#sniction

Light seeped through the cracks in his gunky eyes. Nathan tried to open them, instantly moaning as the brightness sent a spasm of pain shooting through his forehead. 

“Fuck me.” he groaned miserably, shifting a hand up to press against his aching head.

Then, his nose decided to join in the assault. Despite the fact it was rock solid with the mess that had built up as he slept, a sharp, merciless tickle still crackled down the bridge.

His nose scrunched up, nostrils wide and flared. His chest tightened, sucking in pathetic desperate breaths. Once, twice, before he-

"HEH'tCHHUOO! h'ettSHHuhh! huh-ih-ITCHHH–Oooh!!”

The sneezes, warm and miserably productive, had nowhere to go but straight down his bare chest. Nathan felt his skin prickle under the sensation. 

“Ughh, my god.” he muttered to himself, trying to shift himself up to fumble for the tissues.

His last box was growing thin. Just day 2 of this monstrous cold and he’d already almost cleared out almost two entire packs? Was it even normal for the human body to produce this much mess?

He resolved to re-use some of the scrotty, crumpled things laid out across his desk to wipe himself up. They were dry and crusted under his hands, the products of a painfully long evening where he’d tried to blow out just enough so the pressure in his head would let him sleep.

Clutched in his palm, Nathan brought them down to his chest but before he could clean himself up, the desperate sensation returned again-

He sucked in a gasping, frantic breath before blasting down onto the hand holding the already soiled tissues.

“HAA–AESCHUhh!”

Wet snot shimmered back at him. From his hand, from his chest, from the bottom of his chin.

“Jesus fu—uhh–”

“HAA-ETTCHuhh!!” He sneezed again.

“HHUH-IPPttuchh!” And again.

“HUHH- hih'ISHHhoo!!” And again.

They were all somehow wetter than the last, firing out of him one after the other, with little time in between to suck in a shaky breath.

He was a complete and utter state now, nose still buzzing, as what seemed like the whole of his front was covered in mess.

Okay seriously, what the hell had they infected him with?

He cleaned himself up as best he could, feeling his cheeks flame with embarrassment. From the corner of the room, the red light of the camera flickered. Watching his disgusting outbursts. Watching as he used the duvet cover to wipe up the globs glistening across his chest.

Nathan shifted higher in the bed, exhaling heavily. The need to sneeze seemed to have laid off for a while but now his nose was running in a seemingly endless stream. He raised the back of a hand to press up against it, feeling the wet warmth clogging his nose still spill out onto the skin.

His head heart, his chest ached. His eyes were no-doubt blood shot and crusted. 

He’d only just gotten up and he already felt shattered.

Nathan’s vision grew bleary, breath snarling as the ticklish sensation reared up in an insatiable wave once more. He knew it was ridiculous, knew it didn’t work like this, but he could almost picture the viral particles multiplying inside his nose, bouncing and scratching against the hairs.

“H–ahh-uHh….! H’APT-Chuhh-uhh!”

This time it was a one and done. But Nathan felt little relief with the moisture dripping down the side of his hand still uselessly pressed to his face.

Usually a finger or hand under his nose would be enough to quell any urge. But this cold disregarded all typical customs. It did whatever the hell it wanted, leaving Nathan a pathetic mess in its wake.

And, fucking hell, now he needed a piss. The thought of getting out of his comfy bed and padding over to the bathroom exhausted him. 

“Ughh…snff.” he moaned as he pushed up from the bed. His head swam dangerously, the dark frame of the bathroom door blurring in his vision. Shivering, goose bumps sprouting across his skin, Nathan headed for the toilet.

When he was done, he turned the tap on to wash his hands, rubbing the soap in slow, lethargic circles, sniffling thickly. He looked up…caught a look at himself in the mirror.

Holy shit. He looked awful.

He’d long since abandoned the glasses that rubbed against his inflamed nose so his face was a little blurred, but he could make out the clamminess of his skin, eyes encased in shadows. His nose was 10 shades of red, the worst right across his septum where he’d been rubbing and wiping at it non-stop. And to his horror, a liquidy trail of mess was leaking down his face, without him even realising it. 

Just how disgusting could he get?

An icy shiver snaked down his spine, Nathan curled into himself. He was reaching for the hand towel when the itch in his nose returned. It was like nothing he’d experienced before. All-powerful, consuming. Taking siege of his nose and lungs. 

“H–ehhh-uh…”

Nathan’s chapped lips slipped open, nose crinkling. He felt his sensitive, rubbed-raw nostrils flare.

“H-uhh-Ahhh—-”

His chest swelled in and out, like it was building, preparing, capturing breath for whatever was about to come. With the mess already dripping down his face Nathan had a sinking feeling this was not going to be over quickly.

No, his cold had been ignored too long as he’d slept. Now it demanded constant attention.

“Huu–ihhh…Huh..”

