums. “What if I were to actually sneeze?” he asks, and Nanami throbs in his hand, fuck. “What then?”

Nanami’s hurried hands unzip and free his dick for Suguru’s taking. This isn’t how Suguru expected it to go, but Satoru wasn’t kidding when he said this got Nanami off like mad. It’s truly astonishing. If he’s this easy, it won’t be a problem getting him back up when they’re situated in the room this evening.

“Give me one of your t-tissues,” Nanami says. Oh, he’s nearly there, he really is. Suguru uses the abundance of slick precum to start a handjob.

“They’re in my right pocket,” Suguru says. He continues moving his hand and adds, “Why?”

“Two reasons,” Nanami says. Intentionally, he touches Suguru as he slides a hand into his pants. He sounds surprised when he says, “You’re hard, too?”

“Now who’s playing dumb?” says Suguru. Nanami lets go of him so that he can open the travel packet with both hands. “I’ve had it all day, knowing that you were getting it up when I sneezed, and how I couldn’t control it. It was getting more difficult to hold them back, even when I didn’t want to.”

As he twists the tissue’s corner into a thin point, Nanami breathes hard and says, “Do you have to… to sneeze, now?”

“Mmm, well, it’s always there,” Suguru says. He sniffles to test, and it exacerbates the ticklish buzz like always. “But it’s not urgent; it may take a few minutes to surface unless you know how to speed it up.”

“Would you be—” Nanami nearly buckles when Suguru excitedly increases the pressure around his dick. He’s so cute. “—comfortable doing that?”

What a ridiculous question, given Suguru’s own sexual history. Truthfully, he’s never experimented with something so benign. Nanami seems to be feeling vulnerable, though, so he doesn’t say it like that.

“It’d be wonderful, actually,” he answers. “It feels so much better to sneeze when I’m congested like this. I’d enjoy that even if you weren’t going to have sex with me over it.”

Businesslike despite his exposed cock and trembling knees, Nanami says, “Tilt your head back. I’m going to lightly brush this against the inside of your septum.”

Curiously, Suguru cooperates. He gasps before he even realizes it’s happening.

While he has enough time to hold onto Nanami’s wrist and still the instrument, Suguru’s hands are both occupied now. He ineffectively wrenches to the side for a semblance of damage control, jostling the both of them with a helpless shudder of a sneeze.

“hh’HHH–DZSHEU!” Again. “heh’hh–DZSSH’YEU!” Again. “HEDT’CHSSSH’u!” Again? “heh…! HHhah’ah–!”

He doesn’t dare look at Nanami, although he’s curious about the details in his expression. Nanami’s cock leaks desperately in Suguru’s hand, and Suguru squeezes Nanami’s wrist to communicate how much he really has to…

“AHT’GZSHYUE! Ahhh fuck, sorry—”

Oh, well that’s a mess. Nanami is too late with the tissues. He finishes hot and fast while Suguru sniffles against the crook of his neck, then knocks his forehead against Nanami’s shoulder as he dips his head for privacy.

“NGJSH’u!”

Nanami rides out the end of his orgasm with a moan from the back of his throat, choked and muted, unable to help himself. He reclaims the hand with the tissue he’s been holding, then mumbles something as he begins to clean up the spill on Suguru’s fingers. 

He doesn’t seem embarrassed for having finished so quickly, nor does he seem dissatisfied with the sloppiness of it all. He’s looking at Suguru through his eyelashes now, panting softly as the flush of arousal brightens his cheeks.

Impressed and delighted, Suguru says, “Have you been on the edge like that all day?”

For a moment Nanami continues to stare at him, muscles slowly tensing back up to their baseline. 

“You seem surprised,” he breathes. 

Suguru shrugs, then sniffles and wonders whether Nanami is going to make him ask for a tissue. He’s not above it, if it would make Nanami come like that again.

“I should have warned you,” continues Nanami as he straightens up. “I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive there. Are you all right?”

The question makes Suguru bashful; Satoru would have teased him for sneezing instantly. He laughs shortly and says, “Yes, Nanami. Thank you. I’m fine.”

With good nature, Nanami rolls his eyes.

“Well… Um, thank you for that,” he says earnestly. “I’d like to take care of you, too, if you’ll let me.”

It’s tempting, but Suguru thinks of the tension Nanami has endured with for the past couple of days, and the ways he’s been indulged in plain sight. This must have felt incredible, and Suguru couldn’t in good conscience say he isn’t jealous.

“Let’s wait until we’re done here,” he decides. 

“Are you sure?”

“This cold certainly isn’t going anywhere, and I’d like to have you riled up again before you take me. I had plans for foreplay and everything, you know. Satoru was trying to give me tips.”

“God, don’t just say that sort of thing out of nowhere,” begs Nanami, and he waits for Suguru to finish blowing his nose before they head back upstairs into the daylight. 

“Why not?”

“You know why not,” Nanami demands. “Have mercy, Geto-san.”

“Let me guess, you harassed Ijichi until he told you where I was again,” Nanami said without turning around as he’d sensed the presence before seeing the distinct silhouette of his shadow casting over him.

