grayskies2525

[grayskies2525]

A Year of Falling | Ben & Arlo | M/M | Chapter 13

Word Count: 7,100

Link to all parts: A Year of Falling

Chapter Thirteen: October — Eighth Cold of the Year First Flu of the Year (cont.)

“So... How’s Ben been?” Felix asks once Ben’s managed to stop sobbing and snotting all over him.

Ben Been. It’s nearly a twenty-three year long running joke between them and Ben’s eyes are starting to feel wet all over again. He still remembers little seven year-old Felix’s smile when Ben came back to school after being home for two days. “Where have you been, Ben?” — Felix asked, then laughed, repeating “Ben been” several times. From that moment, Felix seemed determined to use those two words together as much as possible.

Laughing weakly, he rubs at his sore eyes. “Ben’s been not so good lately.”

Felix gasps dramatically. “I never would have known if you hadn’t said anything.”

“Fuck off, Felix,” he says, but he’s smiling.

They both shift on the couch to create a little more space. Ben notices Felix looking around the apartment and has to hold back a wince.

“So… Is there any chance — like, any chance at all —  that the reason the lights in here wouldn’t turn on when I tried is because of a power outage? A power outage that, interestingly, seems to be affecting only your apartment?” 

Ben gives a small shake of his head.

Felix nods and smiles tightly. “Well, I brought pie.”

“What?”

“Pie, Ben. Apple pie. You’ve been an asshole for, like, the past thousand weeks and —”

“Thousand weeks?”

“ —And it’s the month whose name shall not be mentioned and I was with my mom and I told her all about how you were being a big baby and she —”

“She told you to make me pie?” Ben interrupts.

Laughing, Felix says “God, no. She said I needed to do something to make you feel better — not send you to the hospital by poisoning you. So, no. I didn’t make the pie. I did help her slice the apples, though, like the good son I am and —”

“Your mom made me pie?” Ben asks, the words actually starting to sink in.

Felix huffs out an exaggerated breath. “Not entirely. Like I said, I sliced the apples. And measured out the seasoning —”

“I think you’re supposed to say ‘spices.’”

Felix considers this. “Are spices not also seasoning?”

Ben feels inclined to pull out his phone to Google it, but he doesn’t have near enough strength for that task, and he also remembers his phone’s probably dead by now. So, he just shrugs.

Felix also shrugs. “Anyway, I knocked the cinnamon off into the floor and it all spilled out. Mom made me clean it while she finished the measurements herself. So technically, I really only did the apple thing. I told her that we should make pumpkin pie because everyone knows pumpkin is better, but —”

“HUH’IHdzschoooo! UH HE’dzchuuh!” Ben managed to catch the sneezes — wet, but not messy, though exceptionally painful — into the crook of his elbow.

Felix scoffs. “Hush. You’re so rude sometimes, Ben,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, pumpkin pie is better, but she kept talking about last Christmas and how you really went at that apple pie she made. Like, seriously, Ben, you ate what, 12 slices?”

Ben frowns. “I didn’t eat that much. And isn’t there only eight slices in —”

Waving him off, Felix says “— So apple pie is what we decided on. Honestly, I told her you’d be totally fine with a frozen Marie Callender’s, but you know how Mom is. She’s —”

“Wonderful?”

Felix opens his mouth, humor still dancing in his eyes, clearly about to make another joke. He must see something on Ben’s face, though, because his expression sobers. “Yeah. She is. I’m lucky to have her.”

Ben’s eyes sting again as he stares at the pie on the coffee table. “I’ve treated her son like shit and she makes me a pie. God,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Pretty sure she’d be happy if you just told her ‘thank you’.” 

He leans back, closing his eyes, and lets his aching head rest against the couch. Now that the surprise of Felix being in his apartment has worn off, his body is reminding him how sick he is. Had he been shivering the entire time he’s been talking? He wraps his arms tightly around himself.

He must doze off a little because when he opens his eyes, there’s a blanket over his lap that was not there before. He pulls it up and wraps it around himself, hoping it can help him shiver even just a little less violently.

“— and we had a pact, Ben. We all agreed. And now here you are sick as can possibly be again and —”

Ben forces his tired eyes to open. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks, weakly.

“Flu shots, Ben!” Felix sounds more exasperated than Ben, personally, feels is warranted. “After the flu that nearly killed you, me, and Connor.  You got pneumonia! Guess who hasn’t had the flu since?” Felix says, pointing a finger at himself. “Do you know why?”

He rubs his temples. “Because even flu germs think you’re too goddamn loud?”

Felix huffs. “Because I got the flu shot. Like you should have.”

“It’s October. I didn’t think you could even get one until, like, December,” Ben mutters through chattering teeth. 

Blinking hard several times, Felix shakes his head as though Ben’s words were too stupid to even begin to process. “September. I got mine in September. I texted you to get yours, but of course, you didn’t respond.”

He grimaces as his head starts to pound harder. He rubs his temples again.

“Do you want a slice of pie?” Felix asks, his voice softer — and lower —  than before. “I can heat up a slice if you want.”

Ben snorts in amusement, then sneezes into his elbow — hh’dtzshooo! — before saying “No, Felix, you can’t do that, actually.”

Felix’s brows furrow. “Why — oh. Right. No electricity. Well, that’s okay. I mean, cold pie is still pie.”

“I don’t know if I can eat,” Ben admits.

“Okay, well I’ll save you the trouble of trying to figure it out. You can eat and you will. So, that’s settled. I’ll go get a plate,” Felix decides, standing up from the couch.

Ben closes his eyes and slumps down farther into the couch before he launches into another fit of wet coughs that feel like they’re ripping his sore throat apart. 

After the fit settles, he keeps his eyes closed and listens to the background noise of Felix rummaging through his cabinets as he talks to himself. “Two plates. He has two plates, and of course they’re both dirty.” Ben can practically see Felix shaking his head in disappointment. Ben smiles, listening to the water running as Felix washes the dishes.

The next time he opens his eyes, he sees a plate with apple pie sitting on his lap. Felix is next to him on the sofa with his own plate. 

“Eat,” Felix demands. “Oh and there’s Tylenol on the plate, too. Take those for your fever.”

He takes the pills with the water Felix also brought, forcing them down his sore throat. The pie, though….

“Felix, thanks, but I don’t think I’m hungry,” he says, leaning forward to set the pie on the coffee table.

“That’s probably just because of your fever. When’s the last time you ate?”

Having already been through this line of questioning today with no definitive answer, Ben shrugs.

Felix stares at him, all traces of previous humor and lightheartedness gone. “I don’t think you know how much I worry about you.”

“I’m fine,” Ben says — the response entirely automatic.

Felix raises a brow. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks and you all but forced me to break into your apartment —”

“You have a key,” Ben mutters.

“— And when I do come in, I find you lying here in the cold and dark because your electricity's been turned off. And then I hear you mumbling something about your dad. And the next thing I know, you’re sobbing uncontrollably into my shoulder for ten minutes. Oh, and you’re also hacking up your lungs and running a fever.” He sighs heavily. “Pretend time is officially over.”

Ben stares down at his lap, blinking hard. “If I eat the pie, can we pretend for just a little while longer?”

Felix stares for a moment before his expression softens. “Yeah, Ben. Sure. Just until we’re done with the pie.”

So they eat. The texture of the cold apples is slightly off-putting, especially since Ben hadn’t had much of an appetite to begin with, but he still finds himself shoveling forkfuls of pie into his mouth until the plate is clean. His nose is clogged, his joints ache, and everything’s taken on that distinct, wobbly type of sensation fevers tend to bring. But his stomach is content in a way it hasn’t been in over a day.

After Ben sets the plate onto the coffee table, Felix says “Why didn’t you ask me for money?”

Ben shrugs, but Felix continues to stare so he finally says “I’m trying to be better. I told you I’d be better. More responsible or whatever. I know Connor tells you how shitty of a friend I am —”

“He has never said that. That’s all in your head.”

Rolling his eyes, Ben says “Yeah, okay. And here I thought ‘pretend time’ was over.”

Felix opens his mouth, then closes it before letting out a deep breath. “Yeah, fine. But Connor doesn’t know what he’s talking about. When he says that stupid kind of stuff, I don’t even listen. You should know that.”

And Ben does know that. He does. He’s noticed Felix waving off these kinds of comments from Connor, or changing the subject when Connor begins any talk about Ben’s lack of responsibility. 

“Connor doesn’t understand friendship, okay?” Felix continues. “He just doesn’t. He’s not like you, Ben. He can’t form connections to people the way you can. He’s — and he’d hate me for saying this — he’s lived a pretty lonely life. For the most part.”

Ben scrubs  vigorously at his nose before saying “I don’t understand your point.”

“He just doesn’t get it, okay?" Felix says, sighing. "He doesn’t get that it’s give and take.” He pauses, looking thoughtful. “When I was in college and had that dumb speech class and had to give that presentation — when I forgot to bring my nice clothes? Do you remember? I was on the phone with you, hyperventilating in the bathroom stall because the way we dressed was half our grade and I was in gym shorts and a T-shirt?”

“Yeah, don’t think I could forget,” Ben says, while wiping his now running nose with the back of his hand.

“You left work early and drove an hour to the college so I could have the right clothes,” Felix says with a smile.

Ben feels his own lips curving into a soft smile. “Uh, yeah, because you were freaking the fuck out. You —” He breaks off to cough into his arm. “You were pretty much begging me to come to the rescue.”

“And you did come to the rescue. Like when I was student-teaching and being observed by my supervisor and forgot literally everything I needed for my science experiment? I couldn’t just leave and go get the materials since I was responsible for the class that day. So, you brought them to me. Do you remember that? Oh! And when it was my mom’s birthday last year, I completely forgot! You remembered and you bought — well, okay, I gave you the money for it, but still. You went out and got an amazing cake and brought it back to my parents and pretended the entire time it was my idea.”

Ben sniffs hard. Then, again. He almost misses having a clogged nose. At least then he didn’t have to sniff every two seconds to keep snot from pouring down his face. “Yeah, Felix, I remember all of it. You’re very forgetful.”

Felix lets out a light laugh. “My point is, you’re there for me. And I’m there for you. It’s that simple. I’ve never felt like you were taking advantage of me.”

Ben considers this for a moment before he lurches violently forward.

“Eh’dtzshooo! EH’dshooo! HH Hh’dzzshoo! SHOO! Oh my god, Felix, can you —  can you hand me a tissue or something?” Ben asks, his hands pressed firmly over his mouth and nose. 

“On it!” Felix exclaims as his eyes scan the room. He finally picks up an empty tissue box and frowns before tossing it on the floor. He stares at Ben with a helpless expression. 

Carefully releasing one hand from his nose, Ben searches around the couch until he finds what he’s looking for — a hanky. It’s damp and visibly used. He grimaces, but desperate for relief, empties his sinuses for what feels like an entire minute.

When he’s finished, he relaxes back on the couch. “He’s not always wrong though,” Ben says, sniffing, then frowning because how can his nose already be filling up again? “Connor. I mean, Felix, you’re uh… don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of a little bit of a major pushover.”

Felix blinks hard several times. “How can I ‘kind of’ be a ‘little bit’ of a ‘major’ anything? Your use of the English language is appalling.” 

Ben’s mouth almost twitches because the way Felix said it — it sounds like something Arlo would say. 

But then he remembers.

This isn’t working.

Swallowing hard, he forces a light note to his voice as he says “Okay — qualifiers aside — and, yes, I know what a qualifier is,” he says quickly at the appearance of Felix’s raised brow. “Despite what you think, I’m not a total dumbass. Anyway, you are a pushover, dude. I hate to say it, but ....” He lets the sentence trail off as he stares at Felix, pointedly. 

To his surprise, Felix simply snorts. 

“What, you don’t think so?” Ben asks.

“No, that’s not it,” Felix says, giving another little laugh. “I mean, I know I’m a pushover. It’s not the word I’d choose, but I know what you mean. And I agree. But….” He stares at the ceiling as he searches for the words. “So what? I mean, I guess I’m saying, it’s not a quality I’m actively trying to improve. If I love you, I’m going to help you. End of discussion, as far as I’m concerned,” he says, giving a shrug of his shoulder as he scoops up a forkful of his second slice of cold pie. 

