#tw mess

Having spoken of the devil, so he appears, strolling down the paved path in a garishly yellow shirt, matching yellow hair tie and ribbon trimming his braid. His fingers, long and thin and graceful, are adorned in yellow polish, a motif of the sun in the middle of each. Avoiding being seen with him is not going to be possible--everyone must have seen him coming in, and now he's walked right up to him.

"This is your idea of subtlety?" He dodges the hand that reaches to hold his, his volume kept low. "Take the ribbon out, at the very least."

"What, this is a new shirt? You said to dress nicely, and this was the nicest one I have--I got it just for this!" He's an open book, whether he wants to be or not--everything about him is written in black and white and cheerful yellow, from the length of his hair to the little sashay to his steps. He can't escape notice, not for who he is nor what he is, but he begrudgingly unties the ribbon and stuffs it into his pocket. "There, is that what you wanted?"

It's not, but he's not about to ruin this date by arguing any further, so he lets it be with a calm smile. "Come on, let's take a walk. It's crowded here."

Elliott scuffs the toe of his boot against the pavement, arms crossed over his chest in irritation. "I don't get why you brought me out here if you don't even wanna hold my hand. We could've done this at your apartment instead, or we could find a nice spot under a bridge where no one'll see you with me."

"Elliott..."

"I just--are you embarrassed? Is it 'cause you think I'm not good enough?" His voice is rising just like his volume, and a couple nearby pointedly avoids looking at them so conspicuously he knows they're listening.

"Walk with me and we'll talk." He smooths the dark waves back with his hand, feeling the way they catch against his watch and the button on his sleeve like a warning--or, perhaps, as a reminder that he hasn't slept since yesterday morning and hasn't even had the chance to get a real shower, just what he could do in a minute in the sink and then bolt back out the door.

He's known Elliott to be many things in the six months they've been dating, and he's thankful that while "overdramatic" is one of them, "forgiving" overtakes it in the hierarchy of traits that compose him. He settles soon enough, likely thanks in part to the light breeze that picks up while they walk. It carries something with it, sweet and fragrant, and he spots the source at the opposite end of the path from them.

Some local gardening club, or a volunteer organization, or something of the like set up a project to "beautify unused spaces" around the city, and the end of the park (butting up against an ugly, vacant lot) was one of the sites they'd chosen. He'd been dismissive when they'd first announced it--truthfully, he barely even remembered the announcement--but seeing it blooming might have changed his mind.

And, more importantly than any of that, it looks private and secluded. "You like gardening, right? Let's go check out what they've started over there."

"Oh, it's beautiful! Corben, we've got to go look at them--look at how big they are! They're so colorful? Come on, come on!" He takes him by the wrist and practically drags him along, chatting animatedly about what type they might be, and whether or not they're abnormally tall for their species, or if they're likely to come back next year or are just here for the splash of a season and will die out again after that.

Truthfully, he isn't listening that closely. None of it means anything to him, but it makes him happy, so he's content to just listen to him ramble about things. If he wants to spend their date explaining the intricacies of whatever methods were used to produce the blooms in front of them, then that's fine by him.

He swipes a gentle knuckle at his eyes before tilting one flower to show its face. "So this guy here--I don't know if you can see him that well--is a clematis, and they love to grow and vine up things. I've got one trellised on the side of the driveway right now, but it's not near as pretty as this one. Look at all the buds! It's going to go crazy here soon."

Strolling with him, watching how absolutely animated he gets when he talks about them, pointing at each as they make their way from plot to plot, bed to bed, is a treat. It's so nice to see him smile, to see him touching the blossoms and pointing out different features they have--this one's petals, and this one's thorns, and that this one is deer resistant, and this one is drought hardy; he loves seeing him actually excited about something and truly enjoying himself.

"...and then these ones are dahlias, and they--th-they-? heSSHhue! eTSShyue!" It seems to have caught them both off guard, because he barely gets his hands up in time to catch the pair of them.

"Bless you!"

His eyes are wide in surprise as he lowers his hands and sheepishly wipes them on his pants. "Thank you! Sorry, I--snf!--might be a little chilly? It is kind of breezy today..."

"Is that your subtle way of asking for my jacket?"

"Well, if a very handsome man wanted to offer me his jacket, who would I be to refuse?"

He bats his lashes, and he can't help but notice that they look kind of red. It isn't terribly noticeable, nor is it obtrusive in his features, but he can't un-notice it now that he's seen it, nor can he stop himself from noticing that his nose is a soft shade of pink and a little damp at the nostrils. It could just be the chill--after all, it's got a breeze, and they're shaded by the maples and cedars, but he can't help but worry that he may be coming down with something.

Yet again.

The jacket slipped off his shoulders doesn't even get the chance to make it to Elliott's before he gasps and twists aside, sneezing openly towards the ground before he can get his elbow up to cover the rest of them. "hiH-! iISSHhyuue! hiH'ITSShhieww! 'TSshhue! iISSHHhyuuee!"

"Jesus, Elliott, bless you! You're not sick again, are you?"

"No, I--snF!--I don't feel sick? I'm just--snfff!--I'm so sniffly?" He scrubs hard at his nose, irritation and itchiness evident in the action. "I don't think I'm sick." He reiterates, unconvincingly, as he rubs hard and blushes the skin a shade of pink. "But this is--I mean, something is definitely bothering my nose."

"And your eyes?"

He looks up in surprise. "Yeah, how did--?"

"I can see it." He gestures vaguely to his own eyes for emphasis. "They're red and look itchy."

"They are." His nose is running, and he keeps sniffling like he's losing the battle against it. "I think--IthinkI'mgoingtosneeze-?" He trails off into a desperate gasp, but it doesn't amount to anything this time, save for another rough scrub at his nose--though this does end up with a grimace at the sheen of moisture left behind. He awkwardly wipes it on his pants. "That's gross, I'm sorry."

"Well, if it's not a cold, then your allergies?"

"No, these--sNF!--dahlias are designed not to do that, they're formal doubles, and there's--snffFF!--really not much else here that'd be doing anything." It's getting more evident while they continue standing here that he's going to keep getting worse. The sniffles are growing wetter and more frequent, even as he tries to protest that it's fine and it's nothing and it probably isn't even allergies but definitely isn't a cold.

He glances around, at the fine layer of pollen on the ground around them, then turns his gaze skyward. "Fine, it's not the flowers. What about the trees?"

"The trees?"

"Yeah, it could be the trees. Cedars and maples and others all pollinate this time of year. The other guys at work are starting to feel it this last week, and I got a note when I checked the weather this morning that tree pollen was 'very high'."

"eIISSHHhue!"

"That's about what I thought."

"yiISSHH'ue!"

"Okay, come on, we've gotta get you somewhere else." He takes Elliott by the wrist, pulling him out of the little garden and out to somewhere with a little more room to breathe. Moving him towards a bench is a process when he keeps having to stop to sneeze, but he finally manages to corral him far enough that he's able to sit.

"This--hH!--sucks."

"You'll be fine." Hopefully. He looks atrocious right now. Red and itchy and teary, his nose running desperately and matched by dark streaks across his cheeks from what he can only assume is mascara; he looks like he's been weeping, which is not really the look he'd like to be going for right now.

He doesn't want to look like he's with him, but he especially doesn't want to look like he's with a man who's been sobbing horribly. It hardly escapes attention, especially when he cannot stop sneezing like this. He's making a mess of things, himself especially.

"I'm--I'm s--hH--sorry-!"

"Elliott, don't--"

"hH--!? hiISSHHh'yue! iISSHhieeww! hiITSSHHhhue! Do you--iTSHhue!--have any--eISSHHhyue!--tissues? hH! huH--!? huUSSHHhieww! Oh my God, excuse me--"

He snaps down with it, his bright shirt darkened by the droplets of moisture across it. His inner elbows are nothing but damp patches, and at some point he's given up on trying to use them to cover, the front of his shirt speckled by the fit that doesn't seem to really be slowing down much.

"I don't have any tissues or napkins, but I can go get something--?"

"eEIISSHHhuuee!"

"Jesus Christ, do I need to drive you home?"

"No, I'm--h-hh...hiISshhyue! iISshhieww! It's not far--"

Well, at least it seems like it's slowing down somewhat. Not entirely, but he supposes he'll take what he can get. Distancing themselves from being directly beneath the trees looks like it was the right call, but he doubts the damage is going to be reversed so easily as just to take a stroll a bit away. "Elliott, take your shirt off."

"But--"

"Take your shirt off. Use it like a tissue, I don't fucking care if it's gross, and put my coat on. We'll get you some Benadryl and I'll take you back to the apartment so you can take care of this."

"I'm sorry t--hh!--to ruin our--eESshhyue!--ruin our date...I didn't think this was going to--snfFF!--be a problem!"

"It's fine." He averts his eyes as soon as Elliott peels his shirt off, and cringes at the sound of him blowing his nose, the sound so desperate and liquid that he can only imagine how badly he's been sniffling and trying to keep everything at bay. "Bless you."

"Thank you." He blushes, his consonants starting to dull from the allergic inflammation that's creeping into him now, but gratefully accepts the coat that's thrusted against his chest. "I think it's--sdf!--fine now, maybe..."

People are staring. He gets up abruptly, and walks across the field back towards his car as fast as he can while his heart hammers in his chest. Elliott scrambles behind him, catching up and keeping pace with his long strides as they make their way back towards the car.

"Whoa, I'm sorry I wasn't moving fast enough! Next time you can say something instead of taking off like a whippet after a stick!"

He's sure that Elliott just walked here--that's the whole reason they'd chosen this park, was it was close enough to where his boss lives that he was able to walk over here without having to try and borrow the car from him, which means he won't have to worry about bringing him back for a vehicle.

It isn't until they're sitting in the car, doors shut for privacy, that he releases the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "So I guess now we know we should check the pollen forecast before going out?"

"That's not fair. I wasn't--sdF!--really allergic to much back in Virginia!"

"Well, regardless of what you've got back east, you're definitely allergic to something on this coast. You look like you're going to die, and you sound like it, too." He doesn't comment, but it seems that a pattern may be emerging regarding his health in general.

"H-huh...uUSSHh'ue! 'SHhue! ...guh. Excuse me."

"You're going to have to deal with all of this until we can get to the apartment and you can get something to sort of...clean up." The man next to him is a tear-streaked, soggy mess that's still snuffling into a shirt that's been sacrificed for the greater good of not ruining his car. Getting it detailed because 'my boyfriend sneezed all over it' is something he doesn't wanna have to do.

"I'm almost done, I swear--snFFF!--it's just a little itchy still." He rubs hard at his eyes, the back of his wrist--perhaps the only part of his hands that he doesn't think he's seen him sneeze into so far today--grinding hard against them. They look red and gritty and uncomfortable, and it makes him feel bad to watch him like this.

"Elliott, you look like you're dying."

"It's not as bad as it looks. Like, a little Benadryl will have me feeling right as rain."

"You're going to sneeze to death. You're going to suffocate."

"iIDSSHhue! Hih'DZzhhyue! sdFF! It's fide--" His lashes flutter, his nose--red now from all of the attention it's been being paid throughout this--dripping and scrunching from side to side against the tickle that he can only imagine how badly has settled into him. He doesn't want to, it's clear in the way he hesitates, but he blows his nose into the fabric again, sodden and glistening in the afternoon sun.

"Elliott." Here, away from all the prying eyes of anyone else, he pauses; the hand on the gearshift drifts to take hold of his cheek, a thumb brushing away an itchy tear that's trailing down his skin. "Let's get you back to my place, and we'll get you showered and dosed up with something to get you feeling better."

Elliott leans into his touch like a pitiful dog, and he leans close to press a kiss to his temple. "Can you love me even though I'm gross?"

"I think I can."