“What, you don’t think I can just track your residuals?”

Nanami’s expression didn’t budge from its stony disposition as he walked away. 

“Well, it was a bit of both,” Gojo said with an obnoxious laugh, following him closely, giving him a flat in the process. Nanami paused only to fix his shoe and try to retract the vein that always stuck out when Gojo decided to, well, be himself. “But that’s what happens when you don’t answer your phone!” 

“That’s not what should happen.” 

Gojo clapped his hands. “Well, anyway. There’s a crepe place I wanted to try.“

Nanami sighed. He’d been on his way home. Apparently, this was no longer the case

“C’mon, my treat. They have savory ones too.” He slung an arm over his shoulder and held his phone in Nanami’s line of sight. He stiffened even more.

“Stop.”

“I’m not even touching you,” Gojo whined, “It’s the infinite space between—”

“Fine. Let’s just get this over with.” He reasoned suffering would end quicker if he just went along with it rather than get sucked into whatever Bugs Bunny bullshit Gojo would probably pull if he didn’t. So that’s what he did. 

“That’s the spirit.”

They walked for a  few moments, Gojo occasionally making inane comments. Maybe they should stop at this shop or that stand, at least it was finally warm outside, he was planning on playing a juvenile and likely traumatic prank on his students. He was such a motor mouth that when he’d stopped, Nanami took a moment to properly revere the silence, not questioning it until the extra set of footsteps stopped entirely. When he turned to look, he saw he’d moved away from the path. There was a glossy sheen on his parted lips, and his brow was furrowed like he was concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Nanami asked, glancing around the area for anything suspicious. 

“Oh, nothing,” Gojo said, lips curling in amusement. He rubbed the back of his neck, fingertips brushing his undercut. “I thought I was gonna sneeze.” 

“Ah.” Nanami did his best to look unbothered. 

“You ever get stuck? It’s like edging but for your nose,” he complained. 

Nanami gave him a long-suffering look and shook his head. It didn’t matter what he said, he knew Gojo wasn’t going to change the subject, and giving him the reaction he was looking for would, uh…well. Absolutely not.

“Hah, really? It’s been driving me crazy,” Gojo said, thumbing at the side of the nose. Now there was a visible crinkle just at the space where the bridge of his nose touched his blindfold. “h-Hihh-! eh-!—just a second. Sometimes when I look at a bright light it makes me sneeze, so…have you ever heard of that?”

“No.” Yes.

His thumb hooked underneath his blindfold and lifted it enough to allow a beam of sunlight to enter his vision. He only had time for a sudden gasp before he was suddenly sneezing and bending at the waist, spray glistening in the sunlight as he loosely covered it with his wrist, bending at the torso with a set of surprisingly harsh sneezes, “hhH-! hySHHhiew-! hGtzSCHhu!” 

“Bless you.”

“hptShhuu!” He sneezed again.

Nanami waited to see if he was finished. 

He wasn’t.

“H’ihshhu-! ihSHHHiew-! hehDtzshhh’iewwh~!” Whew…” When it finally seemed to subside, Gojo sniffled and rubbed his nose, pressing his knuckle upwards into the sensitive skin so hard that it turned pink for a few seconds afterwards. 

Nanami tried to ignore the molten heat rapidly amplifying in his groin for a moment. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I thought I was gonna hit like ten there,” Gojo said breathlessly. Then while sporting an unapologetic smirk, he sniffled and added, "It's not true what they say, by the way.” 

Nanami flushed at the implication. Even though he’d never outright admitted his kink, there was no getting anything past Gojo; the man could see air molecules, of course he’d notice Nanami’s obvious boner. Or boners. Or moans when he sneezed that one time they’d hooked up. He had to stop wearing light colored pants.

“I think someone doesn’t want crepes anymore.”

“I didn’t want them in the first place,” Nanami reminded him. 

“Righttt,” Gojo chuckled, “Guess you’re not craving anything savory either, hm?”

Nanami froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking—“

“Heh’tshh-! Itshh-! KSHh! hih- Ihptshh-!” Gojo interrupted him with a series of more typical, small fittish sneezes. He sniffled a few times and actually managed to look a little sheepish. “Wow, excuse me. I think I’m getting a cold. For real.”

Nanami gritted his teeth, anything to keep the noise he wanted to make at the new information from escaping. “Really?”

“Yeah, sucks. Too bad I don’t know anyone who will take care of me, huh?” 

“Damnit,” Nanami hissed, willing his dick to go down, only because they were still somewhat in public enough, even if nobody 

was in direct earshot.

“How about a love hotel, then some crepes, hm?” Gojo suggested, already flicking through his phone to find one nearby, “Pretty sure, if I sneeze one more time, someone is gonna y’know—” 

Nanami cursed under his breath. “You’re paying for it, though.” 

Gojo hummed and sniffled again, face looking more flushed now that Nanami was looking closer. That along with the lack of 

a hooker joke had Nanami wondering if he was also just generally looking for company.