Ben’s chest is tight and for a moment he wonders if he does have pneumonia again. But, no, it’s swelling with emotion  — not fluid. Felix and his goddamn easy going nature. His ability to say something that carries the weight of a mountain as though it’s a mere feather.

Felix looks up with his mouth full and brows furrowed. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

Ben just shakes his head before reaching for his hanky.

“And I do have boundaries, you know,” Felix continues. “Like that time I refused to clean your toilet after you ate that —”

“Okay, yeah, that’s enough, I think. No more reminiscing.”

Felix laughs and the two fall into a lull. Ben clasps his blanket more tightly around himself as another shiver wracks his frame. He leans his head back and rests his eyes, listening as Felix eats a third slice of pie. He can feel the medicine working its way through him. Despite having to sniffle every few seconds, there’s a kind of peace settling over him. 

After a few minutes of this, he forces himself to sit up and meet Felix’s gaze and he takes a deep breath before saying “I got fired from Bitter Grounds. Well, technically I quit, but it felt like getting fired.”

Felix stares, expression inscrutable. 

So Ben continues talking. “I mean, he was an ass, okay? Phillip —  the new manager. Also, what American is named Phillip? Like how fucking pretentious is that?” Ben, his face in his hands, groans. “He wouldn’t let me keep my hours or even negotiate the schedule at all and then also, Felix, he was a major homophobe. And, okay, maybe I shouldn’t have so impulsively quit just because the manager was a dick, but he was going to fire me anyway, I just know it. And — and — HEH! HH’dTZSHooo! — oh my fucking god, my chest.” Ben rubs his sore chest as he sniffs hard.

“Give me a minute,” Felix says before promptly standing up and leaving the living room.

Ben’s still scrubbing at his nose with his sleeve when Felix returns with a roll of toilet paper. Ben takes it, and though it’s rough against his inflamed nostrils, it’s a reprieve from trying to keep up with the fluids from sniffling, alone. 

“All right, so, is this the part where I’m supposed to act surprised that you’ve been lying to everyone for over a month?” Felix says, as he reaches for the glass of water on the table. 

For a moment, Ben can only blink. 

“Because,” Felix continues after taking a sip. “If it is, I’m going to give it my best shot.” He takes a deep breath, before saying “Oh. My. God. No. Way. I. Can’t. Believe. It.” in a completely deadpan voice. 

Ben narrows his eyes, opens his mouth, then closes it again.

“Not so good? Not enough oomph? Okay, I’ll try again,” Felix says before clearing his throat. “I am stunned, Ben. Stunned! Mind boggled. Baffled even. No, no! Wait, more than that. I am flabbergasted. My flabber has been ghasted, Ben. It’s been ghasted, boggled, and baffled! And I —”

Ben weakly tosses a throw pillow at him. “How the fuck did you know? How long have you known?”

Felix is, annoyingly enough, laughing. “You are such a dumbass, sometimes,” but the insult is said with twenty plus years of affection behind it. “I’ve known for weeks. Arlo went to the cafe on his lunch one day — asked for you, and Kenna told him you quit. He came back to work and asked me if I knew anything about it. I, of course, didn’t. We kept waiting for you to tell us in your own time, but instead you just… Well, you did the thing you do sometimes. Where you just get all… slumpy and, I don’t know the right word… slinky?”

Ben rubs his temples. “What?”

“What do you mean what?”

“Slumpy and slinky? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Felix’s brows knit, then — in apparent imitation of Ben — slumps down into the couch, his limbs sprawling out, forcing Ben to scoot to the other side. “I’m Ben” Felix says, mocking Ben’s voice. “I’m sad, but won’t just say that, so I’m going to ignore everyone who loves me and just lie here on my couch and brood alone in the dark until I die of pneumonia.”

Brows furrowed, Ben asks “But slumpy and… slinky?”

Felix straightens his posture and meets Ben’s gaze, his expression suddenly serious. “Would you rather I say you’ve been exhibiting classic symptoms of a depressive episode, such as social withdrawal amongst other self-destructive behavior?”

“I — Uh, no. No, I wouldn’t.”

“Okay, then. Slumpy and slinky it is.”

“But it doesn’t make sense —”

“Ben,” Felix says, all traces of previous amusement gone. 

Ben takes a deep breath then coughs. This time, the fit lasts a while and he dabs at his leaky eyes with sheets of toilet paper while Felix pats his back. “Arlo knows, too?” Ben finally manages to ask, though he already knows the answer.

Felix withdraws his hand from Ben’s back. “Yeah, he knows. He wanted to confront you. Well, confront you as much as Arlo is capable of confronting anyone. But I told him this is how you are. And that we just had to let you get the stupid out of your system before you came to your senses. But um,” he pauses, glancing around, taking in the dark and cold room, his gaze landing on the now half-eaten apple pie sitting on the coffee table. “It seems I may have miscalculated exactly how much stupid you had in your system this time because, Ben… How could you let it get this bad? How could you —”

“HH’dTZSHooo! EH’ckSHOO! EHCKSHOO!” 

The sneezes spray out across his lap. He grabs the toilet paper before saying “You better be glad you got your flu shot,” Ben says, his voice muffled from behind the white squares.

“I am honestly thrilled. It may have been the smartest decision I’ve ever made.” Felix shifts on the couch while Ben continues tending to his nose. “So, listen, you are totally welcome to our futon. We don’t have a lot in terms of food… but I know there’s some canned stuff. Soup…. A lot of it, you probably won’t like. But you eat tomato, right?” Felix continues before Ben even has a chance to respond. “You, of course, will be sharing a room with Reggie and Edna, but that’s never been a problem before. It’ll just be until we can get your electric back on and then —”

“No,” Ben interrupts. “Just, no, Felix. I love you for wanting to help, but I’m not crashing on your futon. I don’t even need to. It’s not like it’s the dead of winter.”

Felix scrutinizes him. “It’s going to be in the low forties tonight, dufus. And you’re sick. Your weak immune system will have a total hissy fit if you force it to work even harder. It’s lazy as shit.”

“It won’t be that cold. The building is heated. So, my apartment will get some of the building’s heat,” Ben says, but frowns as he considers this. “Right?” 

Felix raises a brow. “Dude, you’re on the top floor, shoved in the corner. You have, like, one wall to share heat with. Oh, and one of your windows literally has a crack in it, doesn’t it? You’re going to get cold.”

Ben’s head falls into his hands. “Fuck.”

* * *

“Huh’CHOO! IH — HEH — HuhhSHOOooo!” 

Ben hadn’t even had a chance to sit up before the sneezes burst out of him. The force of each sneeze sends a fine spray of mist upward where it hangs momentarily in the air before settling back down onto his face, making him grimace.

He’s lying on his back on Felix’s futon with the covers pulled up to his chin. He doesn’t usually sneeze when he’s flat like this, but clearly whatever plaguing him is exceptionally vicious because already he feels another tickle, clawing through his sinuses and — 

“AHHHH HHH AHHHH — chooo! AHHHH CHOOOO!”

The desperation and force causes him to practically scream the sneezes. Droplets from the aftermath cling to his lips and mist his cheeks. 

He forces himself into a sitting position and reaches for the tissue box Felix placed on the side table last night. He wipes his face and dabs experimentally at his nose, then winces. The edges are uncomfortably raw in that kind of way that only happens when he’s really sick, or when his allergies are acting up.

In an act of self pity, he groans for much longer than is probably necessary. Then he coughs, the sound rough and rattling. He needs to piss, but standing up feels like it’d be the equivalent of running five miles. So, instead, he simply contemplates the conundrum as he sits cross-legged with his throbbing head in his hands.

“AHHH — dtzCHOOO! EDtzCHOOO”

“Ow, fuck fuck fuck,” Ben groans.

He hears footsteps and begins mentally preparing a comprehensive list for Felix of his numerous complaints. But the large figure standing in the doorway is not Felix.

Connor’s outfit is simple — dark jeans and a beige T-shirt. Yet, the sleeves of the tee cling to his ridiculously prominent muscles. His dark, blonde hair is short and accentuates his rigid features. He has a small amount of stubble that Ben is sure is a completely deliberate choice because Connor never does anything unintentionally. Ben’s not one to experience sexual attraction, but he can still notice when someone is aesthetically pleasing and damn… Connor Hayes is immaculate. Being in public with Connor is always fascinating because regardless of where they are, every head — man or woman —  will turn to Connor. The worst part is, Connor is very well aware of this fact. He knows he has his choice of literally anyone he wants.

And yet he chose Felix — a fact that still boggles Ben’s mind. 

Connor has classic movie star good looks. He could easily be described as a modern-day Clark Gable. Then there’s Felix, who… well, if he’s walking off of any movie set, it’d be from a natural disaster film. If Felix can leave the house with his shirt not inside-out, then he’s having a good day.

“Feeling any better?” Connor asks in his deep, gruff voice as he walks toward Ben, carrying what looks to be a glass of water.

“Still feel like shit. Thanks,” Ben says, his voice embarrassingly hoarse, as accepts the water. “I’m in your office, aren’t I? I’ll get out of your way in a second —”

“You’re fine, don’t worry about it. I just heard you stirring around in here and wanted to make sure you had water. Felix said you had quite the fever last night. Don’t want you to dehydrate.”

Ben remembers two years ago when he was recovering from pneumonia. He’d been all but forced by Felix to stay on their couch. Connor had brought him water, then, too. And his antibiotics. Well, Ben supposed if he’d died on Connor’s watch, Felix wouldn’t be too thrilled. So, it makes sense for Connor to behave in this caring kind of way. It doesn’t mean Connor actually cares for Ben at all. In fact, Ben’s sure Connor hates him.

So, that’s why it confuses Ben, somewhat, when Connor takes a seat next to him. 

“So…” Connor rubs the back of his neck in obvious discomfort. “From what Felix explains, you’ve been having a hard time.”

Fuck. Are they going to have an actual conversation? Does Connor actually expect him to pour out his feelings? 

“Uh, listen,” Ben says before giving a nervous laugh. “If Felix asked you to check on me, you’re totally off the hook, okay? I’ll report back to him that you’ve been very kind and hospitable. So, you can check it off your ‘boyfriendly duties’ checklist and get back to your job, or whatever it is you’re doing today.”

Connor’s jaw tightens as he looks at Ben. “I don’t see why you have to be an ass.”

“EHHH Ehdtzshooo! EhDTZshooo!” Ben sneezes into his wad of tissues before pinching the bridge of his nose at the still present burning sensation.

Connor sighs. “Felix is worried about you —”

“IHHH IHshooo! IHHHSHOOO!”

Ben’s head is buried into his tissues, so he doesn’t see Connor’s expression, but he imagines he’s feeling frustrated at the interruption.

“Felix is worried about you, okay? He’s told me a lot about, well… About how this is a hard month for you. And that you’ve not been well for a while — mentally, I mean.” 

“HEH IHdtzchooo! AHHtdzchooo!”  The sneezes come fast and uncovered.

Connor flinches, but to his credit, he continues. “And, Felix thinks there’s a pretty obvious correlation between how well you are mentally and how well you are physically. Felix pointed out that you seemed a lot healthier when things were going well with Arlo —”

“What do you know about Arlo? I h — haven’t — hHH’EHDtzshoo! HH’EHDTzshoo! Jesus fuck, why are they coming in twos like that?” He blows his nose with vigor before tossing the tissues into the wastebasket. 

Connor’s lip is curled, but he gives a quick shake of his head as if to literally shake off his disgust. “And though you haven’t been forthcoming about your recent circumstances —”

This time it isn’t Ben’s sneezes that interrupt. It’s laughter. 

“‘Forthcoming about your recent circumstances,’” Ben mocks through his raspy laughter. “Did you rehearse this speech?”

At this, Connor’s cheeks take on an unmistakably pink hue. 

Ben’s laughs devolve into coughs but he refuses to be deterred. 

“You —” He smothers wet coughs into his elbow before bringing his head back up. “You fucking did! You —” More hacking coughs. “You prepared a speech! For me. Why, Connor —” After recovering from the next round of coughs, he manages a strangled “I am honored.” 

Then he sprays two harsh “IHHH’SHOOO”’s onto his lap before looking up at Connor’s expression, which makes him laugh again. Connor scoots away, putting a notable amount of distance between them on the futon.