It was so closer, just tearing on the edge. He gripped his fingers around the sink, breath lurching in and out until he…. Until he…

“HAahH’DIZSSSH’uh!..Huh–ehh–HuUHH-EPTCh’uhh!”

He bucketed forward into the sink, knuckles growing white around the rim from the force of them. He heard the splatter as the mess hit the porcelain.

When he was done he took a second just to breathe, let the dizziness wash over him. Then he snagged some toilet paper and blew thickly- watching the way his face scrunched and eyes watered as he did so. He sneezed again into the wad of paper, warm and heavy even through several layers.

Feet dragging, Nathan shuffled back into his room. His head was swimming, a threatening ache was building across his sinuses. With a jolt, his foot placed awkwardly and he nearly stumbled.

Fuck, this wasn’t some stupid cold. He was sick for real. This hadn’t at all been what he’d signed up for. Sure, he’d known he’d be infected with a cold virus but he’s been expecting something more ordinary. Something that made his nose run and burst out a sneeze every now and then. Not the sickness flowing through him now that had him sneezing his brain out every other minute.

Nathan plopped down on the bed and hung his head in his hands, sniffling all the while.

“Ermm..” he called out, voice hoarse and crackling, face still buried in his hands, “Could I get so–ome.. Uh.. some—HHE’H’ETShh-ieww!” the last sneeze blew out of him with no warning, half blasting into the palms holding his head, half spilling to the wooden floors below.

“Some umm but do you have any fever meds, please? Sorry, I err don’t know if that’s allowed but…ugh snff I think I’m running a temperature”

The intercom flickered on, the voice coming through low and concerned.

“Morning Nathan, we’re so sorry to hear that. Remember you have the right to withdraw at any time. We’ll send some down and someone to look at you right now.”

On his bed, Nathan shivered. “Ughh…”he brought the back of a sleeve to scrub against his leaking nose, “Thangk you.”

Bundling himself back into bed, trying to get warm, Nathan heard a knock at the door.

He sat up again awkwardly, “Come in.” he croaked.

The same scientist from yesterday came in carrying a tray. Nathan spied Lucozade, tea, more tissues and a packet of paracetamol.

Halle-fucking-lujah

“Hi Nathan, I’m so sorry you’re feeling this rotten.” she said, voice crackling through the mask of the hazmat suit as she perched on the end of his bed.

“It’s—HUHhh…It’s— H’’EHT’SChuhh! Sorry snff.. it’s okay. I mean, I signed up for this right?”

Even through her hazmat suit, Nathan could sense the scientist look down at her hands, her shoulders growing tense.

“Nathan…there’s…something we need to tell you.”

But Nathan’s nose wasn’t satisfied from that singular sneeze. Through hazing vision he held up a shaking finger, telling her to pause. The sensation rolled through him like hands in dough, he was utterly at its mercy as it made his breath hitch and hitch and hh—hitch.

“Ehh-TSGHHH! Huuhh- hhehH–GK’TSshht!!”

He directed the sneezes down onto his lap as best he could but at this point he didn’t really care about the mess. Head bent, nose streaming, he caught his breath for a moment, feeling the aches and fever roll through him.

A cool gloved hand was on his shoulder.

“Bless you, Nathan. Here” she held out a wad of tissues.

Nathan croaked out something close to a thanks and held them up to his face, blowing until mess turned the material flimsy and his ears crackled and popped.

“Ugherrm– sorry. What was it you needed to tell me?” he asked as he placed the soiled thing on his mountainous desk pile.

Again the scientist looked almost sheepish, her hands dropping to the tray and gripping the sides of it.

“Well, you understand that this experiment was to see how quickly a common rhinovirus would infect you- three different strains, each a different severity?”

“...right.”

“And we opened the vents to allow your air to be mixed with someone at the height of infection.”

“Yeh.” Nathan was growing impatient, he was cold and tired, the skin around his nose stung and he just wanted to take some meds and roll himself away under the covers.

“Well.. when we opened the vent we…errr.. We actually opened all three.”

Nathan’s exhausted brain struggled to put the pieces together.

The scientist turned to face him straight on.

“Nathan, we believe you are simultaneously infected with all three strains.”

.'.

Nathan kicked the covers off his chest for the 10th time, suddenly boiling hot once again. He curled into himself and coughed bitterly, hearing and feeling the rattle of his congested lungs.

Brilliant, just fucking brilliant.

Why did he have to be miserably sick with not one, not two but three colds at the same time? Why did he have to be the victim of their stupid mistake? Why had he signed up for this in the first place??

But Nathan knew the answer to that last question. And so did his cock.

Every since the scientist had informed him of his unfortunate situation his mind had been running wild.

He’d been breathing in the desperately cold-infested air of three separate people. Three people's germs swimming about the room, diving deep into his lungs and now flowing through his bloodstream. Three people’s colds taking complete ownership of his body.

His cock was growing stiff and heavy in his boxers.

It was something out of his horniest fantasies. And his body was reacting like a teenager who'd discovered jacking off for the first time. Plus, it had been days. He usually banged one out at least once a night so the pressure coiling low in his stomach was hungry and raw.

Your absolutely sick, idiot. He tried to tell himself. Tried to tell the bulge pressing against the fabric of his pants. You have to stay in bed and sleep.

It was no use. 

And so, legs shaky with the fever that only seemed to be getting worse he stood up, keeping his discarded top strategically placed over his lap.

Nathan stumbled to the bathroom, letting the door shut firmly behind him.

Just as he was slipping his fingers below the elastic waistband of his boxers, a breath caught against the hairs in his nose.

Nathan paused, nostrils flaring, lips parting, feeling his eyes slip shut and losing himself in the sensation.

“Hhehhh- ehh…hih’TTSSHOO!!...“HaAAH’SSCHIU-uhh-!!” They exploded out of him strong and heavy, but with little result. He was too miserably congested to clear much of anything. But fuck they still felt good.

Which one of their colds was making him sneeze like this? All of them? They’d surely all been sniffly, sneezy messes but what if one time they’d all sneezed at the same time? 

“Fu-uhhck.” Nathan groaned as his fingers finally wrapped around his cock.

He ran his thumb up to his slit to steal a bit of the moisture building there. He wished he had some lotion or something but honestly he was too sick and too needy to care all that much.

Breath gasping from the ever present tickle and from the heady feeling of the pressure growing and growing, he lost himself in the desire.

He picked up the pace, pressing his back against the bathroom door for stability, pressing his lips together to stop himself from gasping out.

“Nghhnn…huh–ehh?? “AEE-Hhehh- ISHH’IEW! Huh…” this one was his nastiest yet, exploding down his face, his chest, even dripping onto–

“Sh–hit…ughh.” he breathed under his breath, watching the way his palms ran the extra moisture up and down his length in increasingly desperate strokes.

His knees were wobbling, his head pounding and his nose. God it was unrelenting. The deseprate need for release built through his sinuses once more but he didn’t stop, didn’t slow down.

He let the sneeze build through him. The sneezes they'd given him. The sneezes he'd breathed in.

The need rose through him. Like water in a jug. Bubbling, bubbling up until he– he….

“yIiHH'tSshiew! Ih'Pt’’ISHH’IEW!” they snarled out of him fiercely.

Nathan’s fingers slipped from their task but they soon resumed. He didn’t bother trying to wipe the mess from his face. It didn’t matter now. None of that mattered now.

He just needed to…needed to…

“HHA’’HUH–TSXCHuchh!”

With roaring electricity he came right as the sneeze exploded out of him. Nathan was bucked forward in rolls of pleasure, desperately stuffing the back of a hand in his mouth to stop himself from crying out.

His breaths came fast and staccato, eyes shut, gasping from the white-hot pleasure shooting from every nerve.

It took him a few minutes before his breathing pace returned to normal. Sweat sprouted from every inch of his fevered skin. And he was cold and unstable and his nose hurt even worse from the congestion swelling in his sinuses.

But fuck it had been more than worth it. 

And as he stumbled back to bed, exhausted but satisfied, he wondered for how much longer the colds of three people would continue to dominate his body.

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...?

Downfall

“No fuckin’ way you’re sick again.”

Elijah rolled his eyes from behind a tissue and flipped Greyson off. “I don’t wandt to talk about it,” he said, collapsing into his rolling chair next to the chef and blowing his nose. “hhGTSHH-uhh! Snfr. And also,” Elijah tossed the tissue in the trashcan and looked pointedly at Greyson. “You stay the fugck away from mbe.”

Greyson recoiled and barked out a shocked chuckle. “Stay the fuck away from you? What, did you have a dream I tried to stab you or something?” He shuffled through their shared cabinet of medicines and plopped the dayquil and ibuprofen in front of his boss. “Or do you think I gave you this, your fourth cold in less than three months? Because I,” Greyson placed a hand on his own chest languidly, “have an amazing immune system.”

“Oh Jesus fuckigg Christ,” Elijah groaned, snapping open the bottle of dayquil and chugging.

“Well, congrats, Grey. You just fucked yourse – hhINGSTZUE! Snf. Yourself.” Elijah pulled more tissues from the box on their shared desk and blew his nose again while Greyson laughed.

“You’re so goddamn dramatic,” Greyson said, sitting back in his chair and watching his boss try to collect himself. “I would’ve loved to have met you in middle school.”

“Fuck off,” Elijah said, pressing his fingers deep into his aching eye sockets. Greyson, taking pity on him, pushed the ibuprofen towards the GM. “Thangks,” Elijah said, taking a few with a sip of an old water cup sitting next to the computer. He turned back to Greyson, his look no longer one of bemusement. “I’mb serious, though. Dond’t combe any closer than where you’re at right now.”

“I wish you were less cryptic sometimes. It’s like working with a troll that guards a bridge and won’t speak to you clearly unless you solve his riddles three.”

Elijah sighed and unzipped his jacket. “Grey, we have that wedding this weekend.”

“And?” Greyson asked holding his hands palms-up, expectant.

“And,” Elijah said, turning to cough into his sleeve, away from Greyson. “Mbatt cannot handle a fifty-persond, special mendu wedding on his own, Grey. He’s great, but he isn’t ready for that.” Elijah gave Greyson a look as if to say ‘are you getting it now?’, but Greyson was still bald-faced. Elijah sighed again.

“If you get sigck, we’re fucked,” he stated simply. “So you have to stay away fromb – hhNGSTH-ue! GTSH! Hhuuh...huhIGSTZHUE!” Elijah crumpled towards the wall to sneeze into his sleeve. He felt Greyson push the tissue box over to his side of the desk, and held out the hand not currently tending to his nose to stop the chef.

“Alright, alright, relax,” Greyson said, sitting back in his chair while Elijah pulled some tissues out and cleaned himself up. When he sat back up, he gave Greyson a watery glare.

“I’ll relax whend this week is over,” Elijah growled. “For ndow, just stay away. Okay? You cand help mbe out by leaving mbe alone and ndot getting sick. It’s our first wedding ever, Greyson, and I really wandt us to be able to do mbore. So it has to be perfect.”

“I’m sure the people getting married would describe ‘perfect wedding’ as ‘general manager of restaurant we’re getting married at sneezes through the ceremony’,” Greyson teased, standing and putting on his chef’s coat over his t-shirt. Elijah flipped the chef off, noncommittal.

“It’s only Mbonday,” Elijah said. “I’ll be good by Saturday.” He gave Greyson another very pointed look before the chef walked into the kitchen to begin the day’s prep. “You better be, too.”

“Oh, please, boss,” Greyson said, strolling out of the office and towards the prep table. “Like I said; my immune system is incredible.”

***

9:13AM

mornin, boss. just checking to make sure ur among the living.

10:42AM

hellooooo, lij, u good?

11:24AM

where r u??????

Greyson looked down at his phone for the tenth time in as many minutes; Elijah had read his texts, but hadn’t answered any of them. He tapped his foot impatiently and stared at the computer screen until he heard the ding of a new text.

11:36AM

Not coming in today. Sleeping off this plague so I’m 100% for the weekend. Did you need something from me?

The chef raised an eyebrow at his phone before typing out a response.

11:37AM

oh! k, nope im all good. feel better, if u need i can drop some soup or smthn off to u??

11:38AM

I’m alright. Thx. Text me if the numbers jump up, I’ll come in for service for anything over 100 covers.

Greyson clicked his phone off without responding; he wouldn’t text Elijah even if the covers jumped to eight million. If that man was taking a sick day, he obviously needed it.

Although he was surprised, Greyson couldn’t say he didn’t think his boss needed this sick day; Elijah had basically huddled in the office all day yesterday, only to be roused for the rush around 7PM. After an hour or so of table touching, he’d retreated back to his chair to cough and sneeze in peace.

“Christ, boss, where the hell did you pick this shit up?” Greyson had asked around 8 when he’d come into the office to do some paperwork post-rush. He’d leaned towards the GM to place a hand on his pale face, only to be rudely waved off.

“Dond’t touch mbe,” Elijah had croaked. “I’mb ndot risking you getting sick.”

Greyson had rolled his eyes. “Lij, please,” he said, “I haven’t caught any of your other thirty colds you’ve had this year, why would this be THE ONE?”

Elijah just shook his head, clearly too exhausted to answer. “Just trust mbe,” he said. “We ndeed you to be here for this wedding. I cand barely stand, Grey,” Elijah said; a rare moment of vulnerability. “Just give mbe the peace of mbind of you staying healthy.”

The chef sighed through his nose and took a step back. “Alright, boss,” he said, putting his hands up in defeat. “I won’t touch you. Just…I mean, just like, stay there. I’ll drive you home as soon as the guys are done cleaning.”

And that was exactly what he did. At ten, Greyson was waving to Elijah as the ill man trudged up the steps to his building, wondering how the hell he was going to make it all the way to the twentieth floor. By midnight, Elijah had stopped responding to his texts making sure he was alive, and now here he was, wondering who the hell this creature that slept in and took sick days was, and what it had done with his boss.

Greyson shoved his phone into his pocket and headed back into the kitchen. To his shock, Mark was standing at the prep table, obviously looking for him.

“The hell are you doing in my kitchen?” Greyson joked, clapping a hand on Mark’s back. The other man didn’t move, so Greyson walked around to face him. “Helloooo, earth to Mar -”

“HNGSTZHUE!” Mark, obviously unprepared for Greyson’s appearance, didn’t have time to raise his elbow all the way to his face. Greyson winced and attempted to step back, but the deed was done; he lifted a hand to his face and wiped the floor manager’s sneeze from his eyebrow.

“Oh shidt, Greysond, Chef, I’mb so sor – hh’TSHHzue! HhNGSTTZUE!” Mark managed to cover those with his sleeve, along with a crackling cough that went on entirely too long for anyone’s comfort.

“Yikes,” Greyson said, leading the floor manager into his office and easing him into Elijah’s chair. “Elijah got you good, man,” he joked, handing Mark the nearly-depleted box of tissues Elijah had left on the desk yesterday. Mark took one and held it in his hand, looking at Greyson miserably.

“I’mb so sorry Greyson, I didn’t mbean to sndeeze on you, Christ Elijah’s going to kill mbe,” Mark said, swiping the tissue under his nose and sniffling. Greyson chuckled at the younger man.

“I hope you mean you’re going to kill him for getting you sick,” he said, opening the medicine drawer for Mark’s perusal. Mark shook his head, not even bothering to look at the medicine.

“Ndo,” he said. “He’s beend like completely nuts about you ndot getting this… whatever, before the wedding. That’s why he isn’t here, he texted mbe this morning and asked if I could handle the floor on my own. He said he’s afraid he’s going to cough on you or something and the whole wedding will be ruined.” Mark looked up then, devastated. “But ndow it’s for ndothing, because I’m the one who’s going to get you sick.”  

Greyson slowly raised an eyebrow at Mark, then placed a kind hand on his knee. “Mark,” he said, “I say this with all the love in my heart: Elijah is a weirdo. He gets an idea in his head that something bad is going to happen and then it becomes inevitable in his mind. Trust me when I say that I have a great immune system, and I’m going to be fine. Okay?”

Mark nodded miserably and Greyson patted his knee again. “Good man,” he said. “Now, the real question is did you tell Elijah that you’re also sick as a dog?” Mark gave the chef an apologetic look, which Greyson knew meant no. Greyson pulled a hand down his face and sighed.

“Okay,” he said, digging through the medicine drawer. “Well. Take some of whatever strikes your fancy in here. I’m going to go have the hostess close the books for the night.”

Mark nodded, obviously exhausted. Greyson stopped himself halfway out the door to turn to the floor manager again. “And, uh...let’s not mention this to Elijah.”

Mark attempted a laugh. “Sure thing, Chef,” he said, swigging some dayquil. “We’re definitely ond the sambe page there.”

***

By ten PM, Greyson was more ready for a drink than anyone in the history of the world.

“Mark, go home!” he yelled through the kitchen doors when he heard the manager succumb to yet another coughing fit. “I’ll finish the damn paperwork, just gooooo.”

Mark slunk through the kitchen doors, shivering and sniffling, and barely acknowledged Greyson when he grabbed his coat and headed for the back doors.

“And don’t you fuckin’ dare come in tomorrow!” Greyson called as Mark gave a weak little wave goodbye behind his head. “I’ll tell Elijah you’re one foot in the grave.” Mark gave a thumbs up without looking back and pushed through the back doors, so only Greyson and his sous chef remained.

“Christ, he sounds like shit,” Greyson murmured, pulling a hand down his face. He turned to Matt, who was seated in Elijah’s chair looking through the schedule on the computer. “How’re you holding up?”

“Mmm, fine, Chef,” Matt said, scrolling through the document. Greyson could’ve been hearing things, but he swore Matt gave a liquid little sniffle afterward. He whipped his head towards his sous, eyes crazed.

“No,” he said, vehement. “Absolutely the fuck not.”

“It’s ndothing, Chef,” Matt said, still not looking away from the computer. Greyson audibly groaned and put both hands over his eyes, a weak attempt to escape the hell that was the pestilence Elijah had bestowed upon them all.

“Fuck, Matt,” Greyson muttered, sitting back up. “Okay, you go home. Now. I’ll finish your shit, too.”

“I’mb okay, Chef, really,” Matt said, pawing at his nose in an attempt to clear it. “I promi – ITSZH-ue!”

“Matt, oh my God, go,” Greyson said, exasperated. Matt flinched and nodded, logging off the computer and grabbing his jacket.

“I’ll be good by tomorrow, boss, I prombise,” Matt said, stifling a painful-sounding cough into his fist. Greyson gave him a look with eyes so wide that one started to twitch. Matt held up his hands and backed off. “Sorry,” he said.

“Matt, full offense, if you don’t get the hell out of this restaurant in the next three seconds, I’m going to drop kick you,” Greyson said, pointing towards the back door. “Go.”

Finally, Matt did as he was told and slipped out the back door, leaving Greyson to put his heavy head in his hands. Only one thing left to do.

Greyson picked up his cell phone from the desk and dialed his most-dialed contact.

“HrrRESSHHhoo!!” He remains mostly bent at the waist, shoulders swelling slightly upward on an inhale until he shivers into the makeshift tissues again with a desperate “EhyyYIISSHH-uhh—“ that’s still only two-thirds satisfactory.

His voice rises an entire octave: “Heh?YEIHHhoo!!”

He was sat up in bed, stubbornly refusing to lay down before he’d even had his tea. It was only day one for Christ’s sake. He refused to be bed-ridden already. But god he was tired. A weariness that rattled through his bones and hung around his brow bone. 

His nose twitched, up and up, then sank down slowly. It hitched again, squelching. Nathan’s vision went hazy as the urge to sneeze once again took his senses hostage. His breath scissored laboriously. Such a production. Not only were his sneezes wetter and more all-consuming than his usual sneezes but they had a ridiculously long build-up.

Usually he was a one-and-done man. But this cold had other ideas.

He’d sit there in agonising limbo, chest rising up and up as he lost focus of anything else he might be trying to do. Utterly focused on the itch that laced its way up and down his nostrils, catching on the hairs, rising upwards with every inhale.

“H–UHHH….ehhhh” He gasped, letting his mouth slip open.

The book he had been attempting to read slipped from his fingers, dropping to the mattress below.

Still his breath snagged and hitched, the sound growing louder and louder. 

“H–Aaaahh…HUH-UHH—”

Now that he wasn’t inhaling strategically too, his nose was running badly- a slow ooze determined to make it to his lips. A tear sprouted at the corner of his eye, irritated from the pressure building in his inflamed sinuses.

“H-UHH-uhh…H’EH!”

Fucks sake. He just needed to sneeze. The need for relief swelled through him. He’d do almost anything to be rid of the sensation coursing through him. 

He could try a twisted up tissue. That sometimes worked for him at home when he wanted to make himself sneeze for…other reasons. But what about the people watching him? Would they think he was some freak for doing that?

That’s why he hadn’t wanked off before, though he’d desperately wanted to. The idea of the speakers picking up his stifled moans timed right after a particularly drenching sneeze had been too mortifying. 

“HUU–uhh-Huh–Ehh…..Fu-Uhhhck– P-please.” he whispered to himself, still stuck in an overwhelming call for release. His chest was shivering, nose heaving with the mess filling it.

Fuck it. He had no other choice.

Through the bleary gaze of a cracked open eye, Nathan fumbled for the tissue box. He was almost through his first one of two. Not great as he wasn’t sure if passing him another one would jeopardise the experiment. 

He snagged a tissue and began rolling it in his fingers, shaky and messy as the need to sneeze kept making him tip his head back and squeeze his eyes shut involuntarily.

Finally, the tip of the tissue sufficiently chiseled, he inserted it into his left nostril.

One, two turns. The effect was almost instant.

“H-uhhh’’AESHEIW…HUH-huhH- ET’SCHIEWW…HAH’HEHDTS’shuh….H’ETCH-uhhh!”

They blasted out of him without restraint, tipping him forward into his lap. The mess shot of him- splattering his book, his covers, his t-shirt. God there was so much. But fuck that had felt so good.

He sat there panting for a moment, head swimming from the force of them. Before he slowly sat up. The mess that had been hanging forward snapped onto his face, trailing well below his chin. Ughh.

Exhaustedly, he snatched the remaining tissues from his box and scooped up the moisture spread across his face. He blew thickly, grimacing as it filled the tissue beyond any use. Shit, he was gonna have to open up that second box.

One hand clutching the well-soiled, soggy mess still clutched to his face, he reached for the next box. Fresh tissues retrieved, he stuffed the ruined ones inside and got to work cleaning the rest of himself up.

Blinking slowly, he shifted back in the bed, exhaling through his mouth. Already his nostrils were full again. This cold really was no joke.

“Bless you, Nathan.”

The voice of the doctor from earlier came crackling through the speaker.

Embarrassment instantly flooded through him. They’d probably never seen someone make such a mess of themselves. Was it supposed to be like this? Had they infected him with some sort of super-soaker cold?

“Err, thadkgs.” He croaked back, voice utterly shot.

To make matters worse, the combination of the sneeziest, messiest bug he’d ever had plus the humiliation of being watched as it took merciless liberties on him, had him steadily growing hard again beneath the covers. His balls were beginning to ache. It was getting to the point he was gonna have to throw his hands to the wind and take care of things, no matter who was listening.

“I’m going to conduct the evening examination now, Nathan.”

Shit. What time was it? Had it reached five already?

Sure enough, the clock on his bedside table read 5pm. Great. Even worse, the need to sneeze was once again building its way through him. It was like the tide, sweeping in and out, tickling against the sand. Slow at first and then suddenly you realised it was High Tide and you had no way of getting back to shore.

The door creaked open. In walked the scientist, freshly cleaned Hazmat suit covering her every inch.

“How are you feeling, Nathan?” she said brightly, taking a seat on his bed.

He cleared throat, pushing his glasses up, “Dnot great, I’ll be honest.”

“Could you describe your symptoms for me?”

“Yeh, I uhh–HUHH, h-hold on.”

“Go ahead,” she said gently.

“AHH’HUUH-tschuhh!” He sneezed into his bare, cupped hands. Realising after the warm mess blasted into them that this was probably a poor choice.

“Umbb, sorry,” he stammered, trying to be as subtle as he could as he wiped his hands on the bundle of used tissues beside him.

“No need to apologise. You were saying?” she prompted.

“Right. I guess umm, I’m completely stuffed up, tired, achy, headachey a-aH….and I’m c-constantly nee-HHUHH…. Needing to—EHHHH—-hh’EHHH-HDSSGT’chuh!”

This time he hadn’t been so quick with his hands and he raised a wrist haphazardly as the sneeze was already halfway out of him. The glow of the evening sun caught on the heavy droplets as they misted the air. 

He snorted thickly, face flushing with embarrassment, “Is this…normal… for this cold? I feel like it’s come on fast.”

The scientist hesitated, pen pausing in her notetaking.

“To be honest with you Nathan, we wouldn’t expect this frequency of symptoms until at least day two. We’re currently working to understand why in your case it seems to have hit you especially hard. Oh, bless you.”

Nathan broke off to sneeze again. This time into a tissue cupped across his face. This cold truly seemed insatiable.

The scientist continued, “It could be that your immune system is functioning less effectively, but we did conduct significant research into your immuno-history before this experiment….We may also have exposed you to a greater quantity of viral particles.”

“Oh, okay.”

She smiled at him, “Rest assured, we will keep you updated. Now, today’s examination is going to be a little different, an experiment around your sneezing.”

Brilliant.

“Umm okay, what do you need me to do?” Nathan said, sniffling against a knuckled finger. His nose was starting to get raw from him constantly needing to fuss at it.

“We’re going to test your ability to stifle a sneeze. Previous participants have found that the particular strain we have infected you with makes this especially challenging to do so.”

Nathan thought about the drenching, overwhelming nature of his current sneezes, so uncharacteristic from his usual, unnoteworthy things.

“Right.”

The scientist reached into her pocket, a long, thin utensil was drawn out

“I’m going to insert this implement into your nostril to simulate a response. Then I would like you to do your best to stifle the resulting sneeze for me, okay? We will do 2 rounds of this on both nostrils. Any questions?”

Seemed straightforward enough. In principle. In reality though, Nathan’s nose was already buzzing with a heady desire for release. Trapping all that congestion and need inside?...Could he do it?

But no, he wanted to prove to her that he wasn’t some fucking mess. She’d seen all of his disgusting displays throughout the day. He was gonna show her that he was better at this bit than anyone else.

“I understand,” he said.

“Excellent, let’s begin.”

The scientist shifted closer, the fine implement grasped between her thickly gloved fingers. Nathan’s nose was running, he needed to blow it, but her hand was already raising to his face and it didn’t feel like the right time.

There was a distant warning buzzing at the back of his sinuses- taunting, daring. 

“I’m going to insert it into your left nostril now.” she said, reaching upwards.

As soon as the feathery, cool material hit the inside of his inflamed nasal passageway, Nathan knew he was done for. The tickle was unbearable. His nose twitched upwards aggressively, as if trying to escape the thing twirling in small motions inside of him.

His chest hitched violently, the scientist's hazmat suit fading into a swirl of yellow as his vision blurred. 

Fuck he needed to….he was gonna—

“HU—EHHH–hhh…  HAAHH!!”

Stifle. He needed to stifle. But the urge to sneeze swelled inside him like a tidal wave. It smashed against the barriers, begging to push through.

Then with a tantalising swivel, the implement was drawn out of his nose, scraping against the hairs as it went.

“HHUU–uhh’ETTTGNNxx–uhh!” Nathan managed to stifle, but just barely, gritting his teeth together with the effort. His cold was not happy, the congestion flooded his nostrils like tar, there was nothing he could do to keep it inside. 

“H-hold on.” he gasped, shielding his wrecked face as he fumbled for a tissue.

He blew his nose, a miserable, gushing sound, followed by a loud snort as he turned to face her again.

She was scribbling something onto the clipboard.

“Okay, on to the next one.” she said, reaching back out again. 

In it went, almost illegally teasing against the sensitive skin of his nostrils. His nose was unhappy, it buzzed and quivered with a need to release its contents. And he wanted to, God, he wanted to. 

The sensation built and built, climbing towards its peak. Before suddenly, as the implement was removed once more, rushing over the edge.

“HUUH-HA’’’AETGNXX!” Again, against the odds, he forced the powerful sensation into a stifle, the force of it shaking his body. His nose ached, his head pounding from the pressure. Wet congestion was seeping against the hands pressed to his face.

He’d managed two stifles. Nathan sincerely doubted he had another one in him.

The scientist was so completely clinical about a procedure which, for Nathan, was something out of a wet dream fantasy. Somehow her strict professionalism made the experience even more arousing. 

2 more to go. He wasn’t sure if he’d make it.

“Are you ready for the other nostril?” she asked politely.

“Y-yes.”

Again it slipped inside, pushing through the snot filling his nose to tickle against the sensitive skin. The need to sneeze was loud and angry now, pulsing across his sinuses, making his eyes roll back in his head.

HE–HHU-uhEEhh….”

His breath shivered, desperate, hitching moans slipping between his parted lips.

He needed to stifle but he couldn’t. He….He……

“I’m…gonn-AHH’ HUH’uhEEIISSSCHOO!!” The sneeze came hurtling out of him before she’d even had time to remove her hand. The contents of his nose were blasted on to her gloved hand, no doubt warm even through the plastic.

He panted from the aftermath, eyes flicking up to hers slowly, grimacing when he saw what he’d done.

“Ughh… sorry, I tried…”

“That’s quite alright, Nathan. I’m intentionally making you sneeze, it’s perfectly normal to do so.”

He swallowed thickly, rubbing his nose into the shoulder of his shirt to wipe away the excess moisture.

“Yeh, okay.”

“One last time.” she said cheerily, reaching forwards again.

His nose was angry from all the irritation, from the itchy, terrible cold flooding through him and now this external simulation. Nathan had a terrible sinking feeling that it wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer. The dam was going to break.

“H—IIHH–HUHHH…” he gasped once more, loud and needy, as the tool once again wiggled inside him. He’d completely given up on stifling, it was impossible. All he needed, all he could think about was the desire to get every last droplet of this cold out of his system.

His nose was more than happy to oblige.

With one final twizzle of the feather-light tool, the need surged up through him and plunged over the dam.

“H’’’AHTIISSHH’’CHUH….H–EHH…EH’TTIISHIEWWW…H’HAPTTtISS’’’SHOO!!” The sneezes flew out of him, powerful and merciless. Drenching the fabric of his t-shirt, shooting up beyond the gloves of the scientist to her yellow sleeves. What the hell was this cold? He’d never had something take over him so completely.

Nathan shook his head to try and clear the lingering, itchy sensation. His cheeks flamed from his miserable display. So much for showing he was better- his germ-infested mess was fucking everywhere.

“Jesus…snddff… I’m sorry.” He choked out, reaching for a tissue to hide his face behind. He blew deeply, the sound ringing out in the silent room for a good few seconds. 

The scientist’s hand was on his knee. Fuck, she probably thought he was such a loser. I mean, who loses control of themselves like that?

“Nathan,” she said gently, “I understand this is certainly an uncomfortable situation for you, but there’s absolutely nothing to be sorry for. You’re doing great.”

Shit. Well that went directly to his dick.

“Uhh, okay, thanks. I guess I’ve never been sick like this before.”

She frowned, “We’ll keep looking into that, some strands are just more potent for some people but this does some rather pronounced.”

“Ssnndgggff…guhh… yeh.”

She rose from the bed slowly, “Alright then, thank you for your help today. It’s been very insightful. Get some rest.”

“Okay.”

He watched as she slipped from the room, cursing himself as he realised he forgot to ask for another box of tissues. After that little performance he’d already made a significant dent into the second box.

And it was only day 1, he kept reminding himself. Did that mean this thing was going to get worse?

As he lay there, thinking about the germs working through his system, the urge for release that hung around his nose no matter what he did, the soft, praising way the scientist spoke to him…Fuck it.

“Just through here, Mr Daniels.”

Nathan exhaled nervously, following the scientist into a small room. It was like a uni dorm, with a bed, a desk and an en-suite. There was a window, but no way to open it. And on the ceiling was a large vent, whirring fresh air inside.

“This is where you will be staying for the duration of the experiment,” the lady explained, “The air is currently fresh but after letting you get settled, we’ll inform you of when that changes.”

Nathan nodded.

She glanced over her clipboard. “Just to clarify, you do consent to remain in this room for this experiment, once we commence you will be unable to leave unless you use your right to withdraw.”

“Understood.”

“And,” she continued, “The intention of this experiment is to see how easily you are infected by an air-borne rhinovirus.”

She gestured to the vent above them, “As explained before, the air source of this vent will change- connecting you to a room housing an individual at the prime contagious stages of a rhinovirus. The air entering this room will therefore be filled with viral particles. You will be monitored each day to see if you get infected, how long it takes symptoms to manifest and how severe they are. Do you consent to likely being infected?”

Nathan swallowed, a ripple of electric shooting down from his stomach. He pictured the particles floating in through the vent, filling his lungs with nothing he could do about it.