#ffsnx fics

The first thing that was noticed before anything else registered was how utterly awful he felt. It hit him immediately like a brick to the head, before he was suitably prepared, and knocked him slightly off-kilter. Head pounding sickeningly, his temples and sinuses throbbed, forcing a wave of gentle nausea over him. Eyes felt heavy, sticky, difficult to open, and stung as they begged to close again from the moment they were open. His mouth was dry, too dry, his tongue left with that thick, fuzzy sensation that only aggravated the nausea. Drinking into a stupor had seemed like such a good idea at the time; now, he realised much too late, it had not been. 

Memories were as hazy as his consciousness, and the longer he was awake, the more the BEER FEAR™ set in. Had he made a complete fool of himself? He didn’t remember much of getting home, barely anything about arriving at his door and absolutely nothing about flopping down and passing out on the sofa in which he had woken. He didn’t even remember how many beers he'd sunk. If he had to judge from the way he felt and the absence of memory, he figured it had to be a lot. Too many.. 

Lifting his head turned out to be a monumental task, one he hadn't anticipated. Dizziness ensued, his head spinning uncomfortably, and it was only when he pulled it away from the couch cushion that he noticed… ugh, he really hoped that was drool… Taking a breath inwards brought to Ren’s belated attention the state of his nose - clogged, damp and leaking - making him realise that it was definitely not drool. Ughhhh… 

Forcing his way up to a sitting position, hands rubbed over his face, swiping at his nose, as though such an act would rid him of every plight done unto him. It didn’t work, much to his bemusement, leaving him sitting on the edge of the couch with only his hangover for company. Well, his hangover, along with his…

“..hh-..”

The soft hitch of breath as a tickle flared up inside his nose was a poignant reminder that Ren did, in fact, have a cold. He couldn't deny it any longer. It was ambiguous the previous night, his denial of symptoms arguably passed off as being caused by the weather, and even now the option was considered that it was just too many beers making him feel shitty. But too many beers didn't give him a stuffy nose; too many beers didn't cause a sting in his throat when swallowing; too many beers didn't make his nose tickle so badly that he couldn't help but-.. but…

“h-h!.. h'EESCSHH’!!.. snff.. ugh..” 

-too many beers didn't have him sneezing like that.

Ren was generally a pretty sneezy person, whether it be allergies or sensitivities or just… sneezing. A handful a day was the norm for him, so he was no stranger to being overtaken by a rogue tickle by seemingly nothing. Although, he could safely say, without a shadow of a doubt, that sneezes from a cold just hit different. There was a slow, gradual build up to them that belied the immediate urgency when they crested. Unstoppable, insistent, desperate… messy. 

And these were definitely cold sneezes. 

Just that one sneeze had unleashed more than had been prepared for, and Ren scrambled around on the table before him for anything he could use as a tissue. Finding nothing of use, the scrambling became more frantic when his nose twitched a second time, another sneeze fast on the rise. He could tell already that this was going to be his life for the foreseeable future, this cold wreaking havoc inside his sinuses and wrenching sneeze after sneeze from him, desperate to rid his irritated, inflamed nasal passages from the germs that just wouldn’t be evicted.

Upon finding nothing within his immediate reach, managing to stagger to his feet and make it halfway to the bathroom was an impressive feat. But the tickle soon surged, impossible to resist, before he got too far. There was absolutely no other choice but to simply stop, hitch, and give in to its demands. 

“H'IISSCSH-ITSZSHH!!” 

Blindsided by the duo, Ren was given no chance to snatch even a breath between them. Now upright, a fresh wave of hell overcame him, and leaning heavily against the doorframe to the bathroom to steady himself was his only option. Being breathless from a short walk and a couple of sneezes was embarrassing, really, but it didn’t stop Ren from practically panting in the aftermath as he lifted a hand much too late to his face to minimise the damage caused by his sneezing. 

Without anything around that hands could immediately grapple, a sleeve would have to suffice, lifted and ready to be slicked beneath his glistening nostrils in a feeble attempt at cleaning up. The shirt needed washing anyway, reeking of stale beer, smoke and regret from the bar. Plus, it wasn't like there was anyone around to tell him not to; he was alone, well and truly, for the first time in a long time, and could do whatever the hell he wanted. 

Having been just about to swipe his nose on his sleeve, Ren stopped short when he realised what he was wearing. He wasn't met with the expected cotton material of his shirt. Eyes narrowed as he squinted down at the fabric of a sleeve that didn't belong to him: leather. He didn’t even own a leather jacket, never mind one which was several sizes too large, hanging too far past his hands… huh. 

Racking his brain, Reuben’s face came to mind. Of course he remembered Reuben, how could he not? Stomach flipping, Ren smiled internally just at the thought of him. Ridiculous.. But he didn’t remember taking his jacket. Had he asked for it..? When trying to piece together how he had come to be wearing it now, Ren came up short. Fragments of memory splintered in his mind; walking out of the bar, getting into a car, shuffling up the path to his apartment and bidding someone goodnight before stumbling inside… The minor details were muddied and indistinct, smeared in his mind like wet paint, but enough of a picture of what happened was formed: 

Left the bar, acquired the jacket, driven home, walked inside. 

Damn, he hoped he hadn’t made a fool of himself. Beer had a tendency to do that. Jaz was usually around to keep him in check, but now… well, he wasn’t here any more. Just thinking about the man left a bitter aftertaste, even if the yearning hadn’t entirely disappeared quite yet.

Worrying about drunken shenanigans wasn’t usually at the forefront of Ren’s mind, especially if the likelihood of him ever seeing a person again was small, but there was now a task to complete; he had to return the jacket. He needed to get it back to Reuben somehow… So if he had made an idiot of himself, he would have to face that head-on, which was… undesirable. They’d just met, but Ren had liked Reuben. Hopefully he hadn’t scared the guy away from him forever with his drunken antics.

Phone pulled out of his pocket with one hand, the other wedged beneath his nose to mitigate leakage, both messages and contacts were checked. Nothing.. Seems he didn’t get the guy's number. Reuben told him where he worked, but the name of the particular club escaped memory, like so many other things. Damn, he really needed to cut back on the booze. Or stop talking to attractive strangers and proceeding to let them bring him home before stealing their belongings without even exchanging contact info. 

Ughh, his head hurt too much for this. It was far too early to be planning any kind or return-mission. Those plans could be made later. As of that very moment, the only important things were cleaning up, getting changed and throwing the hippest, most happenin’ pity-party the world had ever seen.

Which is exactly what happened.

Foregoing a shower (he just didn’t have it in him), the previous day’s contact lenses were removed and replaced with glasses, Ren audibly groaning in relief as he did so. Unearthing the most comfortable clothes he owned, his others discarded in a heap next to the hamper while the jacket was folded neatly nearby, Ren changed before snatching a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom and retreating back to the couch with it tucked into his arm like a cherished possession of utmost importance.

Consciousness remained for maybe thirty minutes, at most, despite being on his feet for less than that. Already, Ren was exhausted enough that he knew sleep would come easy. Well, granted his nose provided him enough peace to actually fall asleep…

The number of sneezes since being conscious was unknown; Ren hadn’t bothered to keep count. He just knew it was a lot. A permanent tickle resided, dull and thick and relentless, fizzling gently inside his nose at all times. No provocation was needed for it to roar into life either; just sniffling the wrong way set him off. They came in twos, threes, even fours on a couple of occasions. Leaving him sniffling against an impossibly stuffed up nose, his sinuses ached from the pressure and irritation. Such irritation had his nostrils deepening in colour as he rubbed, swiped and blew what felt like endlessly. If he was granted a few blessed minutes of peace, he’d be forever grateful. A silent prayer was sent up that sleep would come to him and cure all; hangover and cold to boot.

Fate appeared to smile down upon him, as no sooner was he supine did Ren manage to drift into a peaceful, dreamless slumber. For how long was anyone’s guess, but the sun had already started to set when consciousness returned hours later, the apartment barely lit by the last lingering dregs of daylight, casting long, spiny shadows around the room.

There was no apparent cause for his awakening. There was a vague recollection of something banging, but that could have just been his head which was, in fact, banging. Whatever it was, it was being ignored, and eyes remained closed in a bid to continue the slumber further. It was only when a second, decidedly louder banging sounded throughout the apartment that there was no blaming the imagination any longer. Someone at the door, undoubtedly, but no visitors were expected - no packages were coming, no takeout ordered. Hunching further into himself, the option to just ignore whoever it was and continue to wallow in peaceful misery alone reigned champion. It was only when the thought that maybe it could be Jaz looking to reconcile, or to collect his stuff,  or maybe even just to talk, forced Ren to launch himself up from his pit and hurry to the door, flinging it open with wide, hopeful eyes before he-...

Stopped dead.

Jaz wasn’t standing there. It was worse. Much worse…

Standing there in all his glory was none other than Reuben Fox. Wide, hopeful eyes widened further yet into something that resembled shocked horror. Because there was the man that Ren had only met one night prior, outfitted in what could only describe as god-like attire with suit pants, a white shirt and a waistcoat. Jeez, he had to be wearing a fucking waistcoat.. Knees felt weaker as Ren stared at the sheer beauty before him, thoughts racing and halting simultaneously. There were so many questions: why he was there, being the main one. Mouth open, Ren could only watch as Reuben smiled that golden sunbeam smile at him, dimples accentuated as he showcased his two rows of perfect teeth.

“Hey,” came Reuben’s warm, infectious voice that Ren remembered well from the night before, like honey over gravel. All the warmth, laughter and comfort from the previous night returned in an instant, hope of it being Jaz replaced by a sense of… relief, perhaps? The voice was just as wonderful as Ren recalled. “Remember me?”

How could he possibly forget? Wind whipped around Ren’s legs, bitterly cold, and his excitement at seeing this attractive stranger was rapidly replaced with a sinking realisation. Reuben was there, looking like something straight out of a magazine, and there was Ren: huge, oversized hoodie with hood pulled up, gym shorts, barefoot, glasses slightly askew from falling asleep with them still on, probably some dried drool at the corner of his mouth.. And that was without the added allure of his pallid complexion, chapped, red nose and hunched, huddled posture. There wasn't a time that Reuben could have chosen to call round where Ren didn't look worse than he did in that moment, honestly. The second prayer of the evening was sent up for the ground to swallow him whole.

When that didn't happen, he finally managed to blurt out, “Reuben?” in a thick, hoarse voice, ravaged by his cold, his hangover, and hours of disuse. Reflexively clearing his throat, Ren continued to gawp.

“In the flesh,” the other man said smoothly, a hand swiping over his shoulder to rid it of some collected snow that was coming down in thickets around them. If Reuben was repelled by Ren’s current appearance, he didn’t let it show on his face or in his demeanour. He just continued to smile at Ren from his place just outside the door.

“Uhh..” came Ren’s cool, collected reply. How much this man had him squirming without even trying was silly. Despite everything, there was a low-level patter of giddy butterflies fluttering in Ren’s stomach. Swallowing, Ren winced when it hurt, and stepped back a little, inviting.

“Do you, ah-.. You can.. come in?” More of a question than an invitation but Reuben didn’t hesitate. He stepped in behind Ren, taking his lead and venturing properly into the hallway as he kicked the snow from his boots.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing around and squinting a little. It took a moment before realisation finally set in and Ren made a swift, clumsy motion to flick on the lights. Squinting, feeling as though the brightness seared into his retinas, Ren led them both further inside as more lights were switched on along the way. It burned unpleasantly, the pain hammering into his skull even more.

With the initial shock and adrenaline of the visitor waning, Ren realised (much to his dismay) that napping had not made him feel better. In fact, it was even worse, somehow. Considerably worse. Inwardly groaning at the lousy timing of this stupid cold and lamentation of getting wasted the previous night, Ren sighed to himself. Here he was, hosting the sexy doorman he’d just met in his very own apartment, all the while sniffling and snotting everywhere with the hangover from hell. He was sure the smell of stagnant beer still clung to him. Appreciating that this opportunity may not present itself again, Ren resolved to not let it hinder the visit, however brief. There was no reason for him to believe that Reuben wasn’t just here for his jacket and would then leave. Then he could get back to wallowing by himself in peace. Regardless, playing good host was top priority.

“What, ah.. brings you here?” Ren asked while leading them both through to the lounge, thankful that it wasn’t a complete disaster in there. A little untidy here and there, but mostly fine. Covertly, the small piles of used, crumpled-up toilet paper were idly swept off the table into a nearby trashcan as discreetly as possible. When eyes looked his way, they were met with an innocent grin. Destroy all evidence and he would never know…

“I left my jacket,” Reuben finally answered, just in case Ren forgot. Foregoing a seat, Reuben  instead began to wander around the room. Eyes roamed over the little details; pictures on the walls, decorations and ornaments, decor. Any comments were reserved, but Ren watched as he seemingly examined the place with curiosity before those bright eyes were turned back to him, their gazes held a moment.

“I also figured I’d check in on you, see how you were doing,” Reuben said candidly, taking Ren aback a little. He hadn't been expecting a total stranger to care enough about him to do a house-call. Whether it was because of his drunken state or his illness was ambiguous, but Ren didn't ask. Heart clenching pleasantly in his chest, his demeanour softened as Reuben continued.

“You seemed… a little worse for wear when I dropped you off last night.” There was a faint smile ghosting Reuben’s lips, almost teasing.

“I wasn’t that bad…” Ren sighed, although if he was being honest, he didn’t remember. “.. Was I?” Reuben chuckled, finally being seated on the couch, a smile evident in his voice.

“You asked if I wanted to come inside for a ‘beesechurger’ before trying to pay me for the taxi fare.” Ren watched the grin on Reuben’s face widen as all colour drained from his own. “Oh, and you fell into that bush out front.”

They were unable to see from inside, but there was indeed a suspiciously Ren-shaped imprint among the leaves of the bush lining the path. Physically shattering into a million pieces at hearing that would have been preferable, but flopping down dramatically at the other end of the sofa and burying his face in his hands would have to suffice. A groan escaped Ren’s lips, eliciting a round of coughing, the sound deep, wet and rattling in his chest. He ignored it, a thick sniffle sounding before a tiny voice squeaked up.

“I’m so sorry.” Ren sighed, suitably mortified. Reuben laughed again, that uproarious, hearty laugh that had endeared Ren so much last night. While horrified beyond measure at hearing his antics, there was a distinct comfort that Reuben provided that Ren hadn’t thought was possible. There was just something about Reuben and his presence which was calming, and a smile caught Ren unaware behind the steeple of his hands despite his mortification.

“I deal with drunk people every single day,” Reuben said as eyes stayed locked onto Ren, brows lifting. “Definitely wasn’t the worst I’ve seen, trust me.”

“I can believe it,” was Ren’s reply. If it was an attempt to make Ren feel better, it worked. It was still embarrassing, but there was no judgment projected towards him. Just a soft, kind fondness. It really had been a long time since Ren had met someone like Reuben. He brought solace despite Ren’s unease at his own behaviour. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach once more, which felt sort-of pleasant, until they began to work their way upwards…

It had only been a matter of time before the fluttering was reignited within Ren’s nose. It was deep, high up inside his left nostril where it simmered, impossible to reach, the sort of itch that only a sneeze could scratch. Ren wouldn’t be rid of the sensation until he sneezed, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t at least try to fight against it first. The left side of his nose crinkled up, a hand lifting to rub from the outside, a hope that an external scratch would soothe the internal itch. It didn’t, the sensation only continuing to expand until the sensation filled the entirety of his nose. Nostrils flaring, a hitch was drawn before Ren could control it, expression collapsing as it overcame him.

“h-.. H’EIISHH’h-!.. hH’IIYSSCSHH’iuh!.. shi’d..”

A curse was uttered in a thick, heavy voice after those two expulsions. A hand had just managed to smother the pair, though the weight and frequency of the sniffling that followed didn’t leave much to the imagination of what lurked behind the palm. Blinking against unshed tears of irritation, two sets of eyes began to roam across the table before them, searching.

“Bless you. That cold’s no better, huh?” Reuben asked, watching as Ren made a grabby-hands motion towards something with his free hand. Eyeline tracking the direction Ren was motioning, it appeared to be towards the roll of toilet paper that had been placed nearby for convenience earlier on in the day. Reuben’s expression cinched, unimpressed, but he took it and even went to the trouble of rolling some off, passing the wad to Ren who wasted no time in tenting his hands around his nose and blowing into it. As was expected, the sound was thick and wet, more productive than Ren had anticipated. Wordlessly, knowingly, Reuben rolled off more and held it out for Ren to take.

“Don’t you have tissues?” Reuben asked, beginning to scan the room again. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, eyes fell back to Ren as a hand held up the toilet paper, demonstrating. “This stuff will wreck your nose, y’know.”

“I'b fine,” Ren managed, ‘tissues’ lowering to reveal a heavily pink nose, almost red at the nostrils in its intensity.

“Yeah?” Reuben asked, scrupulous. “You sound awful.” Ren's expression must have given away his chagrin because Reuben's hands flew up in mock-surrender before he added, “No offence.”

Full offence taken, because Ren didn’t actually think he sounded that bad.. He was yet to see himself, having not done so in some time, but he thought he was doing a pretty good job of holding it all together, given the circumstances. Clearly not. Though it was hard to be upset with Reuben for longer than a snatch of seconds.

“I’ll be all right,” Ren finally professed, though it wasn’t terribly convincing. The flat of a palm was digging into one eye when there was suddenly a flightless presence beside him, and looking up, Ren was met with Reuben’s body mere inches away from his own. Their knees bumped together, was how close they were. “Ah-!” Ren startled, physically jumping back, but he didn’t get very far before a huge, warm hand slapped gently against his brow before he could resist.

Arguably a little too intimate for a duo that had literally just met, but Reuben didn’t appear to care. Eyes were concentrated as he studied Ren, his hand resting against Ren’s brow with a touch far too gentle for his brooding frame. Lifting Ren’s bangs, just enough pressure was applied to have Ren wilting slightly in pleasant relief. It felt… really good. The warmth, the pressure, everything. For that brief moment, the pain eased slightly, and eyes were closing before he could stop them.

“You’re burnin’ up a little,” came Reuben’s conclusion. His typically bright demeanour was replaced with something decidedly more thoughtful. Concerned, even. It gave Ren pause to consider; he hadn’t realised he was running a fever, honestly. It made sense, given everything else that was going on with him; he simply hadn’t realised. Now that it was brought to his attention, he could admit to a decidedly flushed sensation in his cheeks and brow, his skin fragile and glass-like while his clothes chafed him uncomfortably. All the signs of a low-grade fever, for sure. Still, he had resolved to be a good host, and sickness be damned, he would live up to that role. The urge for denial came in strong, and both hands braced his knees.

“Ca’d I get you a drink?” Ren asked, beginning to stand before a wave of wooziness came over him and forced him to drop back down into his seat. Cursing silently, he went to try again, but a hand was soon weighing down on his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“I’d love one.” Reuben’s voice was back to that liquid-gold growl, expression soft once more. Ren felt lost, captivated slightly, unable to do much more than just sit and watch him. “But let me get them. Why don’t you go take a shower?” Eyes fell and scanned over Ren’s entirety, a brow cocking playfully. “You look like you need one.”

Arm lifted, Ren buried his nose and sniffed a little. Which proved… ineffective. He was so stuffed up that even if he stank through the rafters, he wouldn’t be able to tell. Deflating, Reuben chucked and braced an arm to help Ren stand, keeping his place on the sofa.

“Go. I’ll be right here.” It sounded like a promise, and Ren had to admit that a shower did sound inviting. Nodding, he took Reuben’s arm and was soon hoisted up and inside the bathroom in a beat, door clicking shut behind him. Was leaving what amounted to a total stranger alone and unsupervised in his apartment a good idea? Arguably not, perhaps. But Ren’s gut told him otherwise, trusting Reuben implicitly. Typically, his sense of judgment was accurate, and there were yet to be any warning signs coming from the other man.

As expected, the shower was wonderful. Hot water lapped at his flushed skin pleasantly, steam swirling and actually helping to alleviate some of the pressure in Ren’s head. He could admit (to himself and himself only, a truth he would take to the grave) that he took a moment to blow his nose into his hands. Disgusting? Sure. Needed? Definitely. He had no regrets.

The cold had progressed to making Ren’s sinuses inflamed and swollen, which meant that no amount of blowing would ever fully ease the pressure and fullness entirely, giving his head a simultaneous heavy but buoyant feeling. It was only made worse each time a sneeze approached, even just the sensation of a tickle coupled with an incomplete sneeze being enough to aggravate the pressure further. Ren had just been ready to step out of the shower when he felt another fast on the rise, the sensation carrying a dull sharpness that stole his breath. 

It was cruel in its ascent, torturing the inside of his nose with what felt like a thousand tiny feathers. The sensation fluttered, maddening, before it expanded thickly, threading cruelly across every sensitive nerve ending in his nasal passages. He hitched, hopeful, before sighing it out as a false start. A hand braced against the wall, palm flat to the tile, as he waited. And waited. And waited… Each breath fanned the tickle in increments, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, relief was granted. 

“h’tTSZSCH’uh!.. IH’TSSCSHH’h!.. h-h-! HH’EHSSCSSHH’UH!!” 

They tumbled from him, one after another, not a single one of them capable of dissuading the tickle. It stayed stuck, ravaging his already inflamed membranes, coaxing sneeze after torturous sneeze from him. 

The fit lasted a good minute or so before it finally quietened, leaving Ren’s eyes puffy and streaming, his nose red and leaking, his breath shallow and laboured. It took another good minute or so for him to pant away his recovery, until he finally regained enough composure to flip off the shower, shiver his way onto the cold floor, and blow what he could out into ravel after ravel of toilet paper. 

Head throbbing, nose and sinuses aching, shivers wracking him, Ren finally dried off and managed to dress himself before padding barefoot back to the lounge, kitted out in sweatpants and a fresh hoodie and hopefully smelling a little better. Though Ren was given reason to pause when he found the lounge empty. A quick, panicked glance around confirmed that nothing appeared to be out of place or stolen. Reuben apparently hadn’t hired a removal truck and taken all Ren’s shit while he had been showering which was… preferable. Sounds from the kitchen alerted Ren, and he passed through the lounge to the kitchen, only to be met with what was perhaps the most unexpected sight he could have imagined. 

Bags were scattered across the countertops, a couple even laid out on the floor neatly. Reuben was steadily unpacking them, wearing his jacket that was dusted with snow, taking items out one by one and spreading them across the countertops. It looked like… groceries? He didn’t even think he'd been showering long enough for Reuben to leave, buy groceries and return. Lingering in the doorway and watching in awed disbelief, seemingly unnoticed by the other man, Ren hesitated a beat before finally speaking up. 

“What-.. is all this?” Reuben halted at the sound of Ren’s voice, freezing as though he’d been caught red-handed doing something he shouldn’t be. But his apprehension only lasted a moment, soon returning to his task, unbothered. 

“I couldn’t cope with the contents of your refridgerator,” Reuben stated bluntly. And… okay, so the fridge was in a slightly dire state. From Ren’s recollection, there was just a jug of water, several bottles of condiments, a solitary lemon and a couple of bottles of beer. He’d been meaning to get on that… But the past couple of days had gone by in a blur, other things taking priority. He was stuck in a state of disbelief, which he was allowed to linger in for a simple moment before he was being beckoned over to where Reuben was standing. “Here.” Hand outstretched, a takeout carton was thrust in Ren’s direction. He took it gingerly, glassy eyes narrowed as he considered Reuben sceptically. 

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, not meaning to sound ungrateful but he couldn’t wrap his head around it.”You barely know me.” People in big cities didn’t typically behave this way. At least not without a hidden agenda. If he took offence to Ren’s question, Reuben didn’t show it, instead just smiling with a shrug as the last bag was lifted and placed on the counter. 

“I dunno,” Reuben admitted frankly. “Figured you needed the help. Besides.” Eyes locked onto Ren, seemingly seeing right through him, forbearing and tender. He winked. “You’d do the same for me, right?” 

It was a question which gave Ren pause for thought. And… yeah, okay, Reuben had him there. Had the tables been turned, Ren would have done exactly the same. He couldn’t explain it, didn’t even want to try, but he thought once again of just how Reuben made him feel. He hadn’t felt this way in.. well, a really long time, honestly. It was a strange, alien feeling, but it wasn’t unwelcome. His lack of an answer was apparently answer enough for Reuben, and soon Ren was being passed a pair of chopsticks and was ushered towards the door. “Go sit down. I’ll be right through.” 

Doing as he was asked, Ren took his seat back on the couch, still stuck in a slight state of disbelief at what was happening. The carton was flipped open and a plume of steam from what appeared to be some sort of noodles and veggies dish wafted up into Ren’s face. He couldn’t smell it much, but it looked damn good. Chopsticks snapped, Ren was about to dig in when Reuben ventured back into the room, taking a seat beside him, own carton of takeout in hand. 

Silence stretched between them for a while. The words to convey his appreciation escaped Ren’s tongue; thank you didn’t feel like enough. Reuben had really gone out of his way, spent his own money, given Ren the time and effort and compassion that even his own (ex) boyfriend had failed to show him. It was a mix of emotions; undeserving, mainly. But also grateful, humbled, seen and heard. The positives outweighed the negatives by a country mile, and with a bunch of noodles lifted to his mouth, Ren finally garnered the courage to speak. 

“..Thank you,” he finally said, his voice quiet and a little subdued. “You didn’t have to, but.. it’s appreciated.” 

“Hey, hey,” came Reuben’s jaunty tone beside him. “Don’t go gettin’ all mushy on me.” When Ren didn’t really react, Reuben added genuinely, “But you’re welcome.” 

The first bite of dinner was finally taken and the warmth spread pleasantly in Ren’s mouth and across his chest as he swallowed. Though the gentle heat was shortlived, replaced quickly by a rising intensity, the spice gaining momentum until his eyes watered, causing him to sputter, plonking the carton down on the table as he coughed harshly. “Holy shit,” he croaked, breaths panted through his mouth as his tongue burned, eyes streaming. A hand fanned up and down in front of his face, Reuben watching with a smug sense of glee beside him, not even trying to hide his smirk. 

“Don’t be such a wimp,” he teased, snatching a bottle of water and passing it over. Ren chugged half of it before he needed to stop and gasp repeatedly to catch his breath. “It’ll help clear you out,” Reuben shrugged. 

“It’s melting my face,” Ren choked out. Only one bite in and he thought he was about to combust. That shit was spicy, and Ren was no stranger to spice, given his grandfather’s lineage. Though Reuben may have been onto something; one bite, and already Ren could feel his sinuses opening up. He could feel the slick, sleek trickle of something trace the inner line of his septum, threatning to drip, and he sniffed sharply. Reuben seemed to spot the predicament and was swiftly snatching up a tissue box he had clearly just bought, ripping it open and holding it out towards Ren. 

“Then it’s a good job at least one of us is prepared, huh?” he asked, watching as Ren grabbed no less than three tissues from the box, pinning them to his nose and blowing emphatically. Not the most pleasant sight or sound while eating a meal, but Reuben didn’t seem to mind. He carried on snarfing down his own meal without a care in the world, only pausing to pass Ren a tissue or two until he gave up and just handed him the whole box. 

It was a challenge, but somehow, the bottom of the carton soon came into view. Sweat dappled his brow and his nose was a constant stream, tissues practically a permanent fixture against his face between bites, but he made it, somehow. 

Managing to make it down to maybe two more mouthfuls, the perpetual running and dripping became too much for Ren’s tortured nose to handle. It protested, spearing him with a potent tickle that made him shiver down to his bones. Head ducking down, Ren waited, knowing it was useless fighting against this. There was no waxing and waning about this one, just a continuous momentum that built and built, edging closer with every breath. Keeping his head down, eyes closed lazily, expectant, hopeful, as the hitching began. It didn’t take long before that final, snatched inhale was drawn. 

“h’ETSCHSHH!.. IH’SZSSHH’iuh!..” 

With Ren’s sinuses opened up slightly, the two of them had been… productive. An immediate sniffle followed, head staying ducked down to hide the state of his face. 

“Bless you, here, quick.” Tissues appeared in his eyeline between his legs, passed over from Reuben, and no time was wasted in making a grab for them and rushing them to his face. A thick, struggled blow ensued, and Ren lamented all the days he took breathing freely for granted. After the cleanup, he didn’t feel quite done, the ghost of another sneeze shadowing inside his nose, threatening, but he was granted enough of a reprieve to finish his dinner. Just. 

“Good job,” Reuben congratulated when they’d done, clapping a hand on Ren’s chest and patting it a few times. Reuben made quick work in snatching up the cartons, starting the cleanup immediately, though there was yet to be movement from the other side of the sofa. 

“Hey, where do you keep-..?” The question was halted when Reuben apparently turned to Ren and noticed his posture, expression, everything. He sighed fondly, shoulders dropping. “You’re gonna sneeze again, aren’t you?” 

It didn’t take a genius to spot that was the problem. Ren’s expression was light, airy, lifted in that expectant, hopeful way, waiting patiently for the inevitable. His head was tipped back a little, eyes narrowed and squinting at the ceiling; the tip of his nose twitched, alive with the tickle, as his nostrils flared repeatedly, irritated beyond measure; his mouth hung loosely open, jaw slack. They both waited, Reuben watching as Ren fought against it, either warding it off or encouraging it to come. A couple of tissues were thrust into Ren’s hands just in time to be lifted to his face as the final, shaky inhale was drawn, and he was suddenly thrust forwards. 

“h-h!.. h’ESZSSHH’h! H’IYSSCSHH’UHH!.. hhhhhh-..” 

A long, drawn-out sigh followed that double, and Ren visibly wilted where he sat. Dabbing at his nose proved ineffective, and he resolved to just shove a tissue against it and keep it there. Saved a lot of effort. Any magic the spices from dinner had worked were quickly fading, Ren able to physically feel his nose filling back up, sinuses throbbing with the building congestion collecting. He was fighting a losing battle, it seemed. 

“Y’know.” Reuben’s voice called out from the kitchen. “I’m just gonna record myself saying ‘bless you’ and play it on a continual loop. Save me straining my voicebox.” 

Ren laughed, but it was pitiful. It was late in the evening, around the time when he was hit hardest by his symptoms. The fever had spiked a little, he could tell already, shivering slightly as Reuben ventured back in wiping his hands on a towel. He frowned at Ren. 

“You’re not feeling so hot, huh?” he asked. Promises of being Host of the Year were dashed, and Ren shook his head, not even trying to deny it any longer. 

“N’dot really,” he admitted, bundling up into himself. Dipping out of the room, Reuben returned a mere moment later and spread out an array of items before them on the table. Ren blinked at them, surprised, before squinting at Reuben. 

“I got you a whole arsenal,” he boasted, proud of his haul. There were tissues (so many tissues..), NyQuil, Tylenol, water, orange juice, even a thermometer. It made Ren’s heart pinch pleasantly, knowing that someone had gone to this effort just for him. He’d spent the last couple of days feeling so alone, so unworthy of love and affection. The breakup was hitting him harder than he had realised. Not to mention that the fever ran the risk of heightening his emotions, and he absolutely refused to start crying about a little OJ. 

“Come on,” Reuben was saying, measuring out the goopy liquid and cracking open a bottle of juice. “The sooner this is over with, the sooner you can wither in peace.” An offering was made with each hand, one with medicine and one with juice. Necking the NyQuil like he was doing shots, Ren chased it with the OJ, pulling a sour face as his nose wrinkled up in distaste. For the first time, he was thankful for his dulled taste, managing to keep it down without issue. Taking the empties, Reuben settled himself beside Ren, snatching up the remote and flicking on the TV. It appeared he was in no rush to leave and Ren wasn't about to ask him to. 

Channels were hopped between for a while until they finally settled on some documentary. From what Ren managed to watch, it was about rainforests, but that was as far as he got. 

Ren wasn’t awake to see much of the show. He wasn’t awake to realise his head had fallen onto Reuben's shoulder, where it remained as he slept for a really long time. He wasn't awake to witness the cool hand press to his too-warm brow. He wasn’t awake to feel a blanket be thrown over him before being tucked tightly around him. He wasn’t awake to see or hear Reuben leave. And he definitely wasn’t awake to witness the gentle pressure of lips against the fever-damp hair at his temple.

tbc...?

When humanity arrived on Eos-9 three months prior, it was assumed to be a barren planet. More than ten years of research while aboard the ship that brought them here and years prior to that of Earth-bound research had indicated no sustainable life was present here. Aside from the unusual vegetation, there didn't appear to be another living thing. Technically, that much was still true. 

A team of survey corps had been deployed to investigate the area shortly after arrival, an excursion which had stretched on for several days. Whether one was to believe in fate, or whether it was sheer coincidence, one of the surveyors had lost their footing and fallen down an approximation of a rabbit-hole, uncovering some of Eos-9's ever-expanding curiosities. Arguably, its greatest one.

Beneath the ground were what appeared to be tunnels lined with dormant mechanisms nestled within an approximation of a civilisation. It appeared abandoned upon first inspection, but it was only a matter of time before humanity discovered that they were not as alone as they first appeared to be. 

Within the mechanisms resided constructs of the planet, of which the colonists had dubbed the ‘Echoes’. They were dutifully named as such due to when first contact occurred, they were nothing more than voices without a physical presence, like echoes of the planet.

No one knew who, or what, had made them. The first survey teams had found empty cities half-buried beneath silver dunes, full of silent machines waiting patiently in dormant halls.

Then the machines woke. 

They spoke human languages before the colonists taught them. They already knew Earth history. They knew Shakespeare and Seoul street maps and old Brazilian soap operas and the exact composition of atmospheric carbon in 2091. 

They had, apparently, been watching humanity for a very long time.

Humanity was initially seen as an intruder, a dangerous threat to the planet's delicate ecosystem in which the Echoes had spent millennia protecting. Eviction was attempted, followed by pleading, bargaining, and finally, acceptance. The Echoes permitted humanity to remain on Eos-9 on the premise that they would work together to upkeep the safety and efficiency of the planet, to respect it and not to exploit it. Naturally, no one had argued.

That had been several weeks prior.

Now, the Echoes walked alongside humanity wearing approximations of human bodies.

“I'm just saying,” Soren was explaining as he shrugged to his companion. “One of the things I miss most about Earth are the cigarettes.” 

Soren lay back against a warm black stone, jacket bundled beneath his head, staring straight up at the sky. Elyx was sitting upright beside him, motionless except for the faint turning of his head between the stars and the lights of the colony domes. 

There was a stretch of silence that passed before a voice spoke beside Soren, much deeper and more monotonous than his own, almost ethereal. 

“Humans would ingest carcinogenic material into their respiratory systems?” Another thoughtful pause, followed by, “On purpose?” 

The voice next to him belonged to one of Soren's closest friends planet-side, Elyx - an Echo.

Some of the Echoes looked nearly perfect, practically human. Others were… off.

Elyx belonged firmly in the second category.

His limbs were a fraction too long. His fingers bent with unsettling smoothness. His face was handsome in the way sculptures were handsome - technically correct, emotionally strange. His smile arrived a second or two too late sometimes, as if triggered by internal processing rather than instinct.

But Soren liked him anyway. Maybe because he was the only real friend Soren had made since arriving on this planet. Or maybe because Elyx never treated him like he was disappointing.

Most people over fifty looked at Soren’s generation with quiet resentment. They were the children born during the Collapse Years, after the oceanline evacuations had begun, after Earth stopped pretending recovery was possible. They inherited smoke-choked skies and ration riots and departure lotteries.

Then, they inherited exile.

But Elyx listened to Soren talk about Earth like it was important. Like it had mattered. 

“Well, yeah, I guess so,” Soren continued in response to Elyx's question. Questions… There were always questions, so many of them. The Echo's fascination with humanity was neverending, and honestly endearing. 

“That would appear to be irresponsible,” Elyx concluded, staring at Soren thoughtfully. 

“No, no, you don't understand,” Soren was trying to explain. Or justify. Perhaps both. “That first drag of a cigarette on a cold winter morning with a cup of fresh coffee just hits different.” 

“You were correct in your estimation,” Elyx confirmed. “I do not understand.” 

Silence settled between them after that. Not awkward, exactly, just… considering. Soren could have tried to explain the simple pleasure of cigarettes despite their detrimental effects to Elyx, but memories of life back on Earth always made him somber. 

The two of them watched the twin moons for a few moments in companionable quiet, the only sounds being the faint ruffle of grass in the gentle breeze and the soft hum of colony life below them. Until a sound (or two) pierced the quiet between them. 

“hh.. h'ITSCH!.. H'TSCSH-!..” 

The sounds were sudden, sharp, leaving Soren sniffling a little after, rubbing the back of his wrist against the underside of his nose to rid it of any residual irritation. 

“..Soren?” 

The voice came unexpectedly, a note of uncertainty woven behind it. Shifting his fingers for a quick pinch-rub around his nostrils, Soren settled back against his makeshift rock-pillow. 

“Yeah?” he asked without looking over. He didn’t need to glance across to know that Elyx was staring at him, able to feel the pressure of the Echo’s silver irises boring into him. 

“What was that?” the construct asked, shifting across to close the space between them. Their knees were almost pressed together. 

“What was what?” Soren asked, tilting his head to listen, as though what Elyx was referencing was coming from elsewhere. When he heard nothing suspicious, realisation settled in, his head rolling to the side curiously. “You mean me?” 

“Yes,” Elyx replied, his gaze honed acutely onto Soren now, caught somewhere between fascinated and horrified . “You expelled air at high velocity accompanied by involuntary muscular contraction.” 

“I just sneezed,” he snorted casually, as though that would answer all of Elyx's questions. Naturally, it did not. If anything, it only heightened the Echo’s curiosity. Soren could practically hear the dozens of follow-up questions buzzing around the Echo’s mind. 

“Sneezed?” Elyx asked as though trying out the unfamilar word for the first time, eyes narrowing in suspicion as they locked onto Soren. “Are you compromised?”

“What? No.” Soren said as his head snapped to the side, sounding offended, his features narrowing a little. A stretch of considering silence passed before Elyx piped up again. 

“Did it hurt?” The question was laden with slight concern, which made Soren roll his eyes fondly. 

“No, it didn’t hurt,” he reassured, glancing across at Elyx as a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Haven't you seen someone sneeze before?” 

“Not this close in proximity,” Elyx offered honestly. Then, unexpectedly, “Can you do it again?” 

“Again?” Soren repeated, baffled, as though he wasn't quite understanding the question. His next words came out sharp with disbelief. “No, I can't do it again.” 

“Why not?” 

Sighing softly, Soren realised that this was just another part of humanity that he would need to educate Elyx on. For as much as the Echoes appeared to have studied humanity, they seemed to have skimmed over the minor details. Elyx had apparently been tardy for the lesson on bodily reflexes. 

“It doesn't work like that,” Soren started to explain patiently, hands motioning for emphasis. “It just… happens. You can't control it. Like, your body just does it, y'know?” 

The blank look on Elyx's face told Soren that he did not know. 

“Why did it happen?” 

Soren couldn't help the slight smile and huff of amusement at the question. Elyx's fascination and curiosity really did make him endearing, his intimidating aesthetic belying his naivety. 

“Something just irritated my nose, I guess,” Soren shrugged. “Making me sneeze is my body’s way of getting it out.” 

Elyx appeared extremely intrigued by the explanation, his fascination growing stronger by the minute. “Your respiratory system forces a violent expulsion response to microscopic intrusion?

Soren balked. “Uh, yeah? I guess so. But when you say it like that, it sounds terrible."

“It sounds extraordinary.” 

“Does it?” Soren asked. “It isn’t really.”

“I would like to experience it.” Soren took a second to pause, staring at Elyx blankly.

“You want to sneeze?” he asked incredulously. 

“Yes,” came the flat, stoic reply, as if Soren was asking something obvious. 

“Are you even able to?” Soren wondered aloud. It wasn’t like Elyx was exactly human, after all. And Echo physiology wasn't exactly Soren's forte. He doubted it was anyone's.

“I believe it is worth attempting.” 

“Okay, but,” Soren started, in quiet disbelief that this conversation was even happening. “It’s not something you can just decide to do. Sneezing just… happens naturally.” 

“It has not happened to me,” Elyx informed him, shuffling closer and closer until they were practically shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Case in point,” Soren sighed. “If it hasn’t happened yet, it probably isn’t going to.” 

“Humans induce sneezing sometimes,” Elyx supplied casually. Soren froze, almost toppling over, despite being sitting. 

“How could you possibly know that?” he asked, stunned. 

“I have consumed sixteen million hours of human media.” Elyx said it as though it was the most casual, natural thing he could have done. “There are archives involving pepper and feathers, although the results are often inconsistent.” 

“You’re serious about this,” Soren stated, amusement creeping into his tone. 

“Yes,” Elyx confirmed, pausing briefly as he scanned back through the Earth archives he had committed to memory, before continuing. “There is also photonic stimulation triggered by direct sunlight.” 

“You’ve done your homework,” Soren quipped, sounding almost impressed. “But yeah, that one’s real. Happens to a lot of people.” 

“Excellent.” 

Before Soren could protest, Elyx had turned towards both moons, head tilted back as he gazed directly up towards them. They both waited for a stretch of seconds while nothing happened, until Elyx sighed and turned back towards Soren with a look of sheer disappointment on his face. 

“That does not appear to function correctly.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Soren huffed, unable to stop the smile that was spreading across his lips. Elyx was so serious about this that it was impossible not to held at least some element of comedic value. “You do realise that reflex isn’t universal, right? Not to mention you just looked at the moon.” 

The blank stare he received indicated that Elyx had not, in fact, realised that. 

“Do my receptors lack the required sensitivity to trigger such a phenomenon?” The question was delivered with such deadpan sincerity that Soren couldn’t help but audibly laugh. 

“I mean, maybe? I’m not an expert on Echo physiology.” A beat of thoughtful consideration passed. “But there may be other methods.”

Elyx narrowed his eyes. 

“I do not understand why you are smiling when you say that.” 

“Because this is actually kinda funny.” 

“Explain.” 

“You’re an alien trying to get yourself to sneeze like a human for the first time.” 

“I’m not an alien,” Elyx sulked. “You are.” 

Soren opened his mouth to respond but closed it almost instantly. Honestly, there wasn’t really any coming back from that one. Elyx was right; he was the alien here. Humans were the aliens on Eos-9. Which was actually pretty strange to think about. Although perhaps no stranger than trying to get an incorporeal being to sneeze while being corporeal. That was certainly high up on the list of oddities. 

“I need you to assist me.” Elyx shuffled across the rock, crouching down just in front of Soren with a look of pure enthusiasm that softened his features just enough to make him seem almost human. Almost. Soren was gently taken aback for a moment, looking into the steel-silver gaze of the Echo before him. 

“Please.” 

The word came out much softer than either of them had anticipated. And that was Soren’s real problem with Elyx. Not the uncanny proportions. Not the mechanical precision. Not even the impossible ancient intelligence behind those silver eyes. It was moments like this, moments where Elyx sounded young, curious, hopeful. Like someone discovering existence for the first time. And, in a roundabout sort of way, he kind of was. 

“Fine.” Soren sighed dramatically, unable to resist most anything Elyx asked of him. And this felt oddly intimate in a way that Soren couldn’t really describe. Though he did hasten to add, “But if this goes dramatically wrong and you end up imploding or something then I’m not being held liable. And I’m definitely not explaining this to the rest of the colony.” 

“Your terms are agreeable,” Elyx lilted, a soft, gentle smile barely beginning to tug at the corner of his mouth.

With a firm nod, Soren began glancing around, unable to quite believe that his current thoughts were occupied with varying ways of getting Elyx to sneeze. Had anyone told him that this would be his life on this new planet, he would have probably launched himself into the nearest wormhole. 

“I dunno, dust maybe?” he suggested, not really finding much else that would be of any use. Elyx responded without hesitation, scooping up a handful of fine, silty sand from around the rock base, lifting it up to his face before Soren could stop him. 

“Wait, not that much-”

But it was too late. Elyx had already drawn in a huge breath through his nose, sniffing back a large portion of the sand in the process. It made him cough, the sounds dry and tight, causing him to drop the sand back to the floor with a sound of utter contempt. Soren could only blink in wide-eyed disbelief, waiting to see if anything else happened. 

“You can cough?” he asked, startled. It took Elyx a moment or two to regain composure before he glanced back at Soren with glistening eyes. 

“Apparently.” 

“Well, I guess that’s a good sign?” 

“What made you deduce that conclusion?” 

“If you can cough, then that means you can probably do other reflexes, right? Which means you can probably sneeze. We just... haven’t found a way to make it happen yet.” 

Elyx was quiet, thoughtful, though there was a glint of hopefulness in his expression that Soren found impossible to disappoint.

“Okay, we can try something else,” Soren said, now on a mission to get Elyx to sneeze. No matter what it took. 

The ‘something else’ turned out to be just Soren attempting to physically irritate Elyx’s nose externally. He was kneeling in front of the Echo, the non-human details impossible to ignore at such close proximity. 

The faint metallic sheen beneath synthetic skin; the perfect stillness between movements. Barely noticeable traits that were usually missed, now glaringly obvious as Soren continued his mission.

Two fingers lightly pinched the bridge of Elyx's nose, occasionally wriggling or rubbing in an attempt to stimulate any kind of reaction. 

“Anything?” he asked, almost hopeful, as he gave the Echo’s nose another wriggle before very gently flicking the tip. Elyx just blinked, going still for a moment as though internally analysing, before sighing heavily. 

“No,” he said glumly. “Nothing.” 

Soren wrinkled his own nose in demonstration. “There’s usually, like, a tickle.”

“A tickle,” Elyx repeated, as though speaking the words aloud would commit it to memory. 

“Yeah. It’s a weird feeling, kinda makes your face all twitchy.”

“My face does not twitch involuntarily.” Elyx straightened a little as he said it. An eye roll came from Soren. 

Though he continued, now adamant for this task not to defeat him, rubbing higher, fingers moving side to side over the narrow bridge of Elyx’s nose. Still nothing. Elyx watched him intently the entire time, silver eyes unblinking.

“Y'know, that’s really unsettling,” Soren muttered, eyes flicking down occasionally but refusing to meet his gaze. 

“You are concentrating.”

“Most people close their eyes when someone’s this close.” Another gentle wriggle. “Or at least look down.” 

“I enjoy observing you.” The delivery was so deadpan, so genuine, that Soren nearly slipped off the rock. Elyx tilted his head. “Was that statement inappropriate?”

“No,” Soren said a mite too quickly, a faint heat rising to his cheeks. “Just— distracting.”

“Oh,” Elyx said quietly, before adding, mostly to himself, “Interesting.”

Soren scowled, still just inches away from Elyx’s face. “That wasn’t an invitation to analyse it.”

“It is difficult not to.” 

Soren groaned. “You are impossible.”

“Continue the nose manipulation.”

“Can you not word everything so weirdly?” Soren blurted, almost flustered. 

Still, he tried again.

Pinching. Rubbing. Gliding a finger from the bridge to the tip. 

Nothing.

No twitch, no reaction. No sneeze.

“Okay,” Soren said finally, sitting back. “Maybe your body just can’t do it.”

Elyx looked sincerely disappointed, slumping a little. 

“But the reflex exists in your species.”

“It does,” Soren agreed, before adding, “But you don’t have a species.”

It came out a little harsher than Soren intended, a trickle of guilt running down his spine as he watched Elyx ruffle a little. 

“That feels philosophically incorrect.”

“You know what I mean,” Soren was quick to correct. Technically, Elyx did have a species, but not one with a physical form. The being currently kneeling before him was constructed manually after rigorous study of the human system. A replica, so to speak. No one really knew just how accurate Echoes were to human physiology. 

Elyx went quiet for a moment, gaze drifting toward the distant colony lights.

Then, softer: “I would still like to understand it.”

Something twisted in Soren’s chest at the candid vulnerability in the Echo's tone. Elyx approached every human experience like a starving man discovering food. Laughter; music; warmth; touch.

Now sneezing, apparently.

“Okay,” Soren said, motivation restored. “We’re not giving up yet.”

Elyx straightened immediately, hopeful. “Excellent.”

“Don’t look so excited,” he warned as he sat back on his haunches a little.

“I am excited.”

Soren laughed softly despite himself, shaking his head as he glanced around them, considering his options. 

“Right,” he concluded, standing abruptly before his eyes settled on Elyx, glinting with confident mischief in the moonlight. “Last attempt.” 

Elyx stood too, towering over Soren slightly, his trust in the human almost palpable between them. 

The strange, turquoise grasses around them swayed in the breeze blowing across from the ridges. Long filaments sprouted upwards around the edges of the rock, thin as wire and surprisingly soft. Soren plucked one from the ground, studying it thoughtfully as he twirled it between his fingers. Elyx watched with rapt fascination. 

“You have an idea,” he proclaimed, more of a statement than a question. Though his expression tightened a little, caught between confused and awed. “With… vegetation?” 

“This should work,” Soren stated, as though that would explain everything. 

“Explain.”

Of course, it didn’t.

“I'm not explaining because it sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud,” Soren shrugged, ignoring Elyx's dubious glance. “Just… trust the process.” 

At that, Elyx held perfectly still standing before Soren. The realisation hit Soren a little too late that Elyx wasn't only trusting the process; he was trusting Soren. It seemed so trivial but Elyx had no idea what Soren had planned and yet confided his full trust to him. It meant more than Soren anticipated. But he swallowed that thought down, other more pressing matters at hand. 

Which were, essentially, manually tickling the Echo's nose in a bid to make him sneeze for the first time. 

And that was the reason he hadn’t spoken it aloud; it sounded insane. 

Setting his jaw, Soren lifted the thin, wiry blade up in front of Elyx's face and gently, delicately slipped it up inside one nostril.

At first, there was nothing. Just a slight furrow of Elyx's brows as his nose adjusted to the tiny intruder threading inside. Though when Soren dipped it just a little higher, wriggling it minutely, Elyx jerked very slightly, his eyes widening. 

“Oh…” 

Soren paused, inadvertently halting any progress they were making. “What?” 

“I felt something,” Elyx declared, a hand lifting as he motioned towards his face. 

“Like what?” The hope was audible in Soren's tone. “A tickle?” 

“Yes,” Elyx confirmed, prompting Soren to begin movement once more, flicking the blade up against the sensitive inner walls of Elyx's nose. The reaction was immediate. “It is.. hh-..” 

A small, involuntary hitch cut Elyx's sentence short, Soren able to see the visible twitch in the Echo's nose, the way his slender nostrils flared rounder just slightly. 

“My facial actuators are behaving unpredictably.”

“Good,” Soren confirmed, a slight, almost smug smile curving his lips as he continued to weave the grass inside Elyx's nose. 

“That's good?” Elyx asked, his voice slightly breathy. 

“Yeah,” Soren chimed. “It means it's working.” 

Though despite continuing to flick the blade inside Elyx's nose, the Echo's expression soon levelled, a small inhale drawn through his nose before it was sighed back out again. 

“It stopped,” he concluded, unable to hide his disappointment. Soren frowned. 

“What do you mean it stopped?” 

“The feeling,” Elyx explained. “It's gone.” 

Soren had paused for the moment, considering, before Elyx snapped him back into the moment. 

“Again,” he stated, almost a command rather than a request. “Try it again.” 

“You're really committed to this, aren't you?” Soren quirked. 

“Yes.” Elyx's eyes fixed on Soren's, almost pleading. “It was working.” 

“Alright,” Soren conceded, locking in. “Round two.” 

Trying again, Soren swept the grass just a fraction higher inside Elyx's nose, teasing the sensitive inner walls, making them quiver gently against the irritation. The reaction was once again immediate, Elyx's nose twitching as a sharp, involuntary inhale was drawn. For the first time, his eyes fluttered against the sensation, his shoulders hunching just a fraction as a tiny hitch escaped. 

“..hH-!.. 

“I can see it,” Soren almost whispered, fascinated as he watched each tiny crease, each flicker of Elyx's expression as the tickle expanded. His hand kept flickering the blade inside Elyx's nose, searching for that sensitive sweet-spot that would trigger a sneeze. 

A hand suddenly reached out, gently grabbing Soren's wrist, not to stop him but as though grounding himself. 

“There is-.. hH-!.. pressure,” Elyx managed to stammer out even as his breath caught in his throat, his gaze rapidly losing focus. 

“That means it's building,” Soren assured. “Don't think about it. Just let it happen.” 

His wrist snapped the blade just a tiny bit higher, Elyx's nose twitching once, twice, a tiny, helpless sound escaping that Soren had never heard him make before. 

“Hh-!.. ihh-... It is.. ehh-... escalating.” 

“Don't overthink it,” Soren advised, knowing Elyx too well by now that he was likely overanalysing every single sensation, unintentionally preventing the sneeze from coming. He visibly watched as Elyx's eyes drifted closed as the grass continued its assault, the Echo's nostrils flaring wide around the intruder, a tiny glisten of moisture beginning to collect around the inner shores. 

“My s-.. sensory input is nahh-.. narrowing.”

“Stop trying to narrate it,” Soren almost snapped, though Elyx didn't stop. 

“It feels as though something is.. ihh-! o-overriding motor control..”

Soren couldn't help the huff of soft laughter at that. “That's exactly what's happening. You gotta let it.” 

Elyx made another desperate little sound as his head tipped back slightly on instinct, eyes closed, nose twitching, nostrils flared wide, the perfect picture of someone caught in a sneeze. 

Soren dipped the blade higher still, the tip brushing lightly against the most sensitive spot along his inner wall. 

That did it.

A sharp inhale was drawn. Elyx froze completely, every muscle locked, jaw slack and eyes closed as his chest inflated on a hitch. 

“hh…Hh…!”

Soren could practically see him trying to maintain composure through sheer force of will. But it was a losing battle. 

Elyx's breath hitched violently, the next inhale shuddering through his entire frame, his expression collapsed as he was completely overcome. 

Then—

“hh-! H'TDJZSH-!!” 

The resulting sneeze was clumsy, untidy, unpracticed. Elyx made no attempt to cover, doubling forwards slightly as a fine mist sprayed out in front of him from the release. Luckily, Soren managed to duck out of the way just in time, avoiding getting caught in the crossfire. The sound was clipped, slightly metallic at the edges, almost human but not quite, echoing softly across the ridges. 

For a moment, both of them froze. Soren could only stare. Elyx stared back, his eyes wide. 

“You did it,” Soren congratulated, the blade of grass since removed from Elyx's nose and discarded somewhere at their feet. 

“That was… interesting,” Elyx concluded, drawing in a sharp, involuntary sniffle as he considered, almost awe-struck. “My thoracic systems compressed automatically.” 

“You did good for your first time,” Soren quipped, his voice softening slightly as he added, “Bless you.” 

Elyx's expression morphed into a look of confusion once more. 

“What does that mean?” 

“It's just something humans say whenever someone sneezes,” Soren said with a shrug. Elyx's expression grew no less confused. 

“Why?” 

“I dunno,” Soren admitted. “Something to do with wishing people good health? I'd need to look it up.” 

Elyx looked like he was about to respond when he froze in place suddenly, his eyes widening in something resembling shock, before he managed to mutter, “...it's happening again.” 

Soren looked almost as horrified, unable to quite believe what was happening before him. The second build up was much faster, Elyx barely being given time to turn slightly to the side as another sneeze barrelled through him. 

“hH-!.. h'TSZSHh-!”

That one had Elyx staggering half a step backwards from the force of it, one hand rising instinctively up towards his face a second or two too late, the backs of his fingers brushing beneath his dampening nostrils. 

“You're enjoying this far too much,” he snipped at Soren, who hadn’t been able to hide the grin that crept onto his face. 

“You managed that one all by yourself!” Soren exclaimed, a patronising tint edging his words. 

“Yes, I was present for it,” Elyx sulked, before his expression collapsed once again into startled distraction. Soren audibly gasped. 

“There's more?” 

Elyx still had his fingers crushed beneath his nose, blinking against tears of irritation as the tickle began to build again. 

“The sensation is relentless,” he narrated, his expression and posture utterly overwhelmed by it at this point, composure completely dismantled. His eyes fluttered shut again as his shoulders tensed hard.

Soren had never seen him this disordered, never seen him unable to think his way through something. It was captivating, in a weird sort of way. 

“..hh-.. hAH-! H'TZSSHH'uh-!!” 

The third sneeze cracked out of him strongest of all, leaving the Echo bleary-eyed and sniffling, his internal processes clearly calculating every minor detail, leaving Elyx standing motionless for several seconds.

Then, slowly, he lowered his hand from his face.

“…I understand now,” he said quietly, voice edged with a subtle thickness. 

Soren grinned. “You do?”

Elyx looked at him with something strangely bright in his expression, belying his next words. 

“It was horrible.”

Soren barked a laugh.

Then Elyx’s mouth twitched upward a fraction too late.

“But,” he admitted, “also fascinating.”

“So, no interest in doing it again?” Soren asked. Elyx shook his head slowly, as a faint, residual irritation still flickered beneath his features. 

“No,” he confessed. “I think I have experienced enough sneezing to last me this lifetime.” 

~*~

The storm had come in fast. Much faster than anyone could have anticipated, faster than had even been forecast. It was a whiteout, with wind lashing like a whip across the jagged ridgeline, cruel and unrelenting. It was the only sound to be heard throughout the barren mountains, like the howl of a wounded animal.  

For an experienced, freelance marksman like Tybalt Vansson, being exposed to the elements was nothing new. He had been in the duty of this unorthodox work for more years than he cared to count, having being staked out on missions in every climate imaginable, from sun-parched wastelands to rainforest monsoons. It was nothing he hadn’t handled before, and nothing he couldn’t handle again. Except...  

“..hh-HH-!..”  

This was new.  

In all his years of, ahem, work, never once had Vansson been staked out on a mission in this condition. If he was unwell, he would call out; that was the beauty of being freelance. But something about this particular job had compelled him, so when he’d felt it two nights prior, just a slight ache in his throat and unscratchable itch at the back of his nose, he had chosen to ignore it. But spending more than twenty four hours stationed belly-down in the snow, with nothing but his gear and a sheet of tarp for company and warmth, meant he could ignore it no longer.  

“..hh’tchgxt!..”  

Vansson blinked wetly, his lashes damp from snowflakes and unshed tears of irritation. There was a soft thrum of heat beneath his ghillie suit, despite the below-freezing temperatures surrounding him, and he swore he'd raise hell if there was a fever blooming beneath the surface. Sweat dappled his forehead, freezing in the elements and making the throbbing in his head intensify. His right nostril was completely blocked, and the left one wouldn't stop running. Worst of all, he’d been plagued by a tickle in his nose on and off for hours now. Sometimes, he was able to stave it off, push it down into the deep recesses of his mind so he could focus on the task at hand. But sometimes... sometimes... 

...sometimes he wasn’t so lucky.  

A thick sniffle followed that single sneeze, which had barely been a blip of noise, swallowed by the wind and carried off without a trace. Conscious of making too much sound or movement, Vansson cursed under his breath in his native tongue, managing to hook a hand up beneath his nostrils and swipe at the slight mess daring to leak past their shores.  

Recalibrating, he managed to peek back through the scope of his rifle, which was aimed at a precise location through the storm. Visibility was next to nothing, meaning Vansson had no time to dwell on anything but the mission. Just the slightest miscalculation would result in failure, and that was something which wasn’t even worth considering. Failure wasn’t an option; never had been, never would be. All he could do was steady himself, focus, and wait for the target. 

Seconds dragged into minutes. Minutes crept into hours. The longer he was out here, the more difficult it was becoming to stay covert. The sniffles were becoming more frequent, thicker and heavier with each one. The sneezes were becoming deeper, the tickle perilously impossible to hold back for longer than a few moments. Vansson didn't dare to move more than flicking a wrist under his nose, which was becoming redder and redder around the nostrils with each swipe. His focus was down the scope of his rifle, watching, waiting... 

Just as there was the first movement from his target-point since he'd been staked out, Vansson felt it: the tickle. No sooner had a figure emerged down the scope of his rifle did his nose choose that exact moment to flare up. It wasn't a small inconvenience either; it was shaping up to be a big problem.  

As soon as it spiked, Vansson couldn't control the hitching, "hh-!.." that escaped his chapped, parted lips, his eyes squinting shut against his command. The tickle speared through his nose, fanning out at his nostrils which made them flare outwards in protest, desperate to get the irritant out as soon as possible. Vansson fought it with every ounce of strength he had in him, even when his eyes glossed over and brows furrowed upwards, expectant, hopeful. 

The target was in sight - it was now or never. Tightening his finger on the trigger, there were the first sounds made in the mountains in hours: 

FWWMPH! 

"..hH'GNXx't!" 

A simultaneous barrage of a stifled gunshot and a stifled sneeze. Having lost complete control for a split second, eyes slamming shut as the sneeze overtook him, Vansson hurried to check back down the sight of his scope, knowing the slightest movement from his position could have ruined the mission completely. He didn’t even bother sniffling away at the dampness collected beneath his nose, glassy eyes squinting at the sight before him.  

It was only after a beat that he pulled back, sniffling thickly through compact sinuses as he let his rifle sink down into the snow, and he breathed heavily for the first time in what felt like days. He flicked a finger to his ear, pushing down on the codec and speaking softly. 

"V-Vansson, reporting," he said, his voice barely more than a feeble croak from hours of misuse and abuse from the cold. "T-t-target down." He was shivering; now that the mission was over, his body was allowing him to feel everything he had trained himself to blot out before. The cold. His cold. It weighed heavy on him, like a blanket of lead, and for the first time since the mission began, he was beginning to realise how utterly miserable he truly felt.  

"Copy that, Vansson," came the crackle down his earpiece. He'd recognise the voice of his superior anywhere, always so stern and collected. Not that he really had a "superior", but she had been the one to debrief on this mission. "Secure your position, then move out. Head four klicks west, there's rendezvous point there."  

"No ETA on pickup?" Vansson asked, hopeful. He sniffled again, able to feel that telltale tickling rising up like a tide behind his eyes, breaching down to the shores of his nostrils where they flared out evenly with each breath. He didn’t have to fight it any more, but that didn't mean he wasn’t going to.  

"Storm's too heavy, Vansson," came the methodical, calculated reply. "Afraid you'll have to make it on foot. Copy?"  

It wasn't the best news, but it wasn't the worst he'd ever received either. Vansson shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and shake away that uprising sneeze building inside his nose.  

"Y-yeah," he shivered out, crushing a gloved hand cruelly to his nose and scrubbing at it a few times. It did nothing but accentuate the pressure, leaving his breath hitching as the sneeze had finally had enough of his antics.  

"..hh-hHH-GSZSSHh'iu-!!"  

"Bless you?" came the static-voice through his ear, and it was only then that Vansson realised he hadn’t shut his codec off and had essentially sneezed right down the ear of his superior. His face flushed red, despite there being no one around, and he fumbled with himself a moment before clearing his throat.  

"'m sorry, ma'am," he huffed sheepishly, sounding lowkey pissed, mindful to shut off his earpiece before sniffling into his sleeve.  

"No apologies," came the stoic reply. "Just get your ass back to base. You're no good to me dead, Vansson."  

A sneeze, indisputably. It was just loud enough and just frequent enough to occasionally cause a couple of people to glance over. There was even an absent blessing or two thrown in there, either hollered across the bar from a drunken customer or muttered by a polite, smiling member of staff. On one occasion, a kind-hearted older lady even slid a napkin from her purse across the bar. 

The culprit was a young man, aged in his early thirties. He had the round, plushy face of someone much younger, but his hunched over demeanour, along with the ever-so slight creases around his eyes, whispered the real truth about his age. He was sitting alone at the bar, feeling like a cliché, as he chugged his beer straight from the bottle. There were already three empty ones around him, indicating how quickly they had been necked; the bar staff hadn't even cleared them away yet. 

The guy's name was Ren. Ren Caville, if we went for formalities. And he fit the description perfectly of the typical, stereotyped frequenter of such a dive mid-week. No, he wasn’t with family, or even with friends for a catch-up. He wasn't attending a business meeting either. And he certainly wasn't there on a date. Quite the contrary, actually. 

He was there because he'd been dumped. That's right, the dude who he had proclaimed his love for over the past four years had broken up with him just mere hours prior. So, being the thirty-two year old, fully functioning, mature adult that he was, Ren had done the one and only thing that he could think to do as soon as he had received the text (yes, the bastard had dumped him by text message..): 

He went out to get wasted. 

Arguably, not one of his wiser decisions. In fact, it could be one of his worst. It was that awkward time of year where the weather couldn't decide if it was too warm to snow, or too cold to rain. So, naturally, it did both. Icy sleet was currently pelting down outside, splaying on the ground like someone was continuously and permanently slinging a slushie across the sidewalk. And just because that wasn't bad enough, the wind decided to join in, causing icy blasts to whip straight through people should they be foolish enough to venture outside. 

Ren Caville had been one of those fools. And he had done so wearing just a shirt too. Again, not his smartest move. But he had been desperate for a drink, and thoughts of the weather had been the furthest thing from his mind when he had snatched up his wallet and slammed the door shut on the way out. In retrospect, Ren had some regrets. He could admit to those. Hindsight really was a bitch. 

Not as much of a bitch as his (now ex) boyfriend, but it was up there. 

In short, outside it was cold, wet and miserable. Fitting, really. Because inside, Ren felt exactly the same; cold, wet, and very miserable. 

It didn't help that since leaving the house and braving the climate, his body had begun to betray him. The cold wind had gotten him a runny nose, meaning he had been sniffling periodically and that was yet to stop. Even being inside in the (slightly) warmer air, fluid continued to threaten to drip beyond the shores of his nostrils, making him sniffle wetly on almost every breath. Shortly after arriving, he had swallowed a mouthful of beer awkwardly that had caused him to erupt into a small coughing fit, and the chalky, fuzzy sensation in his throat had yet to disappear, meaning Ren was clearing his throat and occasionally coughing dryly. It felt like no amount of coughing or drinking fluids could quite smother that dusty tickle lurking in his throat, steadily making its way down to his chest. 

And just to top it all off, the perpetual sniffling was tickling. It was tickling really, really badly. With each sniff, Ren could feel the sensation pulse gently, a thick, dense haze of a tickle filling his entire skull. His nostrils would flare lazily, uncommitted, his lips softly parting to allow easy breathing. Beyond his control, his eyes would glaze with irritation before falling serenely closed, his breath falling softer, quieter, but quicker. Until finally, it jumped, snatched, and he jerked forwards into a scrunched fist with a -

“hHH'EEIISSSHHH'YYUH!!-.. nngh...”

That particular sneeze had been followed up with a soft groan, though it couldn't be determined if it was from resignation, frustration, or exasperation. Or perhaps even the vexation of another sneeze on the way. It was impossible to tell, just by looking at him. Especially when his eyes scrunched shut, his fist scrubbing angrily in small little circles, crushed against his nose. It seemed more like punishment than anything else. The sniffle that followed that time was liquid, signifying the congestion that was rapidly filling Ren's nose and sinuses. The bleary cast to his eyes caused by that latest sneeze was yet to fade, even when his hand was lowered and he continued to drain the bottle. Though one didn't need to look at all closely to see that it was clearly evident what was going on: 

Ren had a cold, it seemed. 

Not a particularly bad one. Not yet, at least. It seemed to be in the early stages, just beginning to lightly settle in, causing faint but persistent ticklish flutters in his nose, throat and chest. At present, an annoyance and an inconvenience, but certainly not debilitating. Ren was still able to sit at the bar, scowl into his bottle, and pretend that the world around him didn't exist. 

“Bless you.” 

...which was pretty hard when people kept talking to him. 

It was a voice Ren hadn't heard so far that evening. It was a man, clearly. Very much a man. The tone was deep, gravelly, almost growling. Had it not said something polite, Ren might have thought the guy was trying to start a fight. Though he was adamant on being left alone tonight, and had no interest in engaging in any sort of interaction with anyone else in the world, so being the polite and conscientious person that he was, he turned his head slightly towards the direction in which the voice had come from – his left – and spoke without even lifting his eyes. 

“Thanks.” 

There. Job done. Now he didn't need to worry about engaging with this person ever again. He could just get back to being miserable by himself and enjoying his –

“Sounds like some cold you caught.” 

Seriously? Small talk? Right in front of his beer? The one night that Ren decided he wanted to just be left the fuck alone to wallow in self pity like any normal post-dumped person and he gets cornered into making small-talk with whoever the hell it was to his left. But maybe the guy was like an itchy bug bite; if Ren just ignored him, he might go away. 

“Seems like there's somethin' goin' around. It's the weather for it, I guess.”

Was this guy for real? He was actually trying to make conversation with Ren. About his cold, of all things, that Ren was around 93% certain he didn't have. The worst.. 

But Ren wasn't a total asshole. He'd been raised right, or at least he liked to think so. He knew it was just downright rude to ignore this guy totally when he was apparently making an effort, even if it was irritating. So, with a hell of a lot of reluctance, Ren swivelled his top half to his left, leaning on the bar, head spinning just slightly from the movement and the three (and a half) necked beers, now facing whoever it was that was trying to talk to him. 

Before he could speak, his jaw dropped as he had to tip his head back to look up, gaping open like a gormless fish-out-of-water, unable to complete a full sentence or even form coherent words. 

Because what he saw definitely wasn't what he had been expecting. For many reasons. 

First off, the man wasn't at all what Ren had been picturing in his mind. He had expected a perhaps forty-something year old guy with a huge gut, a plaid shirt and suspenders. Call him judgemental, but it had been what he'd pictured from the sound of the voice alone. Though what he was met with instead was bright, steel-grey eyes; thick, furrowed brows that were almost scowling, but belied the smile on the guy's lips. His hair was dark, almost black, cut short (sort of) though sort of floppy on the top. It almost reached the guy's eyes. His skin was olive, much darker than Ren's, accenting his features perfectly. Ren thought he couldn't be more than maybe thirty years old. Thirty-five at a push. 

Though all of that wasn't what shocked Ren the most. None of that had Ren floundering on the spot to find a single word to say. No, what really got him was the navy shirt with the high collar and pants to match; a small radio clipped to his belt, a belt which had multiple other things attached to it. A gun being one of them. Ren gulped around a sore throat, wincing only slightly. 

Fucking hell, the guy was a cop. 

“I'm-.. I'm old enough, officer,” Ren finally stammered out, panicking, because it was the first thing that came into his head. He thought he was maybe in trouble for drinking underage or something. His shocked expression and the declaration were apparently highly amusing, because the cop soon erupted into rolls of laughter, loud enough that it practically filled the bar. Ren shrunk inwards slightly. 

“Yeah, no shit,” came the gleeful reply from the cop. Without asking, the guy pulled up a stool and plonked himself down beside Ren, holding up an arm and signalling towards the bar staff, holding up two fingers. Must be a regular in the place if he didn’t even need to verbalise his order. 

Groaning inwards, Ren cursed his luck. All he had wanted was to drown his sorrows in peace alone before stumbling home and passing the fuck out. Instead, he was being forced to cozy up and force small talk with a cop, of all people, which not only meant that he wasn't alone any longer but that he also needed to be on his best behaviour. He wanted to be alone, sure, but inside a holding cell for the night was perhaps a step too far. 

“Rough night, huh?” the guy asked, motioning towards the empty bottles across the bar which were tucked between a few used napkins. Ren turned himself back to facing forwards just as the bartender plonked down another couple of beers in front of them. Ren was about to pull out his wallet but the other guy shoved a note in the bartender's hand before Ren could even touch his pocket. He softened a little. 

“Yeah,” he finally admitted, knuckling at his nose as he sniffled against another uprising tickle. The sound was thick, liquid, congestion truly beginning to settle in. He sighed heavily through parted lips. “You could say that.” 

If he was curious, the cop didn't ask. There were no probing questions, no terrible advice, no cringeworthy clichés about how it would ‘all work out in the end’. Nothing, except silence. Surprisingly, it wasn't uncomfortable either. In fact, the longer Ren spent sitting beside this guy, the more comfortable he felt. He even began to relax a little. It could have been the uniform… or maybe it was the thick, rippling biceps barely contained beneath the thinly stretched fabric of the man's shirt that Ren couldn't help but picture pinning him down against the-... 

Swallowing hard, Ren stared straight ahead, taking a long gulp of his beer, which was to blame for those thoughts in the first place. None of that, thankyouverymuch. He felt heat rising to his cheeks, fumbling internally before blurting out words if only to stop those ridiculous, impure thoughts. 

“Should you really be drinking?” Ren finally asked, perhaps a little too boldly. It really wasn't any of his business what this guy was doing, but it was the first thing he could think of and being slightly buzzed was apparently loosening his tongue. 

“I'm off duty,” came the calculated reply from beside him, and Ren turned just in time to see the cop finish his beer, slam the bottle down and signal for another round. Damn, he was drinking faster than Ren. Guy must be a pro. Ren watched as a hand was extended towards him, eyeing it suspiciously, before looking back up to the cop's face. 

“I'm Reuben. Reuben Fox,” the guy said warmly, and it was only then that Ren realised they hadn't even introduced themselves. The guy had bought him a beer and they hadn't even exchanged names. “But I'm not a cop.” The admission made Ren raise a brow - guy looked and dressed like a cop - but upon flipping open a wallet to reveal an ID badge, Ren realised he worked security at a club downtown. He relaxed even more. 

Reuben Fox, huh? Had a good ring to it. It reminded Ren of all those characters he'd read about in online fanfiction growing up. More tension left his shoulders and Ren reached out a hand of his own, taking Reuben's in a gentle shake. He even smiled a little. 

“I'm Ren,” he said, their hands together and shaking neighbourly. “Ren Caville.” 

They kept their hands together, eyes locked onto each other's, for perhaps a moment too long. Loathe as he was to admit it, Ren found comfort in the man's grip. It was surprisingly gentle, his skin soft, not yet calloused and worn from years of rough-housing. He was probably a rookie, Ren thought. Man, was he nice to look at, though. Ren found himself almost captivated, frozen in a snapshot where only the two of them existed. 

That was, until the worst thing happened. 

The worst possible thing. 

Ren's nose chose that moment - that very moment - to spear him with what was arguably the strongest, fiercest, most splintered tickle he had ever felt in his life. It wasn't a quiet whisper that steadily built into something more. It was an immediate sting of desperation, one that had his breath catching on a hitch before he could stop it. His eyes widened in panic, one hand in Reuben's while the other was wrapped around his beer. And there was absolutely no time to think. He was going to sneeze, and it was coming, right now. There was no fighting it, no stopping it, it rushing him with all the urgency of a burgeoning-cold sneeze. Nostrils flaring wide as it piqued on a single inhale, Ren had no choice but to abruptly snatch his hand away from Reuben's and fling it up to his face, just in time to catch a fitful, 

“H'TTSZSH'h!..” 

There was an unrelieved, unfinished quality to the sound of it, smothered by Ren's palm, and he could feel the fitful spasming of his nostrils against his hand as another gained momentum. It tickled so potently his eyes watered, his hand remaining in place covering his mouth and nose, until it finally crested. 

“h-H'EESSSHH-!.. IITTSCSHH'Hh!...” 

The last two were powerful enough to jerk Ren to the side where he had managed to swivel away from Reuben, leaving him a little breathless. Thankfully, the tickle ebbed before fizzling out, leaving Ren sniffling against his palm in an attempt to maintain what shreds of dignity he had left. He didn’t turn back, instead just muttering muffled words into his hand. 

“..’mb sorry, excuse m'be,” he managed to stuffily get out, eyes roaming across the bar for fresh napkins but coming up short. He could feel the congestion, loosened by those sneezes, threatening to breach the shores of his nostrils and spell disaster. Just one more sneeze would surely be catastrophic. He was fast approaching that stage of his cold when a tickle became a permanent fixture, always simmering, relentless and unavoidable, until it sparked into something explosive. 

“Bless you,” came the deep, gruff, gentle voice beside him before a soft, warm touch met his arm. “Here.” 

Braving it enough to turn slightly, hand firmly cupped to his face, Ren's eyes met an offered tissue. Not a bar napkin but an actual, proper tissue. Now that he had the time, he set his beer bottle down and took it, making a quick switcheroo between hand and fabric, wiping and pinching and rubbing before risking a gentle blow. The sound was thick, struggled, and Ren grimaced at just how quickly the tissue was out of commission. He wanted (probably needed) another, but he was loathe to ask and settled on just sniffling back the rest. His nose was left tinted a little pink afterwards as he crumpled the tissue and tucked it away in his pocket, his expression wavering with a hint of something still vaguely sneezy but he seemed finished for the moment. 

“Thank you,” Ren said quietly, his cheeks flaring with heat at the lousy timing. Reuben seemed to soften beside him, and while Ren couldn't see it, there was something resembling concern on the man's face. 

“Shouldn't you be at home with soup and blankets?” Reuben asked as the next round of beers arrived. Ren wasted no time in grabbing a fresh one. “Can't imagine it's much fun being out in this weather with a cold like that. You'll make yourself worse, y'know.” 

Ren sniffled before swigging from his bottle, considering. The thought of being at home, sick and sniffly and miserable, alone, made him droop a little. There was no one waiting for him, no one with soup or tea or blankets, no one to open their arms and hold him until he felt better, no one to card their fingers through his hair or check his temperature or force him to choke down medicine. He was a grown ass man with a tiny little cold, but the thought of navigating this bug alone was depressing. He shrugged, uttering a thick, mopey snuffle before a couple of coughs took over. 

“I'mb right where I wanna be,” he said drearily, clearing his throat and ignoring the sting when he swallowed. 

“All right,” came the reply from beside him, and Ren could hear the shrug in Reuben's tone without even looking at him. He thought that was the end of the conversation, but then the guy just had to throw in, “but one more sneeze outta you and I'm givin’ you a ride home.” He leaned closer as he said it, tapping a finger lightly against the tip of Ren's nose, playful, making him scrunch it up a little on reflex.

Before he could help it, a grin crept across Ren's lips. Not just a little smile, but an honest-to-god, wide and genuine grin. For the first time that night, he forgot about his plights; forgot his ex, forgot about being alone, forgot about what the days ahead looked like for him. Right in that moment, it was just Reuben and himself sinking beers in a bar. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered. And damn, he was actually… sort of starting to enjoy himself. 

“You're on,” Ren agreed, smiling around the neck of his bottle towards Reuben as he drew another gulp. “But I bet last orders are called before then,” he said confidently. Throwing his head back a little, Reuben erupted in that warm, hearty laugh, and damn if it didn't do unspeakably gooey things to Ren's insides. 

“With a cold like yours,” Reuben chuckled, “you'll be home before you can finish that bottle.” 

“Ohhh~” Ren snorted, before realising that was a bad idea as he coughed against his shoulder. Lifting the bottle up in a salute, Ren winked. “Bet.” 

Safe to say, Ren technically won the bet. He made it to the end of his current bottle, at least. Whilst there was no sneezing, the uprise in the sniffling frequency was difficult to mask. Over the space of an hour or so, his left nostril had sealed shut completely, totally clogged, while his right one was just incessantly dripping. The stack of napkins and tissues were beginning to pile up, but there was yet to be another sneeze. 

As time wore on, alcohol flowed (for Ren; Reuben had since switched to soda) and conversation was constant. The two men talked of many things; how Reuben got into his line of work (he had bounced between security jobs his entire life and had just this past month joined his current employer), the heart-wrenching details of Ren's breakup, how much love sucked (for both of them), who the best music artist on the planet was (and why Ren insisted it was Taylor Swift, much to Reuben's Corey Taylor-loving horror). 

Ren could admit it; he was having fun. Reuben was a nice guy, easy to talk to, even easier on the eyes, and just generally good company. Despite initially intending to spend the evening alone, Ren couldn't imagine having spent it any other way. Even his burgeoning cold symptoms hadn't put a dampener on the evening. He had even forgotten about their little bet… until his nose gave him a very poignant reminder. 

He had lost count of how many beers he'd sunk, but it was enough to have him woozy, a little silly, and pleasantly dizzy. So when the tickle reared its ugly head deep inside his nose, it hit him with a ferocity unlike he had ever felt. 

It started off fairly small, just a little itch that had him blinking quickly and scrunching his nose up in a bid to ward it away. When that didn't work, he switched to other methods: scrubbing at his nose. He was uncoordinated in his intoxication and ended up swatting at his face more than he actually rubbed. Not surprisingly, it did nothing to fend off the tickle, the sensation only deepening despite his best efforts, until Ren knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was going to sneeze. 

“Shiiiihhhh…” He tried to utter out a warning but was caught off guard by the most unwelcome hitching of breath as it caught in his throat. Remembering the bet - ‘until last orders’ - Ren tried to fight it. Well… he didn’t really try. He wasn't sober enough for that. What he did do was place both hands on the edge of the bar. He let his head tip back, giving Reuben the perfect profile of his sneezy expression: his brows steadily lifted, his nose alive with twitches as the tickle deepened, nostrils pulsing in tandem with the soft hitches escaping his parted lips. It fizzled desperately inside his nose, a thread tugging at every nerve, until he couldn't take any more. His jaw slackened, eyes closing as he drew in one deep, final inhale, and then… 

“..hhHH-! H'TJZSHSHH'IUH!” 

It was a clumsy, messy sound, almost like Ren had tried to stifle but had given up halfway. He'd had the cognizance to lift an arm and smother it into his elbow at the very last second, thankfully catching the worst of it. It had been powerful, potent, leaving Ren sniffling and dazed afterwards as he blinked repeatedly, struggling to regain some composure. He fumbled for a tissue, able to feel another fast on the rise, building in intensity, but just as he started to hitch...

ding-ding-ding!

“H’ETSSCSHH-uh!.. EIISSHSHH'IUH!!” 

A double swept over him just as the bell sounded for last orders. An uproar of laughter came from beside him, but Ren was far too occupied to pay it any notice. Despite the force of his sneezing, none of them could quite quell the itch, and as soon as they were finished, he was already gearing up towards more. 

“Sorry to break it to you, man,” Reuben was saying, “but it looks like you lost the bet.” 

But one look at Ren showed that he wasn't even remotely paying attention. A tissue was tented to his nose between both hands, his eyes closed as his brow was lifted in an achingly hopeful pinch. His shoulders bounced gently, his chest heaving before he snapped forwards suddenly, unleashing a desperate volley of unrestrained sneezes into the waiting tissue. 

“h'HEIISSCSHH'h!.. h'DSZSHH- H'ETSHSHH'IIUH!..” 

They came thick, heavy and fast, each one wrenching Ren forwards as he soaked the tissue into a useless, soggy mess. After what felt like a hundred (but was more like six or seven) sneezes, Ren finally seemed to slow to a stop, breathless and dishevelled as he swiped at his nose, lowering the tissue to reveal a flushed expression which was decidedly pink around the edges. Reuben's laughter quietened beside him as Ren collected himself, glassy-eyed and snuffling as though his nose couldn't decide if it was finished with him yet or not. 

“Hot damn, bless you,” Reuben said emphatically, placing a hand gently on Ren's shoulder. “You been saving all'uh them up this whole time? Sheesh..” There was humour in his tone, but a notch of concern woven into his words. He encouraged Ren to stand up, straightening him as he wobbled a little, an arm hovering nearby in case he needed to physically help Ren to his car. 

“C'mon,” he said gently, kindly, ushering Ren out towards the door. “There's more tissues in the car.” He watched as Ren was about to lift his sleeve to his nose and briskly, firmly, but not unkindly, tapped his arm down. 

“I didn’ lose th'bet,” Ren slurred, his voice a comical mix of booze and congestion as they ventured out into the sleet-slick streets. Reuben just huffed, slinging an arm across Ren's shoulders to keep him steady and guide him towards his car. 

“All right,” he agreed, humouring him, letting Ren have this one. “Ya got me.” Shrugging off his jacket, Reuben wrapped it around Ren's shoulders, seemingly noticing the way Ren had been shivering since they stepped outside. It was hilariously too big for him, draping down way past his wrists and falling much lower than it should. Ren wasn't short, but Reuben was much taller and stockier. With the jacket around him, Ren looked tiny. 

“Whaddaya say we get you home, huh?” he suggested, clearly having no intention of taking no for an answer. Shivering, cold, drunk, tired, and apparently now sick, Ren didn't have any effort left in him to argue. He simply nodded his head as Reuben bundled him into his car, flicking the heating on full and unearthing a fresh pack of tissues from the glove compartment which he thrust into Ren's lap. He watched with fond amusement as the smaller man fumbled around, struggling with the sticky flap of the pack, uncoordinated and clumsy. 

“Buckle up,” Reuben ordered. They hadn't even made it to the end of the block before Ren was snoring lightly through parted lips, his head pressed against the cool window. 

tbc.. 

~*~

There were very few things out there that could best Ronnie Hagin. Very few things. 

Growing up in a household with five brothers, two parents, a grandparent, six cats and three dogs, it was fair to say that she had overcome numerous obstacles in her life. 

Despite hardships, Ronnie Hagin had graduated from nursing school with distinction after distinction, and now held a very niche but enviable job working as nursing staff in a medium-security prison. Which, admittedly, brought along with it a whole new set of challenges that she hadn't quite anticipated. 

Though there was next to nothing that could best her. She had exceeded in every aspect of her life, coming out on top and beating her competitors down with ease. 

That wasn't to say, however, that nothing could best her, as that evening was beginning to prove. 

It was the time of year when the winter months were a dreary thing of the past and the warmer weather was truly settling in. The sun beat down, warming the skin of those who basked beneath it with its radiance. For many, it was a favourite time of year where the doldrums of winter were long forgotten and spring was truly underway, already steadily turning into summer. 

With the warmer weather, however, came the unavoidable blossoming of a whole new array of plant-life. Trees and flowers bloomed, as happy as everyone else to finally escape the bitterly cold months, spouting petals and leaves and pollen into the air on every warm breeze that would care to take them. The opportunity to scatter their seeds and decorate the ground with a blooming garden was rife and not single plant wanted to miss out. 

Of course, for people like Ronnie, this was something of a disaster. 

Ever since she could remember, Ronnie had suffered from hay fever. It was fairly mild, causing little more than a runny nose, a few rogue sneezes here and there, and that persistent itch that trickled along the palate and nestled gently behind the eyes. Luckily for Ronnie, it was nothing that popping a pill a day couldn't quell, controllable with simple over-the-counter medications which meant that most of the time, she could forget about it. 

Then there were days like the present when she most certainly could not forget about it. 

Sitting at her desk in her small, secluded office, Ronnie pushed a balled up tissue beneath her nostrils and crushed at them cruelly, sniffling heavily as she signed off patient form after patient form through slightly bleary eyes. The right side of her nose crinkled, her nostrils pulsing just once, before she sighed an exhale through parted lips and sniffled back into the defeated tissue once more. 

If there was one thing that could best Ronnie Hagin, it was a very high pollen count. 

She had awoken that morning to the delightful sight of rain pattering the bedroom window of her apartment. It was the first thing she saw upon flinging open the curtains to start another day. Falsely confident, she had forgone the daily allergy pill with a mind that it would not be needed; on cooler, rainy days, she barely felt a thing. To her dismay, the clouds had parted shortly after she left for work, opening up to reveal a pleasant sun and a warm, springtime breeze. After a brief period of rain, everything in sight seemed to be blossoming, sending the pollen count off the charts. 

For most of the day, she had managed just fine. A slight prickling in her nose had been an almost constant companion and there had been times where she had needed to lower her mask and blow her nose, but mostly it hadn't caused too much of an issue. Only now, with the setting sun nestling further and further into the horizon, was it becoming a real problem, one which she could no longer negate or ignore. 

For what felt like hours (which was actually more like twenty minutes) Ronnie had been fighting a losing battle with a tickle in her nose. It had started harmlessly enough, just a minor little flutter at the back of her nose which she assumed she could just sneeze out and forget about. But she had been naive. For whatever reason, her nose was being stubborn, refusing to sneeze even when she desperately begged for it. 

And she had tried everything. 

She had spent the last twenty minutes tilting her head back, squinting up at the buzzing fluorescent lights above her, she had tried pinching her nose and wiggling it to try to coax it out, she'd taken slow, long breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth to try to bring it on, and had even tried blowing her nose over and over again to try to blast out whatever harmless irritant was nestled there.. Despite her best efforts, nothing was working. 

To make matters worse, the constantly fluttering irritation was making her nose not only run persistently, but become slightly stuffy. She could feel a gentle pressure building in her sinuses, each sniffle growing deeper and wetter than the last. There was a crumpled mound of tissues which lay in defeat in and around the metal trashcan beside her desk, another one landing in there as Ronnie plucked a fresh one from the box and immediately pinned it to her trickling nose. She tented it to her nose, pinch-rubbing up and down the length of her septum in hope that she would be granted at least some form of relief. 

The deft, gentle movements of her fingers up and down seemed to spark something, and Ronnie felt the tickle finally begin to surge. It grew deeper, heavier, stronger, weighing down her eyes as they blearily drifted shut. Her nose, blushing pink by this point, flared beneath her fingers as her breath caught in a shaky, “hhH-...” 

This was it. It was finally coming, and Ronnie did absolutely nothing but welcome it. She lowered the tissue to hover just in front of her face as the tickle pulsed, her breath catching needily as her nostrils now pulsed rhythmically. A single tear, born from pure irritation, beaded and spilled down her cheek as her nose crinkled, nostrils flared wide, chest heaved with a deep breath and she–!

“Ronnie?” 

There was a click of the door and the sound of a familiar voice, both distractions enough to startle Ronnie… and the sneeze. 

It was gone, leaving a painless crackle in her nose which left her disappointed and unsatisfied. Her eyes cracked open, her expression still stuck helplessly as the last tendrils of hope that she would sneeze disappeared entirely, leaving behind the faint remnants of a dissipating tickle. Pinching the tissue back to her nose, Ronnie blew mightily, as hard as she could, before lowering it down and settling her eyes on the man before her. 

She would have loved to have been angry with him, but she didn't think there was a single thing this man could do which would make her truly angry. She adored everything about him; his tussled red-brown hair, his unironed shirt, his crumpled lab coat. Everything about this man was helplessly endearing, and Ronnie couldn't help the smile that crept onto her lips as she sighed and binned the tissue, returning her gaze back to her work. 

“Hi, love,” she said gently, her voice unmistakably heavier than usual with impending sinus pressure and congestion. She continued to scribble as she heard footsteps creeping closer, her eyes staying lowered down on her work. She could feel the stare from the man boring into her, sending faintly pleasant shivers down her spine. 

“Ronnie?” the man asked again. “Are you okay?” 

Finally lifting her gaze, Ronnie settled on the man before her. The man in question was the lead doctor at the prison, and her loving partner since med-school: Jed Doogle. Their love had started when they had barely been out of their teens and had blossomed into the most beautiful relationship Ronnie had ever known. Enviable to those around them, really. People often commented on how they hoped to one day find a love like theirs and Ronnie considered herself truly blessed to have such a wonderful man at her side each and every day. 

Smiling up at him, Ronnie sniffled again, the sound laden with congestion as she tucked her head back down and started scribbling once more. “Yes, I’m fine,” she answered, though the weight in her words belied her statement. She could feel Jed’s eyes blazing into her though she chose to ignore him, adamant to get this stack of papers finished before clocking out. Though Jed was relentless, and she felt warm fingers beneath her chin as it was gently tilted upwards, leaving her no other choice but to look directly into Jed’s eyes. 

“Have you been crying?” he asked, his concern increasing more by the second. In their line of work, it was not uncommon to receive poisonous words and abuse from the inmates when treating them. His concern was not unfounded, but it touched Ronnie in a way which made her insides squirm pleasantly, touched at his adoration for her. 

“No, no, nothing like that,” she assured him, unable to stop herself sniffling again as the left side of her nose crinkled up a little. The tickle was creeping back in, up the left side this time, and Ronnie was helpless to try to stave it off. Though it did nothing to help her case and Jed’s eyes narrowed as he studied her features. 

“Then…?” He let the question hang in the air a moment before Ronnie had no choice but to concede defeat. She sighed heavily, the smile still snagging at the corners of her mouth. 

“I forgot my meds this morning,” she admitted, watching as the corcern eased away from Jed’s features and began to morph into something much more scorning. It was right at that moment that her nose chose to betray her entirely and the tickle suddenly pulsed, forcing her features to slacken as a short, sharp hitching breath was drawn inwards, her chin still rested in Jed’s hand. The pulse lasted merely a second before easing back again into a mere harmless tickle, and Ronnie could have sworn it had done it on purpose to get her in trouble. Reaching for another tissue, Ronnie quickly snatched it to her nose and dabbed at it gently, giving up the ghost and seeing no point in continuing with any charade she had hoped to build. 

“Do you not check the pollen count?” Jed asked, incredulous. He watched his girlfriend helplessly tend to her nose as he pulled his hand back, her features pink and slightly puffy at the edges with an air of exasperation. She wilted slightly under his scorn. “It’s been really high today. Even I’ve felt it a little,” he commented, sniffing dryly as if to prove a point. 

“I’m fine, honestly,” Ronnie insisted, lowering the tissue to reveal her pink, irritated features. “It’s just a sneeze that’s stuck, is all. It’s been bothering me all evening.” She said it with as much nonchalance as possible, even shrugging to prove it was nothing. Her eyes lifted back up to settle on Jed’s, piercing into him. “I’ve tried everything but it just won’t come. That’s the only reason I look like -” Here, she gestured in a circle around her face. “ -this.” 

Watching as Jed lifted a hand to his chin, he surveyed Ronnie with a serious look, and for a minute she thought he didn’t believe her. There had been times in the past when inmates had upset her and Jed had found her in her office crying by herself. She wondered if that’s what was crossing his mind this time. 

“Hmm..” Jed pondered. “I don’t like the sound of that.” 

Ronnie’s head tilted in confusion, Jed’s concern for a stuck sneeze being far greater than she would have anticipated. Though it was one of the banes of dating a doctor; any minor little thing and he was all over it like white on rice. Leaning around her desk, Jed gently took Ronnie’s wrist and began guiding her up, speaking as he did. 

“I think I need to check that out,” he said, making Ronnie groan in feigned exasperation. Much as she claimed to find Jed’s smothering-doctor routine exhausting, she secretly loved it when he doted on her like this, especially when she wasn’t feeling well. Not that she was exactly sick right now, but having someone caring for her when there was something medically going on - regardless of how minor - sent silly little quivers inside of her. 

Feigning resistance, Ronnie allowed Jed to lead her over to the patient bed beside the wall, flopping her arms limply as they went dramatically. He coaxed her up to sit on the edge of the bed as he pulled on a pair of surgical gloves before pulling out a little torch, tilting her head back as he shone it up inside her nose. 

“Now, let me take a look here,” Jed was saying, his tone exceedingly professional, mostly to himself. Ronnie huffed, but despite her silent protesting, she played along. She sat perfectly still as Jed held her chin, tilting it up and back before placing a thumb delicately at the tip of her nose, pushing it up so he could get a better view inside. 

“Hmmm…” he commentated to himself, moving the torch this way and that, his thumb occasionally shifting against the soft, plushy skin of her nose. “Nasal membranes are red and inflamed,” he began listing. “Increase in mucosal production… Slight swelling of the nasal and sinus cavity…” 

Clicking the torch off, Jed snapped off both his gloves as he dumped them in the bin, both of them bouncing off the mound of used tissues inside it and dropping down harmlessly to the floor. He turned back to Ronnie and gave her a big smile, clapping his hands together gently. 

“I have some good news and I have some bad news, Ms. Hagin,” he said, truly taking on the doctor-patient role. “Which would you like first?” 

Rolling her eyes, Ronnie uttered a stuffy sniffle before crushing the back of her wrist against her nose, scrunching her eyes closed and she rubbed in circles in a bid to quell the itch. “Give me the bad news, doc,” she said, playing along just as much as Jed was. 

“The bad news is that your allergies have flared up, causing significant irritation to your nasal passages,” he said, a thoughtful look spread across his face. He was saying it like it was brand new information to Ronnie, which made her open her eyes and blink at him. 

“And the good news?” she asked, and at the question, Jed visibly perked up, a wide smile erupting on his face in a way that made his eyes crinkle a little at the corners.  

“Ah, yes! The good news!” he exclaimed, wandering over to one of the filing cabinets beside the wall and opening one of the drawers before beginning to rummage inside. Ronnie frowned as she watched him, wondering what he was up to. Knowing Jed, it could be absolutely anything. 

“The good news, Ms. Hagin, is that I have just the cure!” The statement confused Ronnie even more, especially as she could only see his back so didn’t know what in the world he was planning. Maybe some strong medication or a peg to clip a tissue to her nose or something. Though what she saw when he turned around was definitely not what she was expecting. 

“Jed, you can’t be serious,” she said flatly, her expression matching her tone. She watched as Jed proudly presented what he had been searching for, his smile so wide and confident that it was almost impossible not to trust in him. But Ronnie didn’t trust in this because it was ridiculous. Her eyes were locked onto what he had in his hands, staring in disbelief. 

“This isn’t going to work,” she protested, watching as he began to creep closer. “This isn’t a cartoon, no way will this do anything-..”

“Shh, shh,” Jed shushed quietly, now standing beside the bed and twirling his prize between his fingers. What he had found in the filing cabinet, and was now brandishing proudly to his girlfriend, was a single feather. Its plumage was long and deft with soft, downy tendrils fluffing around the bottom of the stem. Where it had come from and why it was in here were questions which escaped Ronnie’s mind as she fixated upon it, barely able to believe that her doctor-boyfriend’s magic cure for her allergies was to stick a feather up her nose. 

“Jed, no, I’m not-..” As she protested, Jed was already easing her down to lay flat on the bed, propping the headrest up so her head and shoulders would be slightly elevated. Despite her protests, Ronnie complied and was soon laid down on the bed, looking up at her partner in utter disbelief. She opened her mouth to inform Jed once more that this was a stupid idea, but before a sound could escape, she felt the soft, warm pressure of lips against hers as Jed ducked down to kiss her, lingering a moment before pulling away gently with a soft noise. 

“Trust me,” he whispered, his tone gentle as the breezes that rustled the trees outside the window, sending those squirmy feelings back inside Ronnie’s stomach as she recovered slowly from the kiss. When he treated her this way and spoke to her like this, there was absolutely no way she could resist him. Whatever he said to her, she would comply with no questions asked, and this was no exception. 

“Fine,” she whispered, laying back so she was flat on her back, head and neck elevated as she gazed up at the ceiling. Her eyes darted briefly to the side to lock onto Jed. “Though I’m telling you, this isn’t going to work,” she insisted. 

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Jed mused, his eyes catching Ronnie’s before she stared back at the ceiling, her complete trust laid in Jed’s hands as she lay there vulnerable beneath him. 

At first, there was nothing, and for a second Ronnie wondered if this was a set-up and Jed had just been winding her up. She was about to speak when she heard movement beside her, felt Jed’s proximity grow closer, and then something brushed against the underside of her nose. 

It was soft, gentle, everything one would expect a feather to be. It grazed beneath her nostrils and Ronnie couldn’t deny that it tickled, but not in the way that she needed it to. Her fingers twitched, arm desperate to reach up and brush the feather away so she could rub at her nose. Jed must have noticed her reaction because a hand very gently pressed down against her wrist to keep it in place as he began to slide the feather back and forth, back and forth beneath her nostrils, his movements slow and meditated. 

“I told you,” Ronnie said to him, feeling arguably less sneezy than she had before they even began. “This is stupid.” 

“Patience,” Jed assured her, catching her eyes briefly as she looked to the side. His smile was wider than ever as he repeated, “Trust me.” 

Sighing heavily, Ronnie had no choice. Jed had never given her reason not to trust him before and this was no exception. Shaking away her doubt, she closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on nothing but her nose, able to feel the slight tickle but little else irritating inside of it. 

After a few more swipes beneath her nostrils, Ronnie was surprised when she felt the delicate plumes breach past the shores of her left nostril and dip inside. It barely went in at all, but there was a very distinctive feeling that Ronnie recognised immediately; tickling. 

It was enough to make her draw in a deep breath through her mouth, though she resolved to maintain her composure. Her eyes remained shut as the feather just barely grazed past the wall of her septum, causing her nostrils to pulse out strongly just once. 

Another few seconds of barely anything more than a faint tickle and something unexpected happened. Ronnie felt the feather reach further into her nose, high up near the back where she was the most sensitive, and she couldn’t help but fling her eyes open and stare up at the ceiling. That… really was starting to tickle. The sensation surged, swelled, filling the entire left side of her nose with a sensation so strong that she couldn’t stop the helpless, “hHH-!” hitch that escaped past her lips. The feather was really delved deep in her nose, tickling fiercely, but it was still not enough to make her sneeze. Impatient, her nostrils pulsed again, wider this time, fluid beginning to collect around the shores of both nostrils as her body attempted to flush out the irritant. 

“Jed, I-.. th.. that tickles..” Ronnie managed to breathe out, though she was too overcome to open her eyes and look over to him. She could only imagine the smug look he had on his face now, his confidence soaring and the air of I-told-you-so strong within him. 

At her words, Ronnie felt Jed do the unthinkable; the feather swept in deeper still, and his wrist began to jerk ever-so-slightly up and down, up and down, forcing the feather to practically vibrate inside her nose. There was one spot, high up at the back near her sinuses, which seemed to be The Spot, and Jed’s feather was grazing past it ferociously. It was impossible to resist. 

That was it. As typically composed and in-control Ronnie Hagin was, she lost all control. The insurmountable tickle that she felt inside her nose was like no other, and she was helpless to do anything but lay there and let her entire body be overcome. Her eyes were lightly closed, brows arched, mouth slightly agape as she hitched in tandem with the pulsating tickle inside her nose. Her nasal walls quivered, desperate, her nostrils pulsing spasmically with each shaky, erratic breath she drew. The sensation filled her nose, a tickle unlike anything she had ever felt before, swelling and expanding until it felt like her entire face was aflame with it. With one last, quick jolt from Jed’s wrist, Ronnie drew in a high, needy inhale, nostrils blown wide as they could, before she-...

“hHH-! HYI’TSCHHIUU-! H’TSSCHH’IIEW-!!” 

An exceedingly powerful double shot forth, as though expelled right from Ronnie’s core. Her head and shoulders lifted up from the bed as she bent at the waist from the sheer force of them. She was so overcome that she couldn’t even attempt to cover them, and for a brief second she panicked that she had sneezed openly directly in front of her into the open air of the office. It was only after a couple of seconds in recovery that she felt something soft against her nose and mouth, and was able to crack her eyes open just enough to see Jed standing there pinning a wad of tissues to her nose. 

The feather was no longer inside her, having been removed by Jed at the last second before the sneezes erupted. Though despite it no longer being in her nose, and despite the two huge sneezes she had already expelled, she still felt the tickle surging its way closer and closer, brimming from the inner shores of her sinuses to the very tip of her nose. She was sitting up now, thrust upwards by the force of those last two sneezes, and was so overcome by another that she could do nothing but sit there and wait as another began to build, her nose alive with twitches and flares beneath Jed’s fingers, her chest heaving with breaths as she hitched towards completion. It only took another second or two before her nose scrunched up completely, and she rocked forwards explosively into the tissues Jed was holding. 

“hH’TYSSCH’iu!... HH’TCHHSH’IU-!... ugh..” 

There was a stuffy sound of defeat after those two, slightly less aggressive than the first, as Ronnie finally, finally, felt the tickle begin to subside. She was stuck in a daze for a moment, able to do nothing but sit there on the bed while Jed continued to hold the tissues to her nose, feeling the relieving sensation of a completed sneeze fizzle and crackle away into nothing inside her nose. She was a little breathless, lost in her own little world for a moment before a soft, familiar voice roused her back. 

“Bless you, sweetheart.” It was Jed, of course, and Ronnie lifted damp eyes to look up at him. His expression was soft, loving, doting, with a hint of… something else Ronnie couldn’t quite put her finger on. He wriggled his fingers a little around her nose, chuckling to himself. “Here, blow,” he said, but Ronnie resolutely refused to have her boyfriend hold the tissues to her nose while she blew into them. She lifted her hands, took the tissues and blew as hard as she could. It was productive, the sweet relief of a finished tickle and loosened congestion filling her with satisfaction. She sighed, completely sated, lowering the tissues to reveal a very pink but contented expression. Fingers lifted her chin, and she once more felt the warm, soft pressure of lips against hers. 

“See?” Jed whispered against her mouth, and she could feel his smile against her lips. “I told you it would work.” 

“It’s a good job I love you,” Ronnie whispered back, unable to keep her own smile off her lips. Jed deepened the kiss, lips parting just slightly before he leaned back to stare softly, lovingly, into her eyes. 

Honestly, Ren hadn’t expected Rocco to be home at all. He had a vague recollection of Rocco mentioning some sort of exhibition that he was due to attend that day, so had made the pillage with all expectancies of finding an empty house. The only real reason why Ren had even ventured out in this weather was for something to do; the winter months brought boredom, there being little to do around the farm aside from insulate, insulate, insulate, and there was only so much insulating that Ren could do before he wanted to bury himself in the mounds of hay and never resurface.

He had gone with the expectation of finding an abandoned house, meaning he would just have to traipse back to the farm again to review his options of self-hay-burying. But at least it would have killed some time in the interim.

Understandably, it had been a shock to hear the sudden, sharp expulsions coming from just beyond the lounge area. Ren had let himself into the property (for better or worse, Rocco had entrusted Ren with his own key) and had been hovering around the lounge when he heard it. At least it confirmed that Rocco was home, which was as confusing as it was relieving; at least Ren wouldn’t have to weather through another listless afternoon in solitude.

Attention suitably piqued, Ren picked his way between the furniture and empty take-out cartons decorating the place, only feeling a little bad for dripping water from the cuffs of his jacket; given the state of the room, a few water droplets were hardly going to make too much of an impact. It’d dry before Rocco noticed anyway, probably.

There was a small door, looking much like a closet, beneath the stairs that led down to Rocco’s workshop. The door was ajar, which was probably why Ren had even heard Rocco at all; it wasn’t like his sneezes were usually terribly vociferous, unlike Ren’s monstrosities. Pushing it fully open revealed a dilapidated-looking set of stairs leading down into the dungeon that was Rocco’s work space. The stairs creaked ominously beneath Ren’s footfalls, and he swore that one day he would fall right through and end up in Narnia or something.

Luckily, somehow, the descent was unceremonious and Ren was met with the dull, artificially lit space that was Rocco’s workshop. It looked the same as it always did; easels with white sheets draped over them lining the walls, empty spray canisters decorating the floor like aluminium flowers, paint spatters across practically every surface. It was a concrete room, built probably as shelter from bombs in the war. No one really knew; Rocco’s father had inherited the house from his father, who had traded it in as some sort of deal after the war had been over. The origins of said concrete casket were unknown.

The only item that was different in the room was that of a particular individual situated before a wooden easel, clearly working on a piece mounted against it. The floppy sandy-blonde hair, loose-fitted jeans with rips across the knees and black and green plaid flannel shirt that hung over a plain black tee were familiar enough, but the cast to said familiar individual’s expression was not.

Obviously, it was Rocco, but he looked.. odd. Ren could only see his profile, but from what Ren could see, Rocco’s head was tipped back and he was squinting at the ceiling. Ren followed his eyeline, curious to know if there was anything noteworthy there to stare at, but upon finding nothing, his eyes returned to his friend. Rocco's lips were softly parted, a sliver of his teeth visible. His nose was scrunched delicately, a small crease or two etched in between his eyes, just at his bridge. His nostrils appeared to be pulsing, flaring to a hardened edge on every muted breath. Speaking of breaths, they seemed to be coming quicker, almost pant-like. Rocco’s shoulders hunched a couple of times, his expression morphing into a placid snarl, and it was only when his hands snapped up in tandem with his torso snapping down that realization hit Ren.

“—h’tssh!.. H’TISSCH’!!uhhhh…”

There was a long sigh afterwards (from Rocco, not Ren; he’d just flinched backwards as though someone had tried to shoot him) followed by Rocco pawing at his nose and sniffling liquidly. His eyes blinked open, his expression uneasy, and Ren had to wonder if there might be more. It certainly seemed that way, if he had to guess.

“Bless you,” Ren voiced, a brow quirked. It was Rocco’s turn to appear as though he’d been shot that time, actually staggering back a step with a hand to his chest. Whatever tickle had still lingered in his nose was apparently chased away by the shock of Ren standing there just feet away from him. It seemed as though Rocco hadn’t even noticed he had been there.

“Y'wanna warn a guy next time?” Rocco growled, lowering his hand and returning to pad his hand against the underside of his nose a few times with another series of damp sniffles. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Ren couldn’t help the smirk that traced his lips as he closed the gap between himself and Rocco, edging closer to him. Rocco just rolled his eyes and returned to the work he was doing. It was a painting, apparently, and Ren hadn’t noticed the brush in his hands until he got close enough to be able to see (which was just a couple of feet beside Rocco) that Rocco was indeed painting. 

Though from that close proximity, Ren was also able to spot other details too; mainly, Rocco’s complexion. His skin was pallid, flecks of colour dotting his cheeks. His nose looked a little blushed, like Rocco may have been scrubbing at it cruelly over the course of a few hours. Maybe even days. His eyes were a little glassy too, sort of unfocused with a wavering quality that could only mean one thing; Rocco was either stoned out of his tree, or he had come down with something. Both were relatively plausible, but if Ren had to guess, he’d go with the latter. Despite his apparent distraction, Rocco seemed a little too… grounded, to have been smoking questionable substances. Plus, he was sniffling, and it didn’t sound dry. Honestly, it sounded like he was trying to suck mud through a straw every time he sniffed, which was enough to make Ren wince back a little. He loved Rocco, but he didn’t want to be loving his germs.

It was then – when Ren flinched away and subconsciously looked down to the floor – that he noticed an array of what looked to be tissues. Or, objects that were apparently making work as tissues anyway; there was a crumpled bandana, several spatterings of what appeared to be napkins, maybe a tissue or two, but mostly, there were screwed up little balls of blue roll. No wonder his nose looked so abused…

“Are you feeling alright?” Ren asked, blunt. Never one to execute much tact anyway, it was even less when he was around Rocco. Though there was barely a reaction from Rocco, aside from a side glance and another snuffle.

“Yeah,” was the answer given, clearly no intention of elaborating. Though the statement was proved false when Rocco ducked to the side, face nestled against his lifted arm, as a round of rough coughs shook him to the core. Ren’s expression scrunched in mild distaste, waiting until it drew to a close. It didn’t take long, but Rocco was left a little breathless and flushed afterwards, his expression pinching when he swallowed. Seemed his throat probably hurt too.

“Don’t you have that thing to go to today?” Ren continued, as though nothing had happened. Even though those coughs had sounded pretty terrible; wet, deep in his lungs, clearly having built over the span of a few days. It was unlikely Rocco had woken up in this state that morning.

“The exhibition?” Rocco asked absently. His expression was losing focus again, and when Ren glanced over to nod, he noticed the subtle flare to Rocco’s nostrils again. Something was clearly bothering him, and this time, it barely took any provocation. Suddenly, Rocco’s hand lowered from the canvas that he’d been painting and he once again ducked into his elbow.

“..h’TSH’!.. hh-!.. hH’TIZSSH’!!ihhhh..

The resounding sigh following that one was much less patient, no longer relieved but born of nothing but inconvenience and frustration. Foregoing hygiene, Rocco just grabbed the bottom of his shirt and lifted it to his face, exposing a small sliver of his stomach briefly, rubbing against his nose a few times before dropping it back down. That confirmed it in Ren’s mind; Rocco was definitely sick, no matter how much he might protest the fact.

Before Ren could comment, however, Rocco’s attention was back on his canvas – which, on examination, Ren realized to be a pretty creepy scene; willowed trees, black as night, contrasting a misty, murky horizon – and he continued the conversation as though nothing had even happened.

“Yeah. Don’t have to be there until 11 though.” Another quick-fire round of coughs were blasted from Rocco before he even got a chance to cover them. His arm came up too late, a couple being vented against his canvas before he finished up the latest set into his arm. Yet more liquid sniffles commenced after, and Ren visibly rolled his eyes.

“You really think you should be going?” Ren asked, folding his arms across his chest while giving Rocco an incensed look. Rocco just scowled at him, nose wrinkling as he scrunched it to one side.

“Why sh-.. shouldn’t I g-… go?” Rocco managed to ask, voice jumping with audible hitches. Ren would have answered, but knew it was pointless, so instead just took a step back and waited. And waited. And hitch.. waited. And hitchgasphitch-! waited -

"h'TDZSH'!.. H'TSZSHH'!!iuhh.."

Those two really seemed to take the wind out of Rocco's sails, and he stayed hunched over for a moment, sniffling repeatedly into his cupped hands which he'd managed to tent around his mouth and nose just in time. At first, Ren thought it was because they'd been so strong (had nothing on his own, but for Rocco, they had been mighty) but listening to the weight behind the sniffles, Ren realised what the problem was. 

"Oh, hang on a second.." Ren started to rummage around in his pockets, and lo and behold, nestled in the inside pocket of his jacket was an unopened travel pack of tissues. His mom was sort of.. well, motherly, when it came to these sorts of things, and never let him leave the house without a pack or two in this weather, despite him being in his late twenties. 

Holding them out, Ren watched Rocco's eyes widen as though he was being handed the secret to life itself. He managed to one handedly fumble the packet and release one from beneath the sticky flap, switching it immediately for his other hand. The thick, productive blow that followed told Ren all that he needed to know. 

"Dude, you can't seriously be thinking of attending that thing like this." 

His voice was deadpan, but there were notches of concern woven somewhere his words. Rocco just peeked up at Ren from over the tissue fortress he'd resurrected around his mouth and nose, the relief palpable on his face at having something soft against his skin. 

Without asking, Ren reached a hand out, practically slapping his palm against Rocco's brow. His eyes narrowed, a ponderous expression etching his features, and he hummed thoughtfully. 

"Hm. Just as I thought," Ren stated, giving Rocco the final verdict as he pulled his hand away again. "You're burning up. No way are you going anywhere." 

Rocco just snorted from behind his tissues, which soon transpired into yet another set of hacking coughs. Somehow, he was sounding worse and worse by the minute, and as foolhardy as the two of them usually were, Ren figured it was time to be responsible. 

Regaining some modicum of composure, Rocco managed to lower the tissues, sniffling a little easier than he had before. The sounds were still struggled, but more like he was trying to suck in air past swelling as opposed to a metric ton of gunk. 

"I have to go," Rocco mumbled, rubbing both hands up over his face, defeated. "They're expecti'g me. And I really n'deed the money -"

"Even if you felt well enough, you'll infect everyone there," Ren said, folding his arms across his chest again. He could see Rocco considering it, knowing that he would feel terrible if he discovered he'd caused a low-level pandemic. 

A deep, crackly sigh followed, and Rocco slumped to the floor, back against the cold, concrete wall. Ren followed him with his eyes, about to lecture him about getting chilled when he was already sick, but he managed to refrain himself somehow. Once seated, Rocco's eyes lifted, giving Ren a dewy, desperate look. Damn, his puppy-eyes were infallible, even more so when he didn't feel well. Ren felt a tug at his heart just a little at the sight. 

"So wha'd do you suggest I do?" Rocco asked, his voice now boasting an audibly stuffy edge. Sighing, Ren glanced around the workshop for a moment, mulling over possibilities. There was no way Rocco could go. And even if they could bring the exhibition here, there was still the risk of him infecting everyone. But he couldn't just.. not go either. He'd lose money. And possible future deals. What to do, what to do... 

"I know what to do," Ren said, looking back to Rocco, only to balk at the sight of him. Once again, his expression was relaxed in a tortured grimace, his nose twitching as his breath snagged. Once, twice.. threefourfivetimes-!

"h'TSH!.. hH'TSSZSH'!!..."

Two were normally Rocco's pattern, but there was an unrelieved tint to the last one as his expression remained suspended in ticklish agony. His hands had lowered slightly, having lifted to catch the sneezes, to reveal a flaring, twitching nose, red and irritated beyond measure, working its way towards more. It seemed to toy with Rocco, leaving him on the hitching edge for what seemed like forever, until finally, finally, it came. 

".. hhH'IITSZSHHH'iuhh-!!"

The force of it seemed to surprise both Ren and Rocco, both of them a little dazed, blinking in the aftermath. Rocco kept one hand in place over his mouth and nose, shielding what lurked beneath (and from what Ren had heard, it hadn't been pretty) while his other hand once again fumbled around for the pack of tissues Ren had previously given him. Locating them in his pocket, Rocco hastily scrambled to get one to his nose, having given up caring about how he looked or sounded at this moment, and surrendered into another heavy blow. Ren grimaced, sending off a silent prayer that he didn't somehow come down with this. It'd be just his luck. 

"Bless you!" Ren exclaimed emphatically, just as impressed as he was surprised by that sneeze. "Anyway, as I was saying," he continued, turning slightly to give Rocco a little privacy while he got himself more presentable. "Why don't I go in your place?" 

There was a heavy silence between them after the question, like lead in the air as Rocco seemed to feel it settle on his shoulders. He gave his nose a few last pinch-wipes before he just chucked the used tissue to join the congregation of other assorted items previously used for the same purpose. 

"How are you gonna go in m'by place?" Rocco asked, sucking in a thick snuffle after. It did nothing to clear his voice. "They're goi'g to know you're not m'be." 

That was a valid point, but it wasn't like they couldn't work around it. Ren smirked down at Rocco, winking quickly, before his eyes roamed over the assortment of painting lining the room. 

"Of course they will," Ren said airily, his smile widening at the befuddlement on Rocco's face. "But everyone gets sick. They'll understand. Besides.." Holding a hand out, Ren offered for Rocco to take it. When he did, Ren helped pull him up to his feet, only groaning slightly at the weight. Rocco was a little bigger than him. 

"No offence, but it isn't you that they're going to see." 

Harsh truth. But it was true. None of the people attending the exhibition were going to see Rocco personally; they were going for his art, which Ren could easily take with him. He could just make up some bullshit that Rocco had to leave town due to a family emergency or something to save him his modesty. Plus, it would selfishly kill a lot of time for Ren, meaning he wouldn't be climbing the walls with boredom for the rest of the day. 

After some consideration, Rocco snorted a stuffy exhale, which migrated into a chorus of coughs, which ended in a sound caught somewhere between a groan and a whimper. A hand lifted to his head, finger-pads massaging against his temple as though he had a headache, before he levelled Ren with a very exhausted, very vanquished look. 

"... All righ'd," Rocco conceded, almost visibly slumping in defeat. Using the collar of his shirt, Rocco once again scrubbed cruelly against his nose, earning him another eye-roll from Ren which went aggressively ignored. "But don't go messi'g this up," Rocco added, his eyes flinting seriousness. "I really need this." 

Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Ren just shrugged, though he paused when Rocco once again broke away to the side to cough into his shirt. He visibly staggered after those few, coaxing Ren to reach an arm out and steady him by the elbow, tugging gently towards the door. 

"Okay, well, leave it to me. I'll handle this thing while you get in bed. Deal?" 

Apparently, it was indeed a 'deal'. 

Not one made consciously on Rocco's part. But he found that when he tried to walk, he was more exhausted than he realised, and he didn't really have it in him to put up much of a fight. 

So he allowed Ren to guide him upstairs, through the trash heap that was the lounge, and finally settled in his own bed. The soft, cool comfort of the sheets was pleasant against his fever-warm skin, and Rocco had to wonder how long it had been since he'd actually last been in bed. He'd been working so hard... It had to be a day. Maybe even two. He tried to think, but his mind was too fogged with a hazy fever and fatigue. So he gave up, sinking into the pillows and letting his eyes fall softly closed. He fell asleep to the gentle presence of Ren's hand against his brow. 

He had no idea how long he'd been asleep for, but the weak sunlight was almost gone by the time his eyes were open again, indicating the day had almost ended. He was vaguely aware of sounds coming from below him, someone clearly rummaging around in the kitchen. Though he couldn't listen for long, because he was soon very, very distracted. 

His nose had completely sealed shut over the course of hours he'd been asleep, to the point where not a single sliver of air could pass through the swollen membranes. Yet somehow, something had gotten through, and something was tickling. It stole all his focus, his mind thick and fogged as the sensation echoed around his skull. On his back, Rocco squinted to the ceiling, his chest rising and falling with each jumpy breath. In, out. In, out. Ininin-!

"..h'TDZSH'!.. HI'TDZZSSH'UH'!!"

"Bless you! That was a good one!"

Rocco hadn't been expecting the voice, and groggily turned his head to be met with a visual of Ren in the doorway, holding a tray with who-knew-what on it. Rocco just groaned, reeling from the dull thudding of his skull that those sneezes had provoked, trying (and failing) to sniffle against a block of immovable congestion. Ren apparently just continued to pad into the room further, perching on the edge of the bed beside Rocco's hip and placing the tray down on the floor. 

"Wha'd.. did you-.." 

"Sh," Ren interrupted sharply, knowing what Rocco was going to ask. He'd already been in to check on him while he'd been asleep and noticed that the fever hadn't dimmed, but heightened. So, he'd taken some initiative. Leaning down, Ren got something from the tray, something Rocco couldn't see properly, and held it up. Rocco just squinted, frowning a little. 

"..How'd the exhibition go?" he croaked, his voice apparently on its way out now too. Ren's eye roll was typical, but there was a smile on his lips and fondness in his expression. He held out the small cup of NyQuil towards Rocco, waiting for him to take it, before reaching back down to the tray and snatching up a mug of lemon tea. 

"However it went can wait until you're high as a kite on cold meds," Ren said, though the wink and soft smile indicated that the exhibition had gone just fine. "Now, drink up. Because there is no way I'm spoon-feeding a grown man NyQuil."

Though that was exactly what ended up happening. As well as Ren cooking dinner. And staying up until the small hours of the morning to monitor Rocco's fever. He was even still there for breakfast, which he presented in the form of more lemon tea and oatmeal for Rocco in bed. He complained, as he always did, though he would do it again and again and again, every time. Without question.

There were those who lived through the tragedies that for most people were simply just pictures on a screen, words on paper or voices through a radio. People whose entire lives were an endless torrent of pain, misery and torture.

Then, there were people like Rafe Gentry. For a person that proclaimed to have a moderate-severe distaste for worldwide affairs, he sure had chosen a profession that flung him headfirst into every ongoing catastrophe possible.

It wasn't even like it had happened by chance. He hadn't just stumbled into this by accident. As a child, he would line up his toys and interview them one-by-one on a recording device he had been gifted for a birthday. During high school, he had volunteered as a journalist for the school paper, earning countless merits for his work. At college, he had majored in journalism and upon graduating, had attended grad school for many years focusing on global studies and politics and international relations, surpassing the majority of his peers. His working life had consisted of brewing coffee for the editors and filing away papers for the columnists.

Until now.

All the years spent studying and sinking himself into crippling debt had finally paid off as he sat at a single desk in his home-office, brewing coffee and filing papers. But, hey, at least these tasks were solely for himself now.

“Rafe?”

The voice yanked Rafe out of his bi-weekly pity-party of what his life had become. He didn’t bother lifting his head, which was cradled in his hand, as he spoke loud enough to carry across the spacious room and be heard over the faint crackled voices coming from the radio beside him.

“It's open.”

He hadn’t even finished speaking before there was a creak of wood and a familiar figure popped up like a rabbit from a warren beyond the door. Only half-entering the room, eyes settled stonily on the huddled figure at the desk, their force heavy enough to be felt without needing to be seen. The radio was briskly switched off, the room plunged into a brief silence.

“I wanted to make sure you'd heard,” came the voice from the door. It was only then that Rafe lifted his head, settling his eyes on the somber figure before him.

Chestnut hair, clasped loosely behind her head with escaped tendrils resting lightly around her shoulders; choppy but practical bangs framing her narrow, diamond-shaped face. Her lips were plump, and Rafe began to think back to the last time he saw them smile. It had been a while, admittedly, so long that he couldn't even remember when. Sometimes, he forgot just how beautiful she was.

“Which part?” Rafe asked, lowering his gaze back down and reaching for a lighter across his desk. A cigarette was lifted to his mouth, and he lit the end before drawing in a deep inhale, holding it for a beat or two, before exhaling out a plume of smoke. His shoulders dropped a notch or two, his eyes closing briefly before reopening, as though he had managed to escape reality for just that split second before being slammed back down to earth. “The floods, the bombings or the Supreme Court legislations?”

There was a sudden rustle of paper and then a distinct smack! as something was slapped down onto the desk before him. It was enough to make him stagger backwards in his chair, head snapping up to look at the paper before staring up at the woman before him. Rafe hadn’t even noticed anyone crossing the room, never mind managing to stand right before him and startle the jeebies out of him so easily. His eyes narrowed, boring her with an incensed look, before he looked down at the paper before him.

It was a newspaper, unopened and boasting the front page. In big, bold letters were the words:

“BODY FOUND IN LOCAL WOODLAND AS PURSUIT FOR MISSING WOMAN COMES TO A CLOSE.”

Rafe had to admit that he read it two or three times over, just to make sure that he wasn't missing something. He drew another drag from his cigarette before looking up again, his pale eyes settling on the deep, stoic ones above him.

“This?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the print. A nod. “Why would you think this is something I need to know about?” he asked.

“Well, you haven't read the article yet,” was the response with an air tinged with superiority. He scoffed, arguably a little too enthusiastically as it became a cough, smothered directed into his chest. As soon as it settled, another draw was taken from the cigarette.

“I don't need to read an article about a closed case,” Rafe dismissed, having just begun the conversation but already growing tired of it. A hand lifted back to his head where fingertips rubbed across the length of his brow, his other hand stubbing out the now-finished cigarette into the makeshift ashtray beside him.

“I think you might want-”

“Dammit, Ally!”

The woman was cut off before she had barely begun, causing her mouth to snap shut before her eyes narrowed and her arms folded across her chest. It would seem that such an outburst wasn't anything new to her, if her lack of alarm was anything to go by. Rafe had pushed back his chair and was standing now, a haze of smoke framing his slender figure, all the more prominent from the pale sunlight filtering in through the windows.

“Between six case-loads, three columns and a superior breathing down my neck about deadlines, deadlines, deadlines, I haven't got time to waste on shit like this, just because some wanker-cops can't do their fucking jobs.” His voice was level but sharp, his eyes wide but brow furrowed as he stared at his wife from across the desk. She did nothing but simply roll her eyes, clicking her tongue against her teeth.

There was a stretch of silence between them, broken after merely a minute by a siren blaring from beyond the window. Probably some wanker-cops actually doing their jobs. It seemed to be a shared thought, and the tension in the room lifted slightly as Rafe sat back down, inhaling sharply through his nose before grabbing a pen and starting to scribble frantically once more on the notepad before him.

“I don't need any more of my time wasted,” he finally said without looking up, followed by another sharp sniff. This one was enough to wrinkle one side of his nose.

“I know,” Ally conceded, turning to walk back towards the heavy oak door. She paused briefly when she heard a staggered breath, ready for another lecture about how precious her husband's time was at present. She turned just in time to catch Rafe's expression; lips parted, eyes squinted, head tipped back just slightly. They had been married long enough for her to recognise the signs, and she smirked to herself as she padded lightly back towards the desk, reaching the edge before a final gasp crumpled his expression completely, and he snapped to the side with an uncovered,

“hyd'DZSHh!.. hh..”

Before he could even sniffle a recovery, fingers were cupped beneath his chin, gently pulling it back so his post-sneeze misted eyes were looking right up into hers. Leaning down, she placed a delicate kiss at the tip of his nose, his reflex being to crinkle it up a little and sniffle a staccato series of sniffles. She smiled before pulling away, their faces hovering inches apart for a moment.

“Bless you,” she practically whispered, standing upright and walking once more towards the door. She made it this time, turning her head over her shoulder before she let herself out, her expression verging on smug as she pointed towards the desk.

“Just read the fucking article.”

And then she was gone. Rafe listened to her footfalls grow quieter the further she ventured from his office, and only once he was certain she was out of earshot did he snatch a tissue from a box nearby and sulkily blew his nose into the paper.

***

Afternoon soon became evening; neither Rafe nor Ally spoke more than a few words to the other during that time. Dinner was prepared, cooked and eaten in near-silence, the dishes cleared away and the house tidied just as the sun began its dip below the horizon. Rafe had been back in his office, mulling over paperwork, when he was disturbed by an unexpected visitor. Neither of them needed to verbally communicate what came next.

They kissed deep into each other's mouths over his desk as they disrobed; cunnilingus was undertaken in the shower; the two of them hadn't even been able to make it to the bedroom before fellatio in the hallway. Having finally made it to the bedroom, it was a sordid array of sheets and limbs everywhere as they fucked hard and fast late into the night.

Only when the moon was fully risen, casting an eery light through the window and illuminating their naked bodies with a sickly, pale glow did they finally slow to a stop. Legs tangled together, sheets haphazardly strewn on top and around them, Rafe lay breathlessly in bed on his back, his wife laid across his chest in post-coital contentment.

“I missed that,” Rafe hummed sleepily, half-expecting Ally to already be asleep. She shuffled slightly but didn't lift her head, her cheek pressed firmly against his chest where she likely had the drumbeat of his heart in her ear.

“I missed you,” she replied, tracing a finger over the flat surface of his stomach.

Rafe didn't need her to elaborate; he knew what she meant. His work was high-pressure, demanding, consuming most of his time and the majority of his patience. If he wasn't out at work in the company office or undertaking fieldwork, he was sequestered away in his office at home, working tirelessly on cases that just kept piling up. Between jobs, he was so exhausted and stressed that his patience was non-existent, and he didn’t need to be told how insufferable he had become to be around.

Nestling a soft kiss against her head, Rafe sniffled a couple of times, able to feel that familiar, cloying tickle begin to rise up once again in his sinuses.

He'd woken that morning to a sensation of fullness inside his nose that no amount of blowing would alleviate. There was no gunk, no snot to blow out, just a constant dense pressure behind his eyes. Over the course of the day it had persisted, a mild but manageable irritation. It had only been since dusk that he had noticed a tickle blossom, negligible and dormant enough, but every so often it had speared into an undeniable itch that had resulted in a sneeze or two.

That tickle had receded during their lovemaking, but now that he was supine and relaxed, it returned. Not wanting to disturb Ally, Rafe reached up his free hand, the one that wasn't pinned beneath his wife's shoulders, and gave his nose a quick pinch-wipe. It felt good, but it did nothing to ease the brewing tickle which was only becoming stronger with each breath he took. He was going to sneeze, without a shadow of a doubt, so the best he could do now was prepare.

Closing his eyes, Rafe focused on the faint buzzing inside his nose, which seemed more prominent on the left side. His lips parted as he drew several deep breaths through his mouth, his hand hovering an inch or two in front of his face, ready to catch the inevitable. This particular sneeze granted mercy on him, the build up only short before he felt the tickle mount to unstoppable levels, stealing his breath in one large, last shaky inhale. His brows lifted, nostrils pulsing erratically until they held wide, hardened to a stiff edge, before finally, release.

“..hd- h'DJZZSH'h-!!”

It was as confined as it could be, but it was still forceful enough to shake Rafe's shoulders, jostling Ally beneath him. She startled a little, lifting her head just in time to catch his suspended expression, another sneeze fast approaching. She watched his nose quiver, nostrils flaring wide until he crunched to the side with another bed-shaking sneeze.

“h-!.. hA-TDSZSH-uh!.. ugh..”

The second one was bigger, louder, wetter. Rafe felt his stomach tighten at the force in which he was snapped forward, and could feel moisture collecting around his nostrils. He sniffled, using the back of his wrist to crunch beneath his nose, serving both to scratch the itch and swipe at the mess. He began to fumble on the nightstand for a tissue, a handkerchief, a slip of cloth, anything he could use to wipe or blow his nose. He was only scrambling for a few seconds before he felt something soft pinch his nostrils together, and when he looked across, he saw a smirking Ally with a soft swatch of fabric pinned to his nose.

“Bless you, love,” she hushed in the dark, wiggling her fingers against his nose as she kept it pinched shut. She was wordlessly telling him to blow, but he would never, so he swatted her hand away as he grabbed the cloth himself.

Using both hands, he blew his nose vigorously, not even sure but equally not caring what he was using as a tissue. It took a couple of attempts, a swipe and a pinch-rub before he was satisfied, chucking the soiled fabric down onto the floor with the rest of their discarded clothes before laying back down and pulling Ally back onto his chest.

“Are you feeling alright?” Ally asked as she settled back down, able to hear the slightly quickened cadence of his heart after those couple outbursts. Rafe sniffled dryly, pondering the question before his gravelled tone spoke up.

“Never better,” he chimed, staring up at the ceiling. His nose still buzzed with an ominous threat of more sneezes to come, but for now, he was safe. If the weight of his eyes was anything to go by then it was likely he'd be asleep before another round took over him anyway. He smirked against the top of Ally's head, tightening his grip on her playfully.

“You know I'm allergic to pussy.”

He felt Ally shift beneath him and tap him lightly on the arm in mock scorn. It was a running joke between them as Rafe was allergic to cats. It was his go-to if he ever sneezed during or after sex, and as corny as it was, it never failed to bring a smile to Ally's lips.

Whether Ally was suspicious or not was irrelevant, as the two of them were too worn out to continue any kind of questioning or conversation and it wasn't long before they were both lost in the throes of sleep, neither of them moving until the first light of dawn crept in slowly between their curtains.

***

The night passed by unceremoniously. The two of them slept soundly, bundled together in each other's arms until one - or both - of them shifted, Rafe waking in the morning untangled and alone on his side of the bed.

The encompassing feeling of knowing that overcame him took mere seconds of being conscious. The previous day had been spent in denial but now… now there was no doubt.

He was sick.

And dammit, what an utterly shitty time for him to get sick. Work was stacked, his workload growing by the hour, never mind by the day, not to mention client meetings, interviews, columns. He could rearrange, sure; no one would beseech him for taking a day or two to kick this thing in the ass. But it would be counterproductive, leading to more work to catch up on when he returned. It just wasn't worth it.

It was through sheer force, determination, and perhaps a little bit of spite that Rafe forced his way out of bed, careful not to wake Ally who was still sleeping beside him. He'd managed to stumble into the bathroom before the coughing took hold, deep in his lungs and rattling in his chest. Great.

Admittedly, the shower did help clear out some of the sickly, shaky feeling that had crept up on him overnight, but what apparently resolutely refused to shift was the thick, throbbing congestion laden heavy in his nose.

Several attempts at clearing it out with swatches of toilet paper proved futile, before Rafe just gave it up and resigned himself to a day of sniffling. Swiping the condensation from the mirror with a palm, he studied his reflection: heavy-lidded eyes with dark circles beneath, a pallid complexion, flecks of colour only visible across his cheeks, and of course, his nose. His nose looked truly ridiculous, practically glowing red against the pallor of his skin. It felt warm to touch, Rafe able to feel its warmth radiating out like a stupid fucking beacon without even lifting a hand to it. He watched himself as it began to twitch, a tickle so deep creeping in that he barely had time to react.

It was one of those tickles that spiked him suddenly, thin and sudden in one spot inside his left nostril. He scrunched his eyes tightly closed, scowling beneath his breath as it completely consumed him. It was quick, sharp, and had his breath catching beyond his control. His shoulders bounced with one, two, three stilted inhales before it fanned out, flaring his nostrils wide as a huge inhale was drawn, before the final release.

“hh-!.. h'DTZSHH-!.. HD'DJZSHH!.. hh-.. h-!.. HYD'TZZSHH-IUH!!...”

Ridiculous. As strong, desperate and powerful as they were, neither one quite scratched at the persistent tickle. Each sneeze brought with it another, more violent than its predecessor. Three seemed to do the trick, and even though a faint, hazy flutter remained deep inside Rafe's nostril, it wasn't quite potent enough to bring forth any more sneezes for the moment.

Scowling under his breath, Rafe grappled for yet more toilet paper, tenting a clump over his nose with two hands and blowing as hard as he could, as though he wanted his nose to hear and feel just how pissed he was. It seemed to work, and he was able to feel a slight shift in the congestion as it loosened enough for a productive blow, leaving him damp-eyed, red nosed and sniffly, but able to sort-of breathe somewhat through his swollen passages. It gave him enough of a reprieve to dry off, get dressed and venture into the kitchen without any further nonsense.

Rafe was already halfway through his first cup of coffee before his nose's consideration of him ran dry. He was leaning over the breakfast bar, a newspaper spread out beneath him when another sneeze began to build. One thing that Rafe hated about colds was how intense, how desperate the tickle always was, but his nose was never in a rush to get it out. They would be long, torturous and drawn-out, leaving him stuck in a hitching, sneezy limbo for far too long before he was granted any semblance of relief.

He did nothing to fight against it this time, just letting it come how and when it wanted. It was fierce enough to wrinkle his nose up, a little snarl snagging at the edge of his upper lip. His head ducked down as he waited, his breathing laboured as it built… and built… and built… Just when he thought it was going to fizzle out, the tickle suddenly erupted, snatching a huge gasp from his lungs before his head snapped down further.

“h'TTZSZSHH-!.. h!-h!-.. HJ'DJZSSH'IUHH!!..”

“Bless you.”

The voice came from behind him and before Rafe could properly lift his head, he felt a hand smooth along the length of his shoulders. He was sniffling thickly as his eyes met Ally's, who was now standing before him dressed in a simple silk nightgown. Her eyes scanned his face, a brow cocking knowingly as her hand lowered to gently grip his upper arm.

“You caught yourself a cold?” she asked, a teeny tiny twinge of amusement cloying her tone, which soured Rafe's mood and expression further. She knew the answer already but Rafe knew she just wanted him to concede defeat. Admission was surrender, and he could - he would - never. His scowl deepened as he shuffled to stand upright, brushing her hand away from his as he shucked both hands at his collar.

“It's just a sniffle,” Rafe admitted factually, though the gravelled edge to his voice, which was undeniably laden with thick congestion, told another story. Ally rolled her eyes but said nothing, knowing it was futile. Rafe was a detestable asshole at the best of times; give him a cold and he became intolerable.

Downing the last dregs of his lukewarm coffee, Rafe shrugged on his jacket and snatched up his keys and wallet. Ally watched him with silent pity, folding her arms as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. She could hear the congestion in his chest and nose with each breath he took, knowing his tendencies to work himself into the ground and make himself worse.

“You should stay home,” she said, unable to help herself. Rafe didn't even give her the satisfaction of a response, pulling his lips away and sauntering towards the door. Clicking it open, he looked back to her, thumbing the tip of his nose before speaking.

“I'll be late tonight,” he advised, and with that, he was gone. Ally listened to his footfalls crunch the gravel of their driveway, a sudden violent sneeze muffled but audible before the sound of his car roared into life and screeched away.

“Asshole,” she muttered under her breath, her eyes falling onto the newspaper still spread across the countertop. She paused when she noticed the familiar article, scanning over it a few times before folding it up and chucking it into the recycle to be forever forgotten. Neither one of them knew just how foreshadowing that one article would be.

It was easy to blame the weather at first. Ren had spent his entire life in a much milder climate, out in the countryside where summers scorched and winters were wet and mild. He watched as the snow fell in thick clumps outside of his window and settle on the city streets below, lamenting all the times he complained about the weather back home. He now realised that his complaints were entirely unjustified and even made him miss the dredgery of the winters back home. 

It had only been a month or so since he had relocated his entire life to the big city. It was the usual tale; there just wasn’t work or money back home any more. He’d already secured an apartment and a stable job in that short time, which was more than he had achieved in over 12 months back home. It was simple bar work, but it paid him enough to get by. Sure, the hours weren’t great but it suited his social personality. He actually found himself enjoying the work more than he expected. He actively looked forward to going into work, wondering what fascinating characters and interesting anecdotes he would face that shift.

Though as he buttoned up his shirt for the late-shift, he had to admit that this was one shift that he was actively not looking forward to. He was starting to come down with a cold, that he knew for a fact, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a mound of blankets, sip hot tea and doze while watching trash reality TV. His head felt fuzzy, his eyes heavy, his sinuses throbbed, and his nose... his nose was just constantly -

“h’EEIISSHH’uh!!”

- sneezing. It had all started with a single sneeze, but now that particular symptom was loathe to stop. Ren would be lying if he hadn’t already considered calling out of his shift, but it was a Friday night and they were already short-staffed; it seemed this bug was making its rounds, having already conquered three other staff members. And no way was Ren going to leave them in the shit, regardless of how lousy he truly felt. 

It did help that he was on shift with his favourite co-worker. Sly was the kind of person who was just made for bar work; he was cute, outgoing, flirtatious, polite. Everything you could hope for and expect from someone in customer service. He was technically Ren’s supervisor but he never asserted himself as anything more than the other staff’s equal. Ren had taken a shine to him immediately, and it seemed that the feeling was mutual. Every shift with Sly was always filled with fun and banter.

So despite the sniffles, Ren finished his look with a spritz of cologne, grabbed his keys, and was out the door, praying that it would be a peaceful, quiet evening.

***

It would appear upon arrival that Ren’s prayers had not been answered. He hadn’t even set foot in the place and he could already see that people were queuing out the door. Every table in sight was occupied, people even standing around with their drinks after failing to find a seat. He sighed to himself, which rudely turned into a cough which was smothered into his elbow. He sniffled thickly as the artificial lights shone his face a sickly shade of white, hucking up his collar around his throat as he ventured inside the venue.

The warmth hit him immediately, making him shiver on impact. His nose rebelled against it, the heavy congestion seemingly melting temporarily and threatening to run past the shores of his nostrils. Sniffling reflexively, Ren made a beeline behind the bar, shrugging off his jacket just as Sly noticed him, the other man brightening immediately at what could only be described as his saviour.

“Ren!” he exclaimed, clasping a hand over Ren’s shoulder between pouring drinks. He looked frazzled, a line of patrons waiting across the bar as he dashed around to serve them solo. Ren’s hopes and dreams of a quiet night were dashed in an instant, and he quickened to get himself ready to be hurled into the thick of it headfirst, cold be damned. He patted Sly’s hand in return, giving the other man his most convincing smile, determined to make it through the night with as little disaster as possible.

“Man, am I glad to see you, buddy,” Sly remarked, taking payment from a customer as the cash register tinged open. “We’re in for one hell of a night!”

Having readied himself, Ren rolled up the sleeves of his black button-down in a we-mean-business sort of way, quirking a smile at Sly.

***

Sly really hadn’t been kidding; they were in for one hell of a night. 

Music was pumping, customers just kept piling in and the alcohol was flowing. The bar was fairly simple, modest, but hosted a colourful menu with some elaborate drinks. Sly loved to show off his mixology skills, throwing shakers up in the air and catching them behind his back before holding it way too far above the glass than was necessary while pouring. It always got the crowd going, making their wait in line slightly more tolerable when they had a show to watch. 

An hour or so had passed and Ren had all but forgotten about his cold; he was just too busy. When he felt his nose running, he would just give a snide rub against his shoulder and continue with what he was doing. He was so occupied that he didn’t even feel the need to sneeze even once during that first hour. 

Until, suddenly, he did. 

It came slow, torturous, like an ember glowing in the calm moments before it roared into flames. Ren was in the middle of pouring two drinks at once when the feeling first crept in, his hands truly occupied. A wave of panic overtook him, knowing he had no free hands, no tissues or napkins, no way of excusing himself into the back for even a second. He was stuck, well and truly, left with no other option than to fight against it. 

He tried. Boy, did he try, but this tickle was stubborn. He tried to sniffle, rubbed his nose up against his shoulder, pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, even held his breath, but it was all to no avail. The tickle just continued to spread, until his entire nose was filled with the sensation, fanning out from the inner recesses of his sinuses right down to the edges of his nostrils, pulsing uncomfortably. Knowing that it was coming, despite his insistence for it not to, Ren opted for a less demanding tactic: stifling. He had never been great at stifling, but it was the best option he could hope for at this juncture. Better than sneezing openly into drinks or across customers, anyway. Pausing mid-pour, Ren allowed his expression to fold just slightly, a brief haze of ticklish misery weakening his features, before he turned away and directed an attempted, smothered, “h’TGDSH’iuh!” into his shoulder. 

Not his finest, most graceful moment, but it was as contained as Ren could have hoped for. It was quiet enough over the thumping music to be mostly overlooked, but his current customer - a pretty little thing wearing mostly lace - offered a haughty, “Bless you!” loud enough to be heard over the cocophony of noise inside the bar. Ren offered a smile and a gentle apology, sniffling repeatedly as he handed over the drinks and took the payment, completing the transaction before moving onto the next person. 

It all seemed to go downhill from there. 

That one sneeze had apparently pissed Ren’s nose off, making it immediately stuffed so full that pressure throbbed behind his eyes, a constant droning pulse of congestion that thrummed with every beat of the music. It was heavy enough to weigh down his eyes, making him feel tired without necessarily needing sleep. To make matters worse, there was a constant feeling that his nose was about to drip, running persistently, but it was too stuffy for any kind of sniffling to be effective. Loathe as we was to wipe it against his shirt, there were few other options afforded to him at present. Sometimes the need outweighed the urge and Ren found himself scrubbing his nose against the hem of his shirt collar on instinct, barely even registering what he was doing until it was already done. 

And just to top it all off, there was the sneezing. 

This cold was relentless, brutal, nestled deep within Ren’s sinuses where it seemed to linger and just… simmer. The tickle was a dull permanence, ever-present and unreachable where no amount of rubbing would ebate it. Not even sneezing would completely rid Ren of the sensation, and that certainly wasn’t for lack of trying on his nose’s part. 

They were coming on faster and more frequently with each one. By the time they reached the last hour of the shift, there was a constant buzz in Ren’s nose which promised a sneeze was not too far away. The tickle had become so deep that stifling was no longer an option, and holding back was completely off the table. Whether Ren wanted them to or not, despite his best efforts, they came barrelling out of him in twos and threes, occasionally more. One noteable instance had him firing off a little fit of seven back-to-back with barely a chance to catch a breath in between. Even Sly noticed that one and gave a hearty laugh, a back slap and an exclaimed, “Bless you, damn!” from the other side of the bar. 

The minutes seemed to tick by slowly until finally, finally, it was time to shut the bar. Getting the customers out was an ordeal all by itself, but shortly after 1AM, the bar was empty save for the two bar staff. Ren had never taken so much pleasure in securing the deadbolts across the door, placing both hands firmly against the wood as if to keep anyone who dared to try and enter back. His head ducked down between his arms, a thick sniffle sounding louder than he would have liked across the now-silent room, and Ren cursed under his breath as he felt yet another sneeze begin to build. It was strong, potent enough to mist his eyes with a sheen of irritation, his nose crinkling up on one side as he braced for impact. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long before it crested, and he allowed himself to fully indulge in it for the first time that evening. 

“h-..h-!.. H’EEISSHH’iuh!!” 

It was aimed down towards his feet, hands still bracing the door, completely unrestrained. It felt good to finally give in to the urges of his body without constraint, but allowing himself to do so came with a new set of problems. Ren could feel the slow, steady drip of something skirting down the inner length of his septum before it reached the edge of his nostril, threatening to spill out over the threshold. He was exhausted, dishevelled, past the point of caring about airs and graces, but he wasn’t about to let himself leak all over himself. He sniffled back what he could and allowed the back of his wrist to take care of the rest before forcing himself upright, sighing heavily through parted lips. 

With the adrenaline from the busy shift fading, Ren realised just how awful he truly felt. His head throbbed, his voice was raw, his throat shredded from continually shouting over the noise to be heard. There was an inner freeze combating an outer burn, his bones chilled while his skin blazed. He was glad the worst was over, but his heart sank when he turned around to discover the bar in disarray; plastic cups strewn across the floor, tables sticky from spilled drinks, empty glasses… they were everywhere. Ren was surveying the chaos when he heard a voice calling across the bar. 

“Hoo-wee!” Looking up, Ren saw Sly behind the bar, swiping sweat from his brow with his forearm as he clutched the drawer of a cash register with the other. He looked ruffled, hair a mess and shirt crumpled, but had a big grin on his face as he looked across at Ren. “We made it! That was crazy, right!?” 

Ren offered a weak smile and nodded, closing the gap between them to begin the endless task of cleaning up. The sooner they were done, the sooner he could get to bed, which was Ren’s primary focus at present. It was honestly the thought of crawling into a warm, soft bed with cool pillows caressing his face that got Ren through the clean-up. Given the chaotic state of the bar, it took longer than a usual closing shift, and it was almost 2AM before everything was tidied, cleaned, mopped and sanitised, ready to be opened again the following day. Hanging up the mop, Ren went to grab his jacket but paused when he heard the distinct tinkling of ice against glass. Spinning around, he saw Sly standing with a drink in hand, offering another out to Ren. He was already shaking his head in decline but before he could speak, Sly cut in. 

“Have a drink. You’ve earned it,” he said, voice softer than Ren was used to. Sly was usually so carefree, upbeat and thrumming with energy that it was strange to see him so calm. He was still offering out the drink, and didn’t show any signs of taking ‘no’ for an answer. He wobbled it side to side, clinking the ice, his smile widening. “On the house?” 

Huffing a soft laugh through his mouth, Ren took the glass. He couldn’t exactly refuse such a generous offer, after all, and pulled up a stool beside Sly at the bar. Slumping down and taking the weight off his feet for the first time in hours, Ren rested both arms across the bar and was just… still. Much as he wanted to get home, much as he felt like deep-fried garbage, he had to admit that this was nice. He had been alone since the move, not knowing a single person in this place, and could admit that loneliness was starting to take its toll. Having someone sitting beside him while they sipped drinks in comfortable silence was a thing he hadn’t realised he had missed. Or needed. He sniffled, his nose choosing that precise moment to betray him, as he felt the rising creep of another tickle slowly taking over. Luckily, he had a drink to shove against his lips to distract him and hopefully stop it dead in its tracks. 

“You know, I super appreciate tonight,” Sly said after a few beats of silence. Ren quirked a brow, confused, as the first dulled taste of his drink touched his lips. He realised exactly what it was as the warmth spread across his chest as he swallowed. Looking up, Ren’s eyes met Sly’s, which were soft and compassionate. “This ain’t an easy job on a regular day,” Sly continued, sipping at his own drink. He steadied Ren with a knowing look. “And it’s especially rough when ya caught a cold.” 

Ren cowed, as though being caught out, making an attempt at a subtle sniffle which came out loud, thick and wet. And honestly, he didn’t have the energy in him to muster much of a protest. 

“It’s not that bad,” Ren said quietly, his voice thick with congestion, taking another sip of the whiskey-honey-lemon mixture Sly had concocted just for him. It slid down his throat like liquid gold, soothing every raw nerve it touched as it went. Ren’s shoulders visibly slumped as he relaxed. 

“Whatever you say,” Sly replied, shrugging with both hands as he smiled to himself before motioning to Ren’s drink. “Get that down ya, though. It’ll help.” He grinned a wink in Ren’s direction. “Grandma’s home recipe, so you know it’s the good shit.” 

Ren huffed a breath of laughter, which came abruptly to a halt when it devolved into a cough, swiftly travelling up into his nose which tickled unforgivingly. Within the space of maybe three seconds, Ren had gone from laughing to hitching, his entire expression lifted briefly, nostrils fanning outwards as wide as they could reach, before he was stuck in a staccato duo of hitches, snapping suddenly to the side with a barely-contained, explosive sneeze. 

“h-h-H’EETSSCHH’iu!.. ugh..” 

It was just as messy as it sounded, keeping Ren with his nose tucked against his shoulder to hide his shame. The groan afterwards apparently told Sly all he needed to know, and Ren felt a tap against his other arm and didn’t even glance over to look. Instead, he just fumbled with his hand until he felt something soft and papery press into his palm. He took the tissue-napkin from Sly and immediately pinched it to his nose, mopping up as best he could to save at least some modicum of what lingered of his dignity. 

“Bless you,” Sly offered, his voice soft, quieter than Ren had ever heard. His nose was still buried in the tissue as he uttered a stuffy, “..tha’gk you,” when he felt something cool press against his brow. Under normal circumstances, he would have probably shrunk away from the touch, especially when he was in the middle of doing something as uncouth as blowing his nose, but the cold pressure against his warm skin felt too good for him to resist. His eyes closed briefly against it, unaware that he leaned forwards just a little as it was taken away from him, subconsciously chasing its comfort. 

“You don’t look so good,” Sly observed, keeping a watchful eye locked onto Ren as he finished tending to his nose and pocketed his tissue. There was no denying it; his skin was pale, his nose red, his eyes heavy-lidded and weighted, lips parted to breathe as nose-breathing was simply impossible against the metric-ton of congestion stacked up in there. Sitting back, Sly’s arms folded across his front, his brow furrowed into a slight frown. “And you’re burnin’ up.” 

There wasn’t really much that Ren could say. Sly was right on the money with everything, and denying it would just be outright lying. And Ren was a terrible liar. Not to mention that secretly, he was lowkey lapping up this sort of attention. He was alone out here, with nothing and no one to fuss over him, so having Sly looking out for him felt sort of special. Not that he would ever admit to such a thing. He was far too cool and collected for that. 

“Drink up,” Sly said, his voice back to its usual bright vibrancy as he snatched his tumbler off the bar. “I’ll take you home.” 

“N’do, it’s fide, I can-..” Ren started to protest but Sly waved a dismissive hand. 

“I insist,” he stated as a finality. He smiled towards Ren, genuinity reaching his eyes where they crinkled ever-so slightly at the corners. “Call it severence pay for working a full Friday shift in your condition.” 

The two men shared a soft moment of laughter, warmth permeating between them. This was the first time Ren had felt a true sense of belonging since his move to the big city, a closeness forming between him and his supervisor as they sat and finished what remained of their drinks in relative silence. The only sounds between them were the damp sniffles from Ren and the occasional sneeze he fired off into his arm. 

Once finished and cleaned up, the two of them grabbed their things and made their way to the back entrance, Sly flipping off every switch along the way, sinking the bar into complete darkness. It was only once they made it to the back door that they realised a serious problem… 

The snow had been falling thick and fast the entire evening, but neither had noticed just how thick or how fast. It had settled on the ground, reaching way above their knees and was continuing to fall as they stood and watched. Snowflakes dappled Ren’s lashes, melting on impact against the warmth of his skin, one of them landing delicately against the tip of his nose. It tickled mercilessly, wrenching Ren to the side with a harsh double that bent him slightly at the waist. 

“Shit,” Sly muttered, mostly to himself as he surveyed the sight before him. The snow twinkled in the artificial light of the streetlamps, its beauty belying its inconvenience. Looking to their left, Sly slumped as he noticed his truck, which was mostly buried in the thick blanket of frozen misery. To get it free would require at least a couple hours of shovelling, and even then, the roads looks impassable. 

Ren was lost in thoughts of trekking through this tundra in abstract misery to get home when he felt a strong hand clap him against his chest. 

“Well!” Sly sounded far too bright and optimistic for Ren’s liking. He scowled towards the other man. “Looks like you’re hunkering down with me tonight,” he said, grinning ear to ear. Lucky for them, Sly was currently renting the apartment above the bar, so there was no commute for him to make to get home. Ren felt a little uneasy, not wanting to impose himself on Sly’s space given they didn’t really know each other too well just yet, but he had to admit, they were sort of out of any other options at this juncture. It was either stay here, or walk home in this, which would take… Ren didn’t even want to think about how long that would take. Hours, probably. He slumped, defeated, swiping a rogue bead of moisture that had collected just beneath his nose with the back of his hand. 

“You sure?” Ren asked, and was met with Sly’s usual level of enthusiasm. 

“Of course!” he assured Ren, pulling out his keys and turning back towards the iron steps that paved the way to his apartment. His head turned over his shoulder to look back at Ren, his grin wide. “Sleepover!” 

Ren couldn’t help but be endeared by Sly’s persistent optimism. Nothing ever seemed to frazzle him. Whatever was thrown his way, he just seemed to accept it and go with the flow. It was admirable, honestly, and the more Ren got to know him, the more he liked the guy. He was just… likeable. He had such a sweet yet charming charisma, the kind of person who was impossible to dislike. Ren followed him up the stairs carefully, keeping close as the door to the apartment opened up to greet them. 

Warmth hit Ren immediately as he stepped inside, Sly flicking on the lights to better guide them. It was a modest place; open plan, with a hallway which gave way to the lounge, a kitchenette just off to the side. Ren had yet to venture deeper, but he could assume that the bedroom and bathroom were off to the other side of the lounge. It was neat and tidy, clean without being clinical, decorated with a unique but tasteful interior which Ren couldn’t decide if it was already like this or if Sly had some part in the decorum. Either way, it was warm, it was comfortable, and it was inviting. Not to mention it was a shelter from the storm raging outside, and Ren would have honestly stayed in a hayloft had it kept him out of the elements. 

“Make yourself at home,” Sly was saying as he shrugged off his jacket and shoes, Ren mirroring his actions. He stopped mid-shoe-removal when he saw a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye before hearing a soft, gentle sound. Sly crouched to his knees and it was then that Ren noticed the bundle of fluff before them. 

“Heyy, cutie-pie~” Sly said, his voice sing-song as he scratched the grey cat beneath its chin. “Ren, this is Phantom,” he said by ways of introduction, standing up as the kitty purred and wound herself around his legs. Though Sly stopped and glanced to Ren, slight concern on his face. 

“You’re okay with cats, aren’t you?” he asked. “You’re not allergic or anything?” 

Ren shook his head as he finished up the shoe removal, the two of them making their way through towards the lounge. “N’do, I’m good,” he said, shivering as the warmth of the apartment began to work its way through his clothes and settle into him. 

“Thank god,” Sly snickered, motioning for Ren to sit on the plush sofa. “You’d probably drown in your own snot if you had to fight allergies alongside that cold.” His tone was joking, and Ren could admit that it did make him laugh. 

“It’s not tha’d bad,” he huffed as he plopped himself down, letting himself sink into the couch. Once he was down, he resigned himself to never get back up again. This was it now, his life, his existence. He would live, laugh, love for eternity on this sofa. 

Ren hadn’t even noticed that he had dozed off until he was being shaken awake by a hand nudging him at his shoulder. Honestly, he didn’t even realise he’d closed his eyes until he was having to pry them open. Sly was standing over him, another glass of what he’d drank before in one hand and a beaker of what Ren recognised to be his arch nemesis in the other: NyQuil. His nose wrinkled up at the sight of it, and his reaction made Sly actually throw his head back slightly in laughter. 

“Look, I know it tastes like shit,” he said, “but it’ll help. Besides, I got you this as a chaser.” He thrust the beaker of NyQuil into Ren’s left hand, the tumbler of alcohol pressed into his right. Standing back, Sly watched with too much amusement for Ren’s liking. He offered him a wink. “Bottoms up!” 

Despite his reluctance, Ren necked the goop in one swift swallow, grimacing on reflex but quickly realising that his taste was suitably dulled enough thanks to the congestion for him to be able to taste it properly. Sly chuckled to himself, taking the beaker back from Ren and returning a moment later with his own drink, sinking down next to Ren on the other side of the couch, Phantom joining them as she leaped weightlessly onto Sly’s lap. 

“So,” Sly started, his hand occupied with tickling behind Phantom’s ears. “How you liking the big city? I can’t imagine how different it is to where you grew up.” His eyes moved back to Ren as he listened intently, his curiosity about the other man genuine. They’d chatted briefly during shifts before, so they knew a little about one another, but only snippets. Sly was apparently eager to learn more now that they were presented with the opportunity. 

“Hm,” Ren mused, thoughtful. He sniffled again, the heat from the apartment striking havoc on his nose. Sly wordlessly grabbed a tissue box from nearby and handed it across to Ren, propping his head up against a fist as he listened. “Probably a month now,” he said, wiping at his nose. He could feel that indistinct, hazy flicker of a sneeze brewing, though he ignored it in favour of talking with Sly uninterrupted. 

“D’ya miss home?” Sly asked without preamble. He was a natural conversationalist, making Ren relax in his presence. Opening up to him felt natural. 

“I mean.. sure, of course,” he admitted, his blinks coming quicker as he continued to fight against the uprising tickle. His nostrils pulsed widely in protest as the tickle progressed, becoming less of a flicker of more of a blaze. Ren grabbed another tissue from the box in preparation, just in case. “I thi’gk I need to, hh-!... adjust to the-.. to.. the…” 

His voice trailed off as the sneeze blossomed into something impossible to hold back. His eyes fell half-lidded, nose twitching, head even tipping back a little as it crested, the remainder of the sentence temporarily suspended as Ren worked through the tickle. It only took another second or two before Ren’s breath hitched, shoulders bouncing softly before he folded inwards into the waiting tissues. 

“..h-H’IITSSSCHH-!.. EHTSSCHHHH’iuh!..” 

There was a distinct unfinished tinge to the sneezes, but no more came for the moment. Ren snuffled heavily into the tissues he had wedged against his nose, swiping and rubbing until he lowered them to reveal a nose a deeper shade of red than it had been all night. 

“Shit, bless you!” Sly laughed, sounding truly impressed by the ferocity of those two. He didn’t seem at all fazed by Ren’s cold, seemingly finding some humour in it. Never once was Ren made to feel awkward or uncomfortable being sick in Sly’s home; quite the contrary. As they both sat there, Ren felt nothing more than comfortable - and comforted. 

“We don’t get snow back home,” Ren continued once he was back under control, his nose in that blissful moment of being clear enough for his consonants to be enunciated before it would fill back up in the coming seconds. There was a slightly sneezy haze lingering behind Ren’s expression as he spoke, wisping at the corners of his eyes and ghosting the edges of his nostrils. 

Conversation flowed pleasantly between the two of them as the night wore on, the first light of early dawn steadily creeping in. They talked of many things; Ren’s upbringing, Sly’s tragic love-life, only being interrupted by Ren’s frequent sneezes. It was around the time that the sky started its first streaks of pink and orange in the first-morning light that Ren stopped answeing Sly’s questions. Looking over, Sly noticed Ren’s eyes had closed, his cheek propped against the arm of the sofa. His lips were parted, his breathing heavy and laboured but steady (albeit a little noisy; Sly could clearly hear the congestion settled in Ren’s nose and on his chest.) 

Smiling to himself, Sly retreated to his bedroom and plucked a comforter from his bed, tucking it tightly around Ren as he took the empty glass from Ren’s slack fingers. 

“Get some sleep, kid,” he said quietly, ruffling Ren’s hair lightly as he walked around the sofa towards his own room. “And feel better.”