“I didn’t prepare a speech for you, you goddamn insufferable —”

“By insufferable, do you mean ‘awesome’ because —”

“Fucking asshole,” Connor finishes before letting out a harsh breath. “Felix is worried about you. Felix —”

Ben laughs again — this time, more wryly. “Felix, Felix, Felix. I have to say — I’m curious about your thoughts. Please tell me, what does Saint Connor think about my situation?” 

Ben isn’t sure why he asks — isn’t sure why he’s purposefully antagonizing Connor. Maybe it’s the indefinable emotions that have been building up for months — emotions that have been begging for a suitable target to unleash upon. But he finds himself having to suppress a smile at the way Connor stiffens — at the way his jaw clenches.

“Personally, Ben, I think you’re being a complete jackass to everyone you know.”

Ben gives another wry laugh. “That all?”

Connor’s mouth tightens before he continues. “I think you feel like shit. I think you’re depressed. I think you’re grieving, but you won’t let yourself —”

“Ah,” Ben says, nodding. “Very wise. You’re really putting your Master’s degree to work with all these astute observations —”

Connor’s hand clenches at the corner of the throw pillow he’s holding. “I think you think that you deserve to feel like shit. Felix and Arlo both love you and instead of letting them in —”

No longer amused, Ben grits his teeth. “Yeah, okay. That’s enough.”

“Instead of letting them in, you push them away because —”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You push them away because as fucked up as it is, you don’t think you’re good enough for their love. So you ignore their texts. You ignore their calls.”

Ben wants to argue — wants to do anything to make Connor shut his fucking mouth, but instead he snaps forward.

““IHHHHHH’DTZSHOOO! IHHHGzSHOOO!”

“And you know what, Ben, I think you even like being sick. I think you like it because you think you deserve that too. ”

Ben flinches, then shakes his head  — an insult ready to spill off his tongue, but his breath starts to shudder and his nostrils flare. “You don’t — HH HEH HAAAH ACHOOOO! ACKSHOOOOO!”

“I mean, you must like feeling miserable, right? Because you ignore every single chance you have to make something positive happen in your life. You’d rather wallow alone at home in your pity party instead of taking any actual steps to making your life better. Grow the fuck up, Ben! Your dad died — that fucking sucks. Believe me, I know.”

“You don’t fucking know anything. You’re a piece of —” The words he wants to say become lost in a coughing fit that wracks his entire body.

“Losing your parents so close together fucking sucks,” Connor says, his voice still sharp, but measured. “But it’s been three years. Do something about it, Ben. Go to their graves. Better yet — go to your dad’s shop. If there was any part of you interested in bettering yourself, you’d go to your dad’s shop and ask for a job. Felix has told me — he’s told me that your dad’s partner has offered you full-time hours several times. But you’d rather balance two shitty jobs because you like how miserable it makes you feel. Tell me this, Ben — what are you going to do when it finally works? When Felix decides he’s had enough? When Arlo finally scrounges up a modicum of self-respect and breaks it off?”

Blood boiling, Ben forms a fist and draws his arm back, aiming for Connor’s nose and — 

Just barely grazes his jaw.

If there’s any lesson Ben’s going to learn today, it’s that punching someone while sick with the flu is a really stupid thing to do.

“What the fuck, Ben?” Connor exclaims, rubbing the area Ben barely managed to clip.

“What do you mean?” Ben yells, his rough voice breaking mid-sentence. “Please don’t tell me that hurt? I think it did more damage to my hand than anything,” he says, clenching and unclenching his fist.

“You can’t just hit people. That is so … uncivilized.”

 “HH’CHOOOO — T’SHHhoooo!”

“Jesus Christ! Ben! What is wrong with you?” 

Ben can’t exactly blame Connor for the rather dramatic way he jumps off the futon. The spray from those last two sneezes definitely coated his arm. Still, though, Ben’s not about to apologize.

“What! You got your flu shot, didn’t you? You’ll be fine!” 

All this yelling is wrecking his throat. He coughs deeply into his arm. 

And keeps going. 

When he realizes he’s about to expire right there on the futon, he feels something cold against his hand, so he opens his streaming eyes.

A glass of water. 

He takes measured sips until his chest finally stops heaving.

He hears Connor making… some kind of sound. A cough? Surely he couldn’t catch Ben’s flu that fast. Is he choking? Fuck. Is he crying? Ben knew Connor hates germs, but to cry? Felix is going to murder him.

“Hey, listen — I’m, uh… I’m sorry? This all got out of hand really fast. I probably shouldn’t have punched you. I guess.” He rubs the back of his neck. “And sneezing on you was also probably wrong and —. Wait, are you… are you laughing?” Ben stares wide-eyed as Connor’s muscular frame is wracked with what looks to, indeed, be laughter.

“This is so fucking stupid,” Connor says as he sits back down and wipes his eyes. “Felix wanted me to talk to you while he went to work. He said I’d —” He wipes away a tear sliding down his cheek and his voice continues to tremble with laughter. “That I’d get you to ‘see reason.’ He said hearing it from me — from someone you’re not particularly close to would be more meaningful. I fucking told him it was a ludicrous idea and, well — ” He breaks off to gesture around them. “You punched me,” Connor says, the laughter coming back full-force.

Ben is surprised to find he has to bite his lip to keep his own laughter from spilling out. “Yeah, well. You were being a dick.” 

“You looked so pitiful. With your red eyes and your red nose. I was thinking, ‘maybe I should relent a little. He’s pretty sick.’ And then you — you took a swing at me,” Connor says, his voice still uneven with the threat of more laughter. “I barely even had to dodge. You just —” Connor breaks off to imitate Ben’s less-than-great attempt at a punch.

“Fuck off,” Ben says, but he feels the corners of his mouth twitching. 

“Listen, if you really want to take me, we can have it out right now,” Connor says, smirking while flexing his absolutely ridiculous muscles. “I mean, who knows, you may have a chance,” he says with a shrug.

“Arrogant ass,” Ben mumbles, but he really is laughing now.

“Although, you do have the benefit of bio-warfare on your side….”

“But you immunized yourself! So my virus is hardly a weapon against you,” Ben says with a sigh, slumping his shoulders as if he’s never faced a more disappointing fact in his life.

Ben leans back against the wall, letting his eyes close. Fuck he’s tired. He’s been awake for, what? Thirty minutes? He could easily close his eyes and sleep several hours more. But instead, he opens his eyes and watches as Connor tides up the space around them. He’s carefully picking up some of Ben’s used tissues — using a clean tissue as a barrier. 

“He did, you know. Arlo, I mean.” Ben says, voice small.

“What?” Connor asks, absently, as he continues picking up the trash scattered around them. 

“He — how did you put it? ‘Scrounged up a modicum of self-respect.’”

Connor finishes dumping a pile of used tissues into the wastebasket before he takes a seat next to Ben. “Did he?”

Ben nods. “Texted me last night. Said it ‘wasn’t working’.” 

Connor’s face is twisted up with some kind of emotion that’s Ben’s too tired to try identifying. “I’m really sorry, Ben. For what it’s worth, I thought he was good for you.”

Ben shrugs, pulling at a loose thread on the throw blanket. As he feels his breath hitch and his nostrils flare, he pulls the blanket up to cover his face.

“IHHHGzSHOOO! IHHHGzSHOOO!”

“C’mon to the living room. I don’t have any work to do today. Let’s just watch TV or something until Felix gets home from work.”

It’s an odd request, coming from Connor. It must be a sign of how truly terrible Ben’s feeling — because before he realizes it, he’s saying “Yeah, you know what? TV sounds good.”

* * *

“Does cold medicine always make you this loopy?” Connor asks from his spot at the other end of the couch.

Connor, presumably tired of Ben spewing germs from his face every two minutes, forced him to take a dose of DayQuil. Ben had given him ample warning — had tried explaining how funky those kinds of meds make him feel, but Connor was determined to drug him.

“I told you, Connor. I told you how much I hate that stuff.”

“You told me you didn’t like it. You didn’t tell me it made you high.”

“I’m not — that’s not even — you don’t even know what you’re talking about. I’m not high.”

“I just had to rescue you from the bathroom. How much more out of it do you have to be until it’s considered ‘high’”?

It’s a rational question, considering Ben did, indeed, have to be rescued from the bathroom. After doing his business, he found himself unable to operate the obviously advanced locking mechanism of the bathroom door.

He must have said as much out loud because Connor sighs. “Jesus Christ, it wasn’t advanced. It was a normal lock. The kind of lock everyone has in their homes.”

“Wouldn’t open,” Ben mumbles before settling more comfortably onto the couch.

“That’s because you lack the intelligence required for basic tasks on a good day.”

“You lack the basic intelligence required for tasks on a … what was it?”

“Goddamnit,” Connor mutters, but it sounds far off.

“You lack the basic tasks required for the intelligent —” he stops, erupting into a fit of giggles.

“Just go to sleep, Ben.”

“You just go to sleep.”

“I think I’d rather you be sneezing everywhere,” Connor mumbles in a low voice, like he doesn’t want Ben to hear him. But Ben actually has impressive hearing skills, so he hears every word.

He snorts in amusement, which makes his nose really tickle, so he sneezes a massive “AHHH’tschoooo!” into the air. He stares in amazement at all the droplets dispersing in air — there have to be thousands, no millions — highlighted by the sunlight streaming through the window. They look like they’re dancing. What a truly impressive feat achieved by his body. He smiles.

He sniffs hard  before looking over at Connor, who is wearing a repulsed expression. He doesn’t quite understand why…. Connor did just say something about wanting Ben to sneeze, didn’t he?

 He’d also said something about sleep, which honestly, sounds like a pleasant idea. 

* * *

After a nap that lasted several hours long, Ben wakes feeling much more coherent. Still sick as hell, but he’s almost positive he could unlock a bathroom door with no problem this time.

“When’s Felix get back?” Ben croaks when he sees Connor sitting down on the other side of the couch.

“He’s doing that after school thing today. It will probably be a couple more hours.”

Connor turns up the volume on the TV and some documentary about amphibians begins to play. 

“This looks like something Felix would watch,” Ben says before letting loose a jaw-cracking yawn.

“We were watching it together, but I fell asleep last night before it finished. He, of course, finished the entire thing without me.”

There is a very specific way Connor talks about Felix — even during moments where he’s seemingly annoyed with him. It’s like fondness is dripping from each word. It’s odd because usually Ben has to fight the urge to gag when he hears that tone of voice.  But now, he inexplicably finds himself smiling. Maybe the two are a little cute together. Even if they’re also annoying as fuck. 

As the narrator drones on about the salamander's “incredible ability to regenerate portions of its heart,” he reluctantly begins to think of his own heart.

“I think you’re right,” Ben says, looking over to Connor. “I’m not ready for a relationship.”

“Uh, that’s not what I said,” Connor retorts with furrowed brows.

“No, but you kind of did…. You said I’m pushing people away. That I’m fucked up —”

“Again, not what I said.”

“I am miserable, Connor. You were right. I don’t exactly know how to fix it yet. But… I think I need to try. I think… I think maybe I want to try.”

Connor turns down the volume of the TV, turning his full attention to Ben. “I think that’s probably the first step.”

Ben nods. “And being with Arlo right now, it’s not the right thing to do. He deserves happiness. He deserves to have someone uncomplicated.”

Connor sucks in a deep breath before releasing it. “You realize you’re just proving all the points I made earlier, right? You, Ben — you deserve to be happy, too.”

Oddly, Ben’s eyes start to sting. “Thank you for saying that. I think maybe — I don’t know. Maybe one day I can get there. But, like you said, there’s steps I need to take. Like talking to Mike and…. I don’t know. I think maybe I’m just not meant to be in a relationship.”

“Maybe not right now,” Connor says, seeming to choose the words carefully. “But I meant it — you deserve to be happy. And if you want my opinion, I think you and Arlo work. Or you could work. But you really need to start prioritizing yourself, first. I think you’re right about that.”

He sniffles thickly, then wipes away the wetness from his eyes. “Yeah. Maybe. He definitely deserves for me to call him.”

Connor gives a tight smile. “Definitely.” 

After Connor leaves the room, Ben pulls out his phone — newly charged — and takes three deep, mostly measured and even breaths. He scrolls through his contacts before landing on the right now. 

Arlo’s answer of “Hello,” causes Ben’s throat to swell so badly, it’s amazing he’s able to even breathe. But somehow he manages to speak through the tightness. 

“Arlo, we need to talk.”

[grayskies2525]

I was initially just going to use the census regions, since trying to include every common name for areas of the US was a nightmare, but this specific chart made it simple enough. Remember, these polls are anonymous, so nobody can see what you vote but you. Carefully consider the map, here.

With enough results I might even narrow it down to state by state.

As ever, please don't vote if you aren't a snzblr weirdo, and additionally, please don't vote if you aren't a US snzblr weirdo.

Reblog for reach, put yourself on blast in the tags if you want.

[grayskies2525]

Thank you for another update to A Year of Falling. It hurt so good. The dream with Ben's dad was very moving. "There's still a lot of life left in you" will haunt me for a while.

Dave was a interesting character with a valid perspective on why going to work sick is a bad idea. However, I also think that Dave couldn't understand Ben's perspective of carefully going to work sick because he didn't want to shirk his responsibilities and needs the money. It's two valid perspectives clashing - like Ben and Arlo in the previous chapter. You do a great job illustrating those kind of situations.

I think the primary reason this chapter hurts so good for me is Ben's realization at the end that there is help for him. Not all of Ben's needs require him to have money. He just has to accept and reach for help from his friends. That's hard to do, which is why I was so heartened by Felix's visit. Ben's got some valuable relationships.

Also (apologies for such a long message), I know Ben said as much (although I think he meant it more in a self-loathing way), but good for Arlo on telling Ben their relationship was not working. I imagine that would have been difficult for him to do. It seems to show some development in the area of standing up for himself and what he wants. I would be interested in reading an Arlo focused story at some point if the muses guide you there.

Thank you for this thoughtful comment, Anon! And no worries about length - I appreciate the detail 😊 And yes, I found myself both agreeing with and disagreeing with Dave! I share the opinion that going to work while sick is a bad idea, but I really wanted to use Ben to show the kind of desperation that often causes people to make this choice. It's not like Ben WANTS to go to work (or an interview) sick. I'm glad this came through!

And yes, I had to end the chapter with Felix. Otherwise, my own heart would be broken beyond repair. Things are not entirely hopeless for Ben as he sometimes feels!

I'm glad you mentioned this about Arlo! Obviously the focus of this chapter was on Ben, with Arlo serving as a background character, but I still wanted Arlo's own anguish to be clear. He's been patient and so reasonable for such a long time because he loves Ben (he's even willing to accept that Ben's unable to return the feelings. Well, verbally, anyway) and he knows Ben's struggling even if Ben won't talk about. But this chapter shows Arlo finally realizing he has to respect himself, too. It was hard to write, but I think it was necessary. And I would love to one day delve into Arlo's point of view one day. He's definitely a lot more different than the other characters I've written!

[grayskies2525]

A Year of Falling | Ben & Arlo | M/M | Chapter 12

Word Count: 4,900

Link to all parts: A Year of Falling

Chapter Twelve: October — Eighth Cold of the Year First Flu of the Year

Felix: Want to get smoothies at that new place? I hate smoothies, but Connor wants me to get more fruits in my diet, and smoothies seem like the easiest way.

Ben stares at the message, begins to type something, then gives up and locks his phone screen before letting it rest on his stomach as he lies on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. 

Another vibration.

Felix: We don’t have to get smoothies. Do you want to see a movie?

Ben stares again before he flips the phone back over onto his stomach, closing his eyes.

It vibrates again — this time repeatedly.

Ben doesn’t sigh, but only because he doesn’t have the energy for it. He accepts the call, still lying on his back.

“Hey.”

“You’re not answering my texts,” Felix says.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Ben!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Felix.”

“You can tell me why you’re ignoring me,” Felix says.

This time Ben does sigh. “Because I don’t want to leave the apartment. And you keep asking me to leave the apartment.”

“Well, don’t you think you should try to get out a little? I haven’t seen you in, like, months.”

“I don’t think that’s true… We saw each other — God, Felix, I don’t know. Maybe another time. I’m just tired.”

There’s a long pause where all Ben hears is Felix’s TV in the background.

“You don’t have to go to the graves,” Felix says, breaking the silence.

 Ben closes his eyes and clenches his jaw.

“You know that, right? There’s other things. Some people write letters, or they will go out to their loved one’s favorite restaurant or something. There’s options. People deal with grief in different ways and —”

“Felix, stop.”

“Ben, you’re doing it again, okay? You’ve completely isolated yourself. I know how you — well, I know how you get in October. And it’s totally normal and it makes sense, but it’s been three years and it’s the same thing every time and I’m just afraid that you’re not —”

“Felix,” Ben says sharply. “I’m telling you to stop. Stop now or I’m hanging up.”

“I’m afraid you’re not processing —”

Ben hangs up and switches the phone to silent. He turns over to his side pressing his face against the cushions, then falls asleep.

* * * 

Two days later

Felix: Ignoring me is one thing, Ben, but Arlo? Stop being an asshole.

Felix: He doesn’t understand why you’re avoiding him.

Ben: I’m not avoiding him.

Felix: We work together. We talk. I know you’ve only seen each other once this week and that was only for ten minutes. He keeps asking you to do things and you keep saying you’re busy. 

Ben pulls his comforter up, then rolls over in bed as he continues to just stare at the screen. The phone gives off the only light in the small bedroom. It’s the afternoon, but Ben’s blackout curtains prove they were well worth the money. As he stares, a new message pops up.

Felix: You wouldn’t treat Winnie the Pooh this way.

Ben’s brows furrow as he reads the text.

Ben: wtf?

Felix: Or Paddington Bear

Ben: wtf??? Who even is that

Felix: Or Mr. Rogers

Ben: Mr. Rogers is dead

Felix: Imagine taking a kitten and just hurling it into the river. Would you do that?

Ben: I’m gonig to text Connor and have him check you for stroke symptoms

Felix: What about stepping on a puppy’s tail? You wouldn’t do that would you?

Ben: Do your arms feel weak? Is your face drooping? Have you heard of the FAST test?

Ben understands what Felix is doing and the point he’s trying to make. But he wants to stay here in this playful zone where they can say stupid, silly shit like they’ve always done.

Of course Felix has to ruin it.

Felix: You won’t find a sweeter person than Arlo. Talk to him. He won’t be mad. You just have to tell him what’s going on.

Ben turns his phone over and buries himself deeper into the comforters. 

* * * 

Three days later

Ben has managed to consistently drag himself into the one job he has left. He has an average of three days a week scheduled, which doesn’t come close to giving him the money he needs to support himself. He has to get another job and he has to get it soon. So, he takes advantage of the free wifi and spends his lunch in the break room perusing job postings. 

His internet was the first to go — apparently internet service providers don’t fuck around when it comes to missing payments. He doesn’t have unlimited phone data, but if he’s strategic, he can use it as a way to job hunt when he’s at home. Well, he can at least until he’s no longer able to pay the bill.

His electric is probably next. It’s been … well, he’s not sure how long it’s been since he missed the last payment, but he’d guess it’s over thirty days. Maybe over forty? He’s never had any utilities shut off before. He sends a mental thank you to Felix for that. But he remembers enough from growing up and listening to his parents bicker about bills to know that being thirty days late is not a good thing. And the final notice email setting in his inbox is also a good indicator.

He’d considered going to Felix like he has in the past, but he’d told Felix he’d do better — that he’d be more responsible. And he has been. It’s been a solid year since he’s borrowed anything from Felix. 

But, fuck… what is he supposed to do? He has no family. 

Felix is his family.

And he’d rather live without electricity than live without Felix.

 Ben can imagine exactly what Connor would say to Felix as soon as Ben asked for help. 

“I told you he hasn’t changed.”

But what he wants to ask Connor is how anyone does this without help. What the fuck can Connor say to that?

Connor — with the perfect face, the perfect muscles, the perfect fucking college education. Connor, who somehow knows how to solve every goddamn problem that crops up. Connor, who can leave Felix with no explanation and then come back a year later and earn back Felix’s trust in less than a week.

There’s someone who’s not short on luck. He’s an author. An author. Nobody in real life is supposed to be able to call themselves an author.  And he’s one who actually makes a profit — one who can have a bookstore full of people wanting his books signed.

Of course Connor can pay his bills. He just has to sit at home and do something most people can only ever do as a hobby.

Ben remembers Felix retelling the whole “Yes, Connor Abandoned me Without any Explanation, but Here’s Why That’s Totally Fine, Actually ” story, and he’d had to bite this inside of his cheek throughout the duration of that conversation. Connor didn’t like his new job? The one with the paycheck that let him live in one of the most expensive cities in America? He didn’t like sharing an apartment with a cat?

Ben grits his teeth then leans back in his seat, closing his eyes before taking a deep breath and letting it out. He’s thankful to be alone during this lunch break. If he can’t be in his bedroom with his blackout curtains, then this is the closest thing to it. 

Ben knows there was more to why Connor was unhappy in New York City. Felix spoke for hours about it, so there was definitely more to it than the job and the cat. Ben knows this — knows it the same way he knows Connor’s life isn’t actually perfect. 

Ben was right there, after all, when Connor had what has to be the worst panic attack he’s ever witnessed — after Connor’s mom verbally abused the fuck out of him.

Ben’s mom is gone now, but for thirty years, he had someone who would hug him spontaneously. Who would sing Queen with him in the kitchen while they cooked. Who, when Ben was eight years old and Felix made him watch The Ring, let him sleep in bed with her for three nights straight. 

When Ben came out as gay to his parents, he’d spent hours crying even though they’d been nothing but supportive. That night, his mom made cinnamon rolls and macaroni and cheese because she knew they were his favorites.

She’d wear the same two outfits when Ben was in school just so he could have name brand clothes.

After Ben moved out, she would call him just to say good night. 

She would — 

Ben sniffs hard, then quickly wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. 

For thirty years, Ben had a mom who loved him. Connor never had that. Ben knows this. Ben will spend the rest of his life grateful that he was lucky — yes, lucky — enough to have two parents who taught him what it felt like to be loved. He didn’t have them for as long as he needed them, but having them at all was … well, it wasn’t enough but it was miraculous, nevertheless. 

Ben knows this.

But still, he wants to ask Connor what he expects Ben to do. Felix doesn’t make much as a public school teacher, but his parents have always given him whatever he’s lacking and somehow the guy is exceptionally skilled at saving money. Connor’s never had to worry for a single second about having his utilities shut off. And neither has Felix. 

Has Connor ever considered that for one single second of his goddamn privileged life?

Ben rubs the center of his forehead. He’s losing his mind.

His phone buzzes and he checks it absentmindedly while still lost in his thoughts.

Arlo: Hey.

Ben closes his eyes against the sudden sting, takes a deep breath, then begins to type.

Ben: Hey. 

Arlo: I miss you.

He bites his trembling lip, then responds.

Ben: I miss you too

Arlo: I remember when you used to send me paragraphs of texts full of emojis and stories. 

Arlo: If I did something wrong, can you just tell me?

Ben frowns as he wipes the sudden moisture from his cheeks. He’s in public. His shift starts back up in less than a minute. What is he supposed to do? 

He locks his phone and grabs a napkin from the table, then wipes the rest of the tears that are now really starting to fall. He blows his nose, washes his hands, and finishes the damage control process by splashing his face with cold water. 

When he returns to his shift, Taylor’s Swift’s voice drones from the speakers and every customer’s voice is five times louder than necessary. His phone buzzes again from his pocket, but he doesn’t check it.

* * *

Five Days Later

Ben has never had a gym membership. He’s not sure he’s even been inside a gym. Yet here he is interviewing for the part-time receptionist position. It’s $15 per hour, so he’d still have to wait tables, but maybe there’s potential for full time hours here if he works hard enough. That was something lacking from his barista job. No matter how hard he worked, he could never get promoted. Management always preferred part-time workers and it’s the same way at the steakhouse. 

So now he’s sitting in a hard plastic chair in the gym manager’s office dressed in what he considers to be his nicest clothes. He’d even managed to mostly tame his shoulder-length waves. On a typical day, he’d be exuding confidence. Despite his issues with his mental health, he’s always managed to excel with his interpersonal skills. Or that’s what Felix always tells him, anyway. Overall, he is undoubtedly a disaster of a human being and that becomes pretty evident within just a few hours of spending time with him.

But interviews? Ben can do an interview.

Usually. 

The first issue comes when the manager — Dave — holds out his hand to shake. 

Ben immediately ducks his head into the crook of his elbow for an attempt at a stifled sneeze.

“HET’shmmpfft!”

He raises his head, then smiles, sheepishly. “Um, sorry about that. I’d shake your hand, but I may be coming down with something.” 

And that right there — that was the main problem. Ben wasn’t just “coming down” with something. He was very much so already down with it. It’d started the evening prior.

He’d known immediately it wasn’t his run of the mill style kind of cold — likely wasn’t a cold at all. The first symptom was a fever — the tip-off had been uncontrollable shivers — never a good sign. A migraine followed, which had Ben fleeing to his sanctuary of a bedroom with its blackout curtains. He’d changed into sweats and a hoodie, texted Arlo to briefly explain he’d once again be staying at his own place tonight,  then crawled into bed at 7 PM and slept until his alarm went off this morning. He’d managed a quick shower and the minimum amount of hygiene. He hadn’t felt good — that was obvious the moment he’d opened his eyes, but he hadn’t allowed himself to deeply assess his symptoms because the only thing that mattered today was the interview. He’d taken something for the fever he’d already felt creeping in, and hoped it’d also help with the aches that were settling into his joints.

The chills and aches are, for the time being, gone. Ben had been hoping that he could have an illness for once that was not so obviously symptomatic. A fever, a headache, body aches… he could mask those for a temporary amount of time if needed. But everything he caught always had to go straight to his sinuses. He’d been fine on the drive in, but clearly that was changing.

Dave gives a tight smile before saying “It’s the time of year for it.”

Ben would like to express his jealousy for people who only got sick seasonally, but obviously it isn’t the time or place. “Yes, it definitely is,” he says, instead. 

And so they talk. It’s fine for approximately a single minute. 

“Yes, I worked four years as a barista, but before that I heehh ih —” The sensation in his sinuses is no longer just a tickle, but also a burning so intense that it’s as though he snorted chlorine. He pinches the bridge of his nose, then holds up a finger to Dave, signaling he just needs a second.

“Heh hh hHH HHH! HEH HH HH!” 

His nose pulses with the urge to sneeze. Sitting here with his chest heaving, nostrils flaring, and breaths hitching is probably not creating the best first impression, so he decides to give in and just sneeze.

“HAH AHH AH Hhhhhhhhh!”

He shakes his head and opens his now watering eyes. “S-sorry. It’s, uh, stuck a little,” Ben explains as Dave stares at him, expressionless. 

The sneeze is stuck, but the snot is decidedly not. So he reaches a hand out desperately to grab from the tissue box placed on Dave’s desk. Before he actually snatches one, he asks “Do you mind?”

Dave gives another tight smile, then a quick shake of the head.

Ben wipes a little at the edges of his nostrils, fixing the most pressing issue. Then, he wipes again because he can feel that the wetness is already back. He grabs another tissue, then gives another quick wipe. Deciding his nose is on the cusp of flooding if he doesn’t take a more direct approach, he wraps the next tissue around his nose and blows.

One tissue was not enough.

And the sounds he just made….

His hands are now full of heavily used tissues, so when he raises his head, he’s relieved (and also slightly embarrassed) to see Dave holding out a small wastebasket. Ben drops the tissues into the can and gives one deep sniff before attempting to compose himself. 

“You were telling me about your customer service experience,” Dave reminds him.

Ben flashes what should be a charming smile, but can tell his exhaustion keeps it from reaching his eyes. “Yes, right. I’ve, for the most part, exclusively worked customer service positions, actually. Even when I was a teenager, I’d help my dad out at his — at his — at his garage, sorry one second! Heh’Dtschoo! D’tchooo! Hrr’shgx’chuuuh!”

All three sneezes land into the crook of his arm. But when Ben looks up, the curl of Dave’s lip makes Ben think Dave’s more than a little adverse to germs. 

Ben gives another sheepish smile. “Sorry again about that,” Ben says as he reaches for the tissue box.

So, Ben blows his nose some more. It’s not enough, so he takes a few more tissues. 

Ben knows a solid minute must pass by where his sole attention is fixed on tending to his nose. 

“Sounds like some cold,” Dave says, voice terse. 

Ben laughs, nervously. “Oh, yeah. Sorry to show up like this, but I really didn’t want to miss the interview. I was excited for this opportunity.” And because Ben can’t ever shut up, he adds “I get colds a lot, actually, so I’m used to it. I’m just one of those people who seem to catch every little germ flying around, you know?” More nervous laughter escapes him. “I mean, I don’t ever let them keep me from my responsibilities, though! I hardly ever take sick days.”

Ben shifts in his seat as he looks at Dave, who’s now narrowing his eyes. “I urge all employees to stay home when sick. You used the word ‘responsibilities.’ And I think the most responsible thing someone can do when contagious is to stay home.”

Ben stares before clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah. Right, that makes sense.”

“Because,” Dave continues “what happens is, we get one member of our staff who comes in with what they may describe as a ‘little cold.’ Then they spread it to someone else, and so on and so forth. And, well, I’m sure you know how these things go,” Dave says, giving another tight smile, and eying the tissues still in Ben’s hands, pointedly.  “We have to call around to everyone, practically begging them to cover so-and-so’s shift. But, well, it turns out ‘so-and-so’ is also sick now. And then, of course, I will inevitably catch the bug, too, then my assistant manager has to come in on his day off. And I’m sure you can see how it’s a vicious cycle. So, yes, I actually have a rather strict policy about staying home when showing….” He pauses, staring harder at Ben, as if searching for the right word. “Such obvious symptoms.”

Heat surges through Ben’s cheeks. “I absolutely understand that. I think that’s a really good policy, actually. Um, I do feel like it’s important to mention that if I think there’s even a chance I’m sick, I wear a surgical face mask and sanitize like crazy. And try not to get close to anyone. I mean, I know some germs still probably spread but…” Ben trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.

Dave looks carefully at Ben, who has one hand — which previously was clutching snotty tissues —  placed on the arm of the plastic chair. Ben becomes increasingly aware of their proximity; Dave is sitting behind his desk, but it doesn’t put much distance between them. 

“I notice you’re not wearing a mask, now,” Dave says.

“You’re right! I’m obviously not,” Ben says, nervous laughter now back in full force. “I was just thinking, well, it was going to be your first impression of me, and I don’t know…. I thought —”

“You thought sharing your cold would give a good first impression?” Dave laughs, like it’s a joke, but his expression is humorless.

Ben tugs a little at the collar of his shirt. Then immediately snaps forward.

“HEH’IHHHHDTzshooo!”

The sunlight streaming through the window highlights every droplet now dancing in the air between them.

Ben swipes his nose with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking down at the floor.

Ben will give credit where it’s due, and Dave deserves some credit for continuing the interview even while in such obvious discomfort. And when he, of course, has no intention of ever actually offering Ben this job. 

* * *

The full embarrassment of the interview hits him at the same time as his next round of shivers. He’s curled on the couch, teeth chattering. He has a throw blanket — a nice, thick one — but it’s in his bedroom. A place where he currently is not. Which is a problem. Aches seem to permeate every inch of his body. He’d love another dose of Tylenol, but that's in the kitchen, which again, is a place he’s not.

So he remains on the couch, his Little Miss Sunshine DVD playing on low volume from the TV, while he violently trembles. The entirety of the interview replays in his head along with all the things he should have done and said differently. In hindsight, he should have stayed home. Either way, he would have missed out on the job, but at least he wouldn’t have made an absolute ass out of himself. As he has the thought, a cough tears through him.

Fuck, he’s really sick. 

So, he has body aches, a fever, chills, a sore throat, he’s sneezing and coughing…. It must be the flu, which lasts, what? A week? That means no more job interviews for a week. And then there’s the two shifts at the steakhouse he has to work. He would literally have to be dead before he missed those shifts. But he’ll have to be careful not to appear too sick because then he’d just get sent home. 

He grimaces at the pounding pain in his head.

And then the lights go off.

And everything becomes quiet. No more Little Miss Sunshine. No more gentle hum of the heater.

“Fuck!” he shouts, which only makes him cough. He sits up on the couch and opens his phone because at the moment, that seems like something that makes sense. He sees a missed call from Arlo and five unopened texts from Felix. He scrolls and sees he also has one unopened message from Arlo.

 He holds his breath as he opens it.

Arlo: This isn’t working, Ben. How can we have a relationship if you refuse to see me or answer my calls? Please call me. Or come see me so we can talk in person.

He reads it again. And again. He reads it until the words start to blur. 

Good for him, Ben thinks, even as his chest feels impossibly tight. Good for him. He’s finally getting it.

And then he notices his battery is at twenty percent charge. 

Fuck. 

He could charge his phone through his car if he has to, though it’s certainly not ideal. He doesn’t want to use the Corolla’s already failing battery when he’s not even going to drive it. He’ll wait until when he really needs to. 

“Huhrrr’shooo! Huhrrr’ghshooo!!” 

The sneezes rip through his throat and chest and spray freely outward. He really can’t stop shaking. He needs that blanket. And the medicine. But all he has enough energy left for is to wrap his arms around himself. 

“HURR’SHHOO! HEH EH RRRR’SHOO!”

A part of his brain is awake and alert enough to signal to him that there is a problem. 

His electricity is out. That means no lights, but more importantly, no heat. It’s mid-October and his shitty apartment has next to no insulation. So, that… that’s definitely a problem. But it’s not life-threatening, right? He’ll be fine. 

Fuck, it’s mid-October. His parents. He should do something this year. In three days, it will mark three years since his dad’s car accident. Then, November 15th will mark three years since his mom’s heart attack. He needs to go to the graves this time — they deserve that. They don’t deserve to have their bodies and memories buried. 

He needs to go to the cemetery. Or… or, what was Felix saying? About letters? Restaurants? And all that goddamn shit about “processing”?

“HUH-RRSHOoooo!” 

It’s another sneeze pointed upward, so the spray lands directly on him. He tries to sniff, but there’s a thick wall of congestion, letting just the smallest stream of air through.

Soup would probably help. Hot soup. Or hot tea. Then maybe he could clear his sinuses. But he can’t make either — not even his Great Value canned soup because both his stove and microwave need electricity. Fuck, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to eat — not that he’s feeling hungry at the moment, though the last time he ate was… not this morning, not last night… but yesterday morning? Can that actually be right? 

It’d be nice if the TV were on. He doesn’t even care about what’s on it — just as long as there’s something to distract him from how loudly his teeth are chattering. 

“HH’RRSHOoooo!”

He can’t remember the last time he’s had sneezes so painful. 

He really needs medicine.

And a blanket.

And soup. 

His mom used to make him soup. Even when he was well into his twenties and out of the house, she’d bring him over soup and anything else he wanted when he had so much of a sniffle. Felix’s mom made him soup last year when he had pneumonia, and that was really nice of her, but it was nowhere close to being as good as his own mom’s. He’ll never tell that to Felix or Melissa, though.

And a job. He needs a job so he can get his electricity turned back on because he needs that too. 

And a new car. 

Because it’s mid-October and it’s going to start getting cold and his car is going to have an even harder time this winter. It’s mid-October and his dad died three years ago and he needs to go to the cemetery. 

“This isn’t working.”

His eyes sting at the thought. But it’s good. It’s a good thing because — because…. His eyes close. 

Is he shivering so hard from the fever he’s undoubtedly running or is it actually this cold?

Medicine, blanket, soup, a job, a new car….

He needs. He needs. He needs. 

He, inexplicably, starts to laugh, the sound surprisingly raspy.

He curls his arms even more tightly around himself and decides to do the one thing left in the world that doesn’t take money or energy. He closes his eyes and despite the soundtrack of his own chattering teeth and congested breathing, he drifts off, effortlessly.

* * *

“Bub, you know I’ve been telling you about that battery. It’s shot. And she’s not going to make it through the winter if you keep ignoring that clicking noise. I thought I taught you better than this,” his dad says from where he stands with the hood of the Corolla open. His jeans are covered in holes and grease and an old rag hangs out of his back pocket. “Son, I know you know cars. So what’s the deal here?”

“I don’t have the money —”

“Bullshit, Ben. You know all you have to do is go to the garage and Mike will fix it up for nothing.”

“I can’t… I can’t go, Dad.”

His dad stares. “And why the fuck is that?”

Ben laughs at the brashness, though somehow he’s also having to wipe away a tear from his cheek. “I don’t know. I — you’re not there anymore.”

His dad’s eyebrows furrow. “Yeah, so what?” He shrugs. “You’re still here.”

Ben looks down at his shoes.

“No,” his dad states firmly. “None of that, now. You are, Ben. You’re still here. And that matters. Now this here,” his dad says, tapping the hood of the car. “I’m not sure how much longer she’ll last. You can only push something so far until it finally breaks for good. She might be getting there, I won’t lie to you. But you, Ben — there’s still a lot of life left in you.”

* * *

Ben jerks awake coughing. He sits up and continues to cough until he feels tears slide down his cheeks. 

“HUH’TSHOO!”

He sniffs thickly before another sharp “HUH’TSHUH!” escapes him, the droplets spraying across his lap. When he recovers from the sneezing, he’s thrown right back into another coughing fit.

“Jesus, if you have pneumonia again, I swear to god…. Cats take better care of themselves than you do, Ben. Cats!”

At first, Ben doesn’t know if the voice he hears is real. The last thing he remembers is his … his dad. They were working on a car — they were working on Ben’s car. 

“Okay, okay — enough about the car. You’re freaking me out a little, Ben.” 

That voice…. Definitely not his dad’s.

He feels something rest against his forehead — the back of a hand, maybe. It’s nice, so he leans in.

“Wow, so you are burning up. Um — yeah, okay. This is fine. I just — um. Fuck.”

Ben’s eyes open fully and through a haze he can finally make out who’s talking.

Felix.

Tears fill his eyes until they’re overflowing and his shoulders shake. He feels an arm wrap around him, then he breaks — his head resting against Felix’s chest as sob after sob tears through him.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. You’re okay. Shhhhh, Ben….It’s okay. It’s okay,” Felix mutters, rubbing Ben’s back. “You’re all right.”

Ben lets Felix hold him through the sobs and entertains the thought — just for a second — that maybe things are a little more okay than he’d realized.

Part 13

[grayskies2525]

inspiration struck me to draw corny af doodles/pin-ups of my ocs featuring tag lines that would be right out of a 1930s kleenex advert. have these + one unused sketch lol

[grayskies2525]

Oof, I enjoyed the newest update of A Year of Falling, even though Ben and Arlo hurt my heart in it.

I appreciate how you showed two people clashing while trying to be kind to each other in their own way: Arlo with his earnest interest and concern for Ben (I could feel the heart eyes when he started reminiscing about the sick day he spent with Ben last time) and Ben with his silence to shield Arlo from the difficult emotions he was feeling. I'm glad Ben did open up a little about his mood, even if it was in an explosive way.

Looking forward to reading more! 😍- I'm channelling Arlo!

Aww yeah, Arlo definitely has major heart eyes for Ben.

My intention was to show two people who obviously care strongly about each other argue in a way that still seems fitting to their personalities - without it becoming melodramatic. I'm glad their kindness and concern for each other was still able to come through!

[grayskies2525]

Oh my god, I always wondered a little why it seemed like a lot of people misspelled my OC Connor's name. But didn't really think much of it. Now, though, I'm re-reading The Reluctant Reunion to help me remember Felix's voice, and I am so embarrassed lol. Half the time I wrote "Connor," and the other half "Conner." And I'm only now noticing 😭

So be it, tbh. I'm not going through the effort of editing everything. But, like, how did I so consistently misspell my OWN character's name.

[grayskies2525]

A Year of Falling | Ben & Arlo | M/M | Chapter 11

Word Count: 4,500

Link to all parts: A Year of Falling

It’s been two weeks since Ben quit his job and he is still lying to everyone he knows about it. He can’t even articulate why. Is it because if he admits it, it will make it become real and he’ll be forced to face it? He knows he definitely doesn’t want to talk about it — not even with Felix. Felix will just harass him about finding a single job that pays enough so he doesn’t have to work two different ones.

Or he’ll start lecturing him again on taking classes at the community college. 

Or, worst of all, he’ll start again on trying to convince Ben to get on at his dad’s mechanic shop — Mike’s shop, it’s Mike’s shop now — and that’s something Ben can’t do. Mike is kind, has known Ben practically Ben’s entire life, and had — shortly after his dad’s funeral — offered Ben a chance to do administrative work until he really learned the ropes around the garage. Ben grew up around cars — knew them, to an extent. 

After coming out as gay at seventeen (no other label really seemed to fit, at the time), his dad had stopped bringing him out to the garage with him and had stopped randomly pulling him aside for lessons. His dad didn’t have a homophobic bone in his body, so Ben had always assumed his dad hadn’t wanted to feel like he was pressuring Ben into being something he wasn’t — that he hadn’t wanted Ben to feel like he had to like cars. In hindsight, it's something he wishes they would’ve actually discussed.

So, Ben knows enough about cars, enough to stay afloat, anyway, to work at his dad’s — at Mike’s — shop. Especially if he were to just start behind a desk. But the simple fact of the matter is that he can’t.

The same way he still can’t visit the cemetery. He just can’t.

He’s spent the last couple of weeks applying to a few jobs, but there’s not many options available nearby. Several posted would require a significant commute for his car that’s barely hanging by a thread as it is. 

The only good thing going for Ben right now is that he’s sick — something he’s never before felt thankful for until this moment. 

When he’d first left his job, he’d had a cold — a mild one— but it was a cold nevertheless. After realizing staying in the library was ridiculous, he’d left for his own apartment and sent Arlo a text explaining he’d be keeping his distance so Arlo wouldn’t catch what he’d had.

The cold clung on for about a week, then he had a week of awkwardly evading Arlo’s well-meaning questions. Then, he caught another cold, and now he has another excuse to avoid Arlo.

This is what he’s thinking about when his phone lights up with a call from Arlo.

Ben stares for a moment before answering.

“Hi!” Ben answers, wincing at the obviously false cheery tone.

“Hi.” 

Fuck. Ben can hear the smile in the single syllable. It makes Ben feel even more like shit.

“What’s up?” Ben asks before coughing wetly into his arm.

“Just wanted to talk. I’m on lunch break and I haven’t seen you much lately. I wanted to hear your voice.”

Goddamnit. How did Ben end up with someone so fucking sweet?

“Well, you’re hearing it now in all its glory,” Ben manages to joke. He coughs again before taking a sip of water.

“You do sound rough. Are you working at Bitter Grounds today? You usually do on Wednesdays, right? It’s hard to keep up with your schedule.”

“Yeah, um, you’re right. I usually do.” It’s not exactly a lie.

“Is it busy? Make sure you’re not working too hard. And drink a ton of fluids.”

Ben looks around at his living room before clearing his throat. “Uh, no, not too busy. I, uh, give me a sec, Arlo, I have to — heh —  sneeze.” Ben’s breaths come out in little desperate puffs before he blinks hard and brings the phone back up. “God, okay, nevermind. It left. That’s been happening all day.”

Arlo laughs lightly. “Well, I’ll give you a preemptive ‘bless you’ for when it does come.” There’s a pause before Arlo continues talking. “Listen, I know you don’t want to spread your germs to me. And I find that very respectful and considerate of you. But, I really miss you. I feel like I haven’t seen you much at all lately. And I hate that I’m, you know… not there to take care of you. A good boyfriend should take care of you when you’re sick.”

Ben rubs his nose at the increasingly bothersome tickle in his sinuses. “Oh my god, Arlo. Please do not imply that you’re anything other than an absolutely fucking perfect boyfriend, okay? Because I just truly can’t handle that level of silliness today.”

Arlo breathes out a sigh. “I should be making you soup, bringing you tissues and tea. Not letting you isolate yourself in your own apartment. That is not something a perfect boyfriend does. And —”

“Arlo, I have a cold. Not a terminal illness. I can handle a case of the sniffles on my own, promise.”

“I do miss you, though.”

Ben chews on his lip before saying “Do you remember the last time I spent time with you while I was sick?”

“Yeah, I do, actually. I remember having a really good time watching TV while you were all cute snuggled up in your blanket next to me. I remember you letting me make you carrot lentil soup instead of chicken noodle and —”

“Do you remember me getting you sick?” Ben asks.

But Arlo continues as though Ben said nothing. “I remember how nice it was to finally see you relax, and —”

“You were bedridden, Arlo.”

“I remember you wearing the most adorable socks I’ve ever seen — the  fuzzy ones with the pandas on them? You know the ones?”

Ben huffs out a breath. “Yeah, Arlo. Obviously. They’re my sick day socks. They’re warm and comfortable and —.” Ben stops to let out a frustrated groan. “You’re missing my point.”

“I’m not missing anything, Ben. I’m —”

“I’m just trying to get you to remember why it’s important I don’t pass this on to you.”

There’s a long silence where all Ben can hear is his own congested breathing. It continues until Ben feels uncomfortable. “What — you’re just not going to say anything?” he finally asks.

“Oh, I’m just waiting until I have permission to speak.”

Ben winces. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I am working on getting better at that, I promise. I don’t know why I interrupt like that. I just HEH’Ihtshoooo! Holy sh — HEH’mFFSHUUH!” Ben frowns at the mess his arm has become. He’s surprised to hear laughing on the other end of the phone. “What’s so funny?” Ben asks as he wipes his nose with a tissue. 

“Nothing. I just — well, I think it serves you right to be interrupted by your sneezes. Kind of a little karmic, you know?”

Ben snorts, then spends nearly a minute trying to recover from the coughing fit it triggers. “Yeah, okay,” Ben says when he can finally breathe. “I can see that. What did you want to say? I won’t interrupt.”

“I want to say that I miss you and want to see you even with all your germs. I’ve gotten my flu shot and I’ve been exposed to plenty of stuff here at work already. I don’t want to get sick. I hate being sick. But I also don’t want to avoid you every time you’re a little under the weather. We’ve barely entered fall and you’ve already gotten sick twice. I mean, if this is any indication of how you are during cold and flu season, I’m a little worried I won’t see my boyfriend until April. I —”

Ben doesn’t mean to. He really doesn’t. But the tickle has been building and building, so finally he snaps forward into his tissue with a loud “HEH’IHHSSSHooooo!”

“See, I knew you wouldn’t be able to last long without interrupting,” Arlo says, his tone amused.

“These fucking sneezes, I swear to god….” Ben whines as he cleans himself up.

“Come over tonight. We’ll put on The Simpsons. I’ll make sure you have plenty of tissues, and you can just take it easy.”

Ben thinks about the effort it will take to keep up his ridiculous charade all evening. “Easy” is not the word he would use.

All Ben can think to say, though, is “But you hate The Simpsons.”

“No, I never said that. I just said I think Bob’s Burgers is better. And I got this vegetarian cookbook from the library and there’s this recipe for Mediterranean split pea soup I’ve been really wanting to try. And I think this is the perfect opportunity.”

“Yeah, so, that’s absolutely not happening. I fucking hate peas,” Ben says, scrunching his nose up at the mental image he conjurs of a bright green bowl of the world’s worst vegetable.

Arlo laughs. “You know, if the situation were reversed, and it was you making me a kind of soup I hated, I’d just smile, say thank you, and eat it anyway.”

The corner of Ben’s lip twitches. “That’s because you are an insane person. I have self-respect and will not be subjecting myself to … to peas, Arlo.” 

Ben blows his nose while he listens to Arlo’s soft laughter. He lets the tissue fall to the carpet with the numerous others.

“Okay, okay. I’ve taken up enough of your time. I know you’ve got to get back to work. Will I see you tonight? I promise I won’t make anything pea-oriented.”

And just like that, Ben’s smile falls. He clears his throat. “Yeah, okay. Yeah. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. I’ll see you later, then. Don’t forget to drink fluids, okay? I’d tell you to rest, but well, you know….” Arlo sighs. “We’ll make sure you’re relaxed, tonight and —” Ben hears someone else’s voice in the background before Arlo resumes speaking. “Okay, well, I’ve got to go. See you tonight!”

After ending the call, Ben curls up on the couch and stares absently at the wall as he tries to ignore the twist of unease in his gut that has nothing to do with illness.

* * *

Ben’s come prepared with all the necessities — several handkerchiefs, his fuzzy panda socks, and a surgical face mask. 

“You don’t have to wear the mask,” Arlo says for the one-thousandth time.

They’re sitting on Arlo’s sectional with Arlo on one end and Ben on the other. Ben’s stretched out on the chaise portion of the sofa and, overall, he feels quite comfortable — with the exception of his exacerbating cold symptoms and the effects of the mask. Ben’s nose has made it extremely clear that it does not appreciate being trapped behind the fabric. He’s sniffling every two seconds just to keep mucus from dripping to his lip.

“I’m wearing the goddamn mask, Arlo, so you may as well quit bringing it up,” Ben says, hating the edge he hears in his voice.

Arlo’s mouth forms a thin line and Ben hates himself for causing Arlo to feel so frustrated. But Ben doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be here because he feels like utter shit — not just because of his pesky cold, but because he can fucking feel his chemicals in his brain unbalancing themselves. 

He should be alone. He needs to be alone. His cold is contagious, yes, but so is his bad mood. Every word that threatens to leave Ben’s mouth is coated in bitterness and vitriol. He wants to remind Arlo that Ben explicitly stated he didn’t want to be here — that he wanted to stay home, but Arlo couldn’t just listen. He had to be sweet and caring like always and say all the right words that would convince Ben to come over.

So now Ben has to sit here —  his twitching, pulsing nose hidden behind a mask while he fights to get his brain to behave. 

The best solution, Ben realizes, is to be quiet. 

So, that’s what he does. One full episode The Simpsons passes by with Ben silent except for  sniffling.

“Ben, is — is something wrong?” Arlo asks, breaking Ben away from his thoughts. “I’m not talking about being sick. It’s — it’s something else. I’ve been thinking it for a few days and I feel like I need to say something.”

Ben has a lot he wants to say — and more importantly, a lot he doesn’t want to say. But his nose has reached full capacity and he can feel moisture reach his upper lip. A little sniffle will simply not suffice.

Ben turns his head away from Arlo and carefully removes the mask. He reaches for several tissues — a handkerchief isn’t going to cut it — and attempts to blow his nose in the least egregious way possible. It turns out, it’s not possible for him to sound anything other than horrifically disgusting as he fills the tissues, but he still welcomes the opportunity to stall.

Finally, Ben disposes the tissues into the wastebasket Arlo had set next to the couch. He reaches for the mask, then sees how damp it looks. He grimaces and drops that into the wastebasket as well. When he looks up, Arlo’s gaze is fixed on him with such an earnest expression that Ben shifts his own gaze away, needing to look at anything that isn’t Arlo.

“Ben, I — well, you know how I feel about you,” Arlo begins, then awkwardly trails off. 

Ben clears his throat before speaking. “Okay, yeah. I know and I know you’re concerned. But, I’m fine. I don’t know what you mean with this talk of something being wrong.” Ben rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, I guess I’ve been kind of … down. You know that happens sometimes. But, I’m fine.”

“When you say down, you mean —”

“I mean ‘down,’” Ben interrupts, feeling his cheeks heat. 

Ben allows himself to meet Arlo’s gaze, and again, his expression is so goddamn earnest that Ben wants to run away. Wants to go back in time before he met Arlo. Before he ever had a chance to taint someone so genuine.

“You’ve seemed distant,” Arlo finally settles on saying.

“I’ve been sick.”

“I know, but even your texts…. I know we’ve not dated for that long, but, Ben, you’re still my boyfriend and I can tell when something’s off.”

Ben grits his teeth. The Simpsons is still droning on in the background and suddenly everything becomes too much.  He reaches for the remote to pause the show, then pulls the throw blanket away from his lap, setting it aside on the sofa. 

“I’m fine, Arlo. I’m telling you I’m fine, but you don’t listen. I tell you that I want to wear a mask, — you don’t listen. I tell you that I don’t even want to fucking come over at all, and you don’t listen. What does it even matter what I say? You’re just going to ignore it.” Ben forces himself to take a deep breath. He needs to apologize. But instead, he clenches his jaw and before he has a chance at stopping the avalanche, the words topple out. “You always just want to say things, Arlo — to fucking talk about things and to openly communicate about our feelings.”

Memories of the 4th suddenly bombard him. The futon. The fireworks. Arlo staring into Ben’s eyes as though Ben were someone who actually mattered. Then, Arlo opening his mouth to say the words that Ben had no chance of returning. 

“You don’t always have to say everything.” Ben’s voice is hoarse and the increase in volume causes his throat to ache, but he keeps going. “Sometimes you can just feel things and just let them be without having to fucking confront everything all the time. You just go around saying things, like you don't realize that when you do that you’re making them … you’re making them real.” Ben’s voice cracks mid-sentence and he finds himself lost into a coughing fit. Arlo scoots closer next to him and passes him a bottle of water. Ben throws out a hand to reject the water, but he must do it more forcefully than he realized because he manages to knock the bottle out of Arlo’s hand, causing it to fall to the floor.

Ben’s still coughing desperately into the crook of his elbow, the force of it causing tears to slide down his cheeks and his nose to run. 

“Take the water, Ben,” Arlo says, his voice even.

“I don’t want the fucking —”

But he’s still coughing and what’s worse is the tickle that, for the most part, has been absent from his sinuses today begins to flare up. As soon as he registers the sensation, his body gives into the demand, and he sneezes helplessly.

“Huhhh MMFtshuuuuuh! Hhh — Khm’phsshoooo! Ahh’DZshoooo! Hutshooo! Hhh’shoo! Shoo shoooo! Shoo! Heh Ih’tSHOO!”

His shirt sleeve saturated, he fumbles for the handkerchief in the pocket of his joggers and quickly pulls it up to his face. “ID’zzzSHOOO God-fucking-d— heehh — damn it!” 

Ben blows his nose. Then, blows it again. And again. He tears several more tissues from the box to wipe his tear-streaked cheeks.

When he finally looks up, Arlo’s sitting statue still, his hands under his thighs as if to prevent him from offering Ben anything else. “You’re upset with me because I’m… saying things?” Arlo asks, a dubious note to his voice.

“Yes! It’s everything Arlo! You point out when the gas in my car is low. And speaking of my car — you also have to mention when — huh’tshoo! —” He grabs more tissues and presses them against his nose before he continues because it’s clear that more sneezes are coming. “You have to mention when you hear my car making yet another ‘suspicious’ noise. You talk about how outdated my phone is and how I need to get a new one — huh ih’tSHUuuh! — before this one stops working. And how I need to eat more fruits and vegetable even though fruits and vegetables are fucking expensive! Sometimes it’s okay to — to — huh EH SHUUH!” He sniffles thickly before continuing. “Sometimes it’s okay to ignore things! I mean, believe me, I fucking know when the gas tank is low. I know my car’s a piece of — huh’tshooo! — a piece of shit that’s one moment away from falling apart. I know I don’t eat well and that I’m probably going to die of a heart attack just like my mom. And I know my brain’s a disaster. I don’t need to fucking talk about any of it, Arlo!” He gives one last “huh’tshooo!” into his tissues for good measure.

A long moment passes with the two of them like that — Arlo motionless, his expression pensive while Ben dabs at his nose with his handkerchief, trying to ignore how hot his cheeks feel. 

It’s Arlo who finally breaks the silence. “Is this about the 4th? When I said what I said? Because I told you it’s okay if you’re not ready, or if you feel differently, I’m okay with that.”

Ben lets out a frustrated breath. “No. It’s not about that. It’s about this,” he says, giving a wide gesture. “It’s about the fact that I just want to watch The Simpsons and talk about how stupid Homer is. Or just talk about anything that’s happening in the show — Anything fictional. And then you just want to talk about how —” Ben bites his tongue before continuing. “How low I’m feeling.”

Arlo continues to stare at him with that careful, thoughtful expression, which more than anything else, further ignites Ben’s anger. 

“Ben, you realize that you weren’t talking about The Simpsons? You weren’t talking about anything. You’ve just been sitting there, not even looking at the TV. What am I supposed to do? Just pretend you’re fine when you’re obviously not?” 

“Yes! Yes, that’s exactly what you should do! How do you not fucking know that? Jesus,” Ben says, letting his head fall into his hands. “We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you hadn’t started this. I could still be nestled under the blanket, just relaxing. But you — you just have to — to —”

“Say things?” Arlo offers, the smallest of smiles playing across his lips.

“Yes!” Ben says. His voice is fading fast, along with his energy. He slumps back against the couch, letting his eyes close, momentarily. He’s been fighting against a cough for a good minute now, and he finally concedes to it, letting it wrack his shoulders. 

“Do you want to try to take a drink of water now?” Arlo asks softly.

Ben opens his eyes and reluctantly takes the water from Arlo’s hands and begins sipping it, only now realizing how dry his throat was.

“If I suddenly developed some weird growth on my neck — I don’t know, some kind of discolored spot…. Let’s just say a mole. If I suddenly developed a mole on my neck, what would you want me to do?” Arlo asks.

Water bottle halfway back to his lips, Ben freezes, staring at Arlo before saying “What the fuck? Do you have a mole?”

“No, I don’t have a mole. Just answer.”

“If you had a mole that suddenly appeared on your neck, what would I want you to do? You’re seriously asking?”

“I am, yes.”

Ben takes a long drink of water before screwing on the cap. “I’d tell you to go to the fucking doctor,” he finally says.

Arlo looks as though he’s carefully considering these words. “Okay. Why would you tell me to do that?”

Ben stares. “Because you might have skin cancer.”

“But why would I want to go to the doctor? Wouldn’t that just make me more scared? Wouldn’t that just make it more real?”

Ben narrows his eyes. “Yeah, okay, you’ve made your point. That’s different. You can’t just ignore skin cancer.”

“But you can ignore depression?”

“God-fucking-damnit, Arlo. Yes! Yes, I can. In fact, I need to. Case in point — ever since we started talking about this, I feel even more like shit than before, so yeah, I don’t think talking about it is the way to solve the problem. And that’s not even everything. It’s —” He stops himself before he can tell Arlo about losing his job. “It’s not something we need to discuss.”

“What about your parents?”

Ben narrows his eyes. “What?”

“You never talk about your parents. Ever. I know they died. I know your dad was a mechanic. I know your mom died of a heart attack. But that’s it. Every time they come up, you change the subject.”

Ben clenches his jaw. “We’re not talking about my parents.”

Arlo sighs. “Yeah, okay. That’s exactly what I mean.”

Ben stares down at his lap, wishing desperately for this moment to move on to the next one already.

“You never talk about anything real.” 

Ben looks up, then shakes his head. “I don’t feel good. I don’t want to do this.”

For a moment, Ben thinks Arlo’s going to argue, but then with no warning, Ben finds himself snapping forward into a monstrous sneeze.

“EHdt’SHIIEeeww!”

It sprays across his lap. He quickly grabs his handkerchief and blows until he feels his ear pop. 

His face is full of pressure and his throat is wrecked.  

“You’re right. We don’t need to talk about this right now,” Arlo says, voice even softer than before. “You’re sick…. You’ve been working yourself to death. You should be resting. I’m sorry.”

Ben starts laughing in a way that borders on hysterical. “Right. Yeah, I’ve been working myself to death. Sure,” he says before laughing again until they turn into coughs.

“I don’t understand what’s funny,” Arlo says. “Do you — Are you?” 

Arlo moves closer to Ben, reaching out his hand as though to feel Ben’s forehead, but Ben grabs his hand before it can make contact. “I don’t have a fever. I’m fine. Just tired. I think I’m going to go home,” Ben says, already moving forward to stand up.

“Ben, please don’t — don’t leave like this. Don’t be mad. I'm sorry for ruining everything. Stay. Please. We’ll just watch TV. We don’t have to talk about anything.”

But what Arlo doesn’t understand is that it’s too late. Arlo’s already unleashed everything and now it’s all filling up the room, threatening to suffocate Ben. He has to get out.

He forces a smile. “Like I said, I’m tired. And my head hurts. I’m not mad at you,” he says, softening his voice. It’s not a lie. What Ben is feeling is much more complicated than that. “I hope you’re not mad at me. I just want to go to bed. We can… um, talk about things, I guess, later. At another time,” Ben adds, as though that wasn’t obvious. 

He shoves his feet into his tennis shoes and grabs the few items — mostly thoroughly abused handkerchiefs —  he’d brought over. 

When he gets close to the door, Arlo’s right there, concern etching every feature of his face. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? I’m sorry, again. Do you promise you’re not mad?”

Ben takes Arlo’s hand in his. “Not mad. Just tired. And like you so helpfully pointed out — not in the best mood.” It was meant to be humorous, but it came out sharper than intended. He clears his throat. “I’ll talk to you later, okay? Oh, and, uh, don’t get sick,” Ben adds, sheepishly, before pulling his hand away from Arlo’s.

Arlo gives a light chuckle. “I’ll disinfect everything. I’ll be fine. Drive safe, okay?”

When Ben gets in his car, he rests his head on the steering wheel for a moment before putting the car in drive. He breathes a sigh of relief when the engine starts, something that nowadays has a fifty-fifty chance of happening.

As he drives home, he contemplates on just how much more of a jackass he has to be until Arlo’s finally had enough.

Chapter 12

[grayskies2525]

i love your stories and i’m excited about the new updates! sometimes the things you write remind me so much of my own life it’s scary lol but that just makes them even more exciting to read :)

Thank you SO MUCH💕 I'm glad you find my writing relatable (even if it is a little scary lol)!

[grayskies2525]

Thank you for the update on A Year of Falling. I was so happy to see it!

Ben and Arlo are so sweet. I love reading about their interactions with each other and the world. One of my favourite parts of your writing is how easily I can picture the scenarios happening in real life. Your descriptions and logical explanations of characters feelings are excellently done. They always seem relatable when reading their point of view, but it's also easy to see why other characters mistake their motivations and actions as something else.

I'm looking forward to reading more when it's ready!

THANK YOU! I appreciate you taking the time to leave this message 💕I genuinely didn't think anyone would care about the update since it's been... I don't even know how long since the last one. I'm having a lot of fun diving back into the world and getting reacquainted with these guys!

[grayskies2525]

A Year of Falling | Ben & Arlo | M/M | Chapter 10

Word Count: 3,300

Link to all parts: A Year of Falling

Chapter Ten: September – Sixth Cold of the Year

Ben is used to things going to shit, but he’s not used to it happening quite so quickly.

September started with Ben feeling not necessarily happy — happiness seems to be an elusive state of being he can only hope to occasionally visit — but deeply content in a way he hasn’t been in years. 

After Arlo’s proclamation of love on the 4th of July, the two have grown undeniably closer. Ben now wakes up most mornings next to Arlo — something Ben never imagined being so satisfying. Even more surprising is the pleasure he finds in their quiet mornings together when Arlo’s too consumed by brain fog to participate in any conversation. Ben’s never been a morning person either and has always preferred getting ready in silence before heading off to work. In this regard, Arlo’s silence works in Ben’s favor. What surprises him, though, is how much Arlo’s presence settles his nerves. Sometimes they only have time to spend fifteen minutes together before they head off to work, but seeing Arlo sipping coffee and smiling down at whatever is on his phone, is enough to put a spring in his step. 

Then there’s what it feels like to come home to Arlo. Yes, Ben knows thinking of Arlo’s house as his home is wildly dangerous, but that knowledge doesn’t stop the word from dancing all across his mind while he’s at work. 

Just one more hour and you’ll be home.

C’mon, Ben, you can resist punching this customer in the face. Just get through this shift and you’ll be back home with Arlo.

He never allowed himself to think he’d ever have someone to come home to. Someone whose gentle presence could make him feel so safe and wanted. More than that — he’d never thought he’d ever have the chance to be his full self with someone. With Arlo, there’s not once been any pressure to do something he felt uncomfortable with. His asexuality has, historically, been a tremendous annoyance and often a hindrance to his relationships. Arlo, though, has never acted as if he’s making any kind of significant compromise by being with Ben, seeming more than content with chaste kisses and loads of cuddles. 

So, all in all, things have been fairly great for Ben — way better than he’d ever dared to hope. Until he’d arrived at the coffee shop, and five minutes into his shift, found himself in an argument with his new boss.

The crux of the issue was simple. His boss, Phillip — not Phil, his boss was sure to immediately state in a way that inexplicably made Ben dislike him on the spot — was unwilling to allow Ben to keep his current hours. Ben had calmly explained how his hours have been the same hours he’s worked for years, and that it’s never been an issue before. But Phillip — not Phil — plastered on a fake smile while explaining to Ben that things were going to start to change and that Ben would have to be willing to change with them or move on elsewhere. 

“I respect where you’re coming from, Phillip,” Ben had said. “I do, but I’ve worked here for years and I have another job that I have to accommodate for. Is there a way we can just maybe sit down together and work out a schedule that could work out for both of us?”

Phillip’s smile had fallen and he’d given a quick shake of the head. “I understand that the previous management of this place allowed for… flexible schedules.” Phillip had said the words as though he were speaking of shit on the bottom of his shoe. “But with sales how they are, well, I’m sure you understand changes need to be made.”

Ben had blinked a few times, then started to speak before Phillip brought up a hand to halt his speech. “Benjamin, I —”

“Just Ben.”

Phillip’s eyes narrowed before he resumed his fake smile. “Right. Ben.” His boss spoke the name as though it were another spot of shit on his shoe. “I understand you’ve been allowed certain privileges under previous management. But, as I said, there will be changes. And, I hate to even bring this up,” he’d said with a little laugh and devilish expression that indicated he was actually thrilled for an opportunity to bring it up. “But, as you have undoubtedly noticed, I’ve already let a few employees go. It’s unfortunate, of course, but these things happen and… well, I decided to allow you to stay on despite some things I’ve heard about you and, well… some things I’ve seen. There are certain professional expectations I expect all my employees to uphold and the way you acted with that man the other day… well, I didn’t say anything at the time, but…” Phillip’s voice trailed off as he wrinkled his nose and gave a slight shake of his head.

Ben blinked again before regaining his ability for speech. “I’m sorry, but are you referring to when my boyfriend kissed me? On the cheek? After I’d just clocked out?”

Ben remembered the look Phillip had given him at the time, but he was too preoccupied with the scent and comfort of Arlo so close to him that he’d almost immediately forgotten. But there had been something there…. 

“I suppose, yes, that’s what I’m referring to. When your, uh, your boyfriend,” Phillip spoke as though he’d found a third spot of shit on his shoes. “Was here. I have no problems with what people do in their own homes, but —” The fake smile was back. “I’m sure you understand what I’m getting at.”

Ben had understood, indeed. Growing up in a hick town came with homophobia; it was just a fact. He’d gotten used to it quickly — he had to —  so he’d sat and simply stared at Phillip before plastering on his own smile.

“Right, okay, so I guess you’re saying you’re uncomfortable with… PDA?” Ben had offered, giving the man an easy out.

“Yes! Yes. I knew you’d understand. Now regarding your hours, well, I think you can see that I’m already accommodating certain… well, certain factors I wouldn’t normally tolerate, but I’ve heard good things about your work ethic. So I can see how you could be an asset here. But I’m afraid altering the schedule is non-negotiable.”

Ben had been considering how he could possibly change the hours at his other job when Phillip’s expression shifted and he cleared his throat. “Honestly, Benjamin, while we’re on the subject of changes…. Well, there is a certain professional appearance I do expect all employees to adhere to. I’m sure you understand everyone must be well kept and looking their best,” Phillip began, giving another poor attempt at a smile. “This includes making sure one’s hair is brushed and … orderly.”

Ben had remained silent and still for several seconds before understanding crept in. “I wash and brush my hair everyday. So it seems that what you’re trying to say and seem too cowardly to actually say is that you have an issue with the length of my hair,” Ben had said as he’d twirled the hair in question around his finger. It’d gotten longer over the months with Ben deciding to grow it out, liking the way Arlo would brush through it with his fingers. 

And it had all gone downhill from there. Phillip, apparently disliking Ben’s use of the word “cowardly” dropped his polite facade and immediately let his true self show. He was quick to mention Ben’s tendency to paint his fingernails (something Ben has done only once)— another way Ben disregarded employee policy to look professional and “orderly.” Ben’s composure had broken even further — yes, he’d gotten used to casual homophobia, but there was only so much he could take and Phillip had tested him as far as he could go. 

The two had spent twenty minutes in the office until Ben had heard himself say “Okay, then if that’s how you’re going to run this place, then I have to say that I can no longer be a part of it.”

“Am I to take this as your resignation, Benjamin?” Phillip had said.

Face heating and heart pounding, Ben had still managed to twist his lips into something of a smile. “Yes, Phil, you can take this as my official resignation. Effective immediately,” he’d said, liking the way that phrase sounded, like he was in a movie.

It all felt very noble and important at the time, but now as he sits in his car, contemplating where to go from here, it feels decidedly less so.

* * * 

Three days later, Ben sits at the library trying to lower his voice to the quietest volume possible as he speaks on the phone with Arlo. 

“I think heh hh! Ugh. I think chickpea pasta for dinner sounds ihh’tshoo!” Ben stops to pull a crumpled tissue from his pocket up to his nose. “Excuse me. It sounds great. I’ll be home from work at six. Yeah, everything’s been good. A little busy. Actually, we have a line right now, so I think I’ll leave my break early. I’ll see you later tonight, though, okay? Yes, okay. Bye,” he says, moving the phone into his jeans pocket. 

He gives his nose another small blow before lowering his hand to cram the tissue back into his pocket only to have to bring it back up to his nose as he bends forward to sneeze several more times. 

With the tissue thoroughly destroyed — a gaping hole now visible in the middle of the small white, square — he sighs and shoves it back into his pocket where it will reside alongside the numerous other tissues that have fallen in the line of duty. 

He’s sick.

It’s not enough that he’s lost his job and also turned into a lying asshole— the universe also demanded he pick up some cold germs. Said germs are now celebrating their claim of a new host by throwing a party inside his sinuses. 

He’s been sneezing his head off since he’d woken up that morning. Upon waking, he’d wanted more than anything, to burrow back underneath the covers and give into the fatigue he’d somehow still felt lingering even after nearly ten hours of sleep. Arlo’s sleeping body was next to him, and it would have been so easy to nestle into his warmth. He hadn’t, though, mostly because he couldn’t risk getting Arlo sick, but also, he had to maintain the pretense of going to work. Although it’s a weekday, Arlo’s staying home for a PD day, having enrolled in some kind of online conference that he’s attending from his computer. Arlo being Arlo — meaning someone who regards mornings with extreme levels of animosity — seized the opportunity to sleep in.

Having no choice but to leave the house, Ben sought out the library since it’s practically the only place in public he’s permitted to exist in without spending any money. And money is something he’s about to have a whole lot less of. 

He knows keeping the truth from Arlo about losing his job is a less than wise decision. He knows it’s a lie with more holes in it than a net. He knows as soon as Arlo begins to ask even the most basic of questions — how was work today? Was it busy? What crazy kind of stuff did Kenna say to the customers today? — he’ll miserably falter. 

He knows all this. 

And yet, here he is hiding away like a coward — too cowardly to even stay at his own place, since somehow that feels even worse. 

There’s something wrong with him. Something is wrong with him in a way that goes so deep down, he’s not sure even a seasoned psychologist could identify it.

It’ll be fine, though. It’ll be fine because all he has to do is get another job, then he won’t even need to admit he lost this one. Then…. Well, then he’ll have to explain to Arlo why he’s suddenly going to an entirely different place of employment. And then Arlo will ask why Ben lied to him….

Ben lets his head fall into his hands.

Nearby a little girl tears a book away from, presumably, her brother. The brother screams with a ferocity that could rival that of the murder victims in the movies he and Felix watch. Ben scrunches his eyes shut and rubs the center of his forehead, trying and failing to not focus on the piercing pain the scream sent through it.

What the fuck is he actually doing? He can’t possibly stay here all day. What is his plan? What is he doing?

“Heh ih’tshoo!”

Sneezing, apparently.

He should tell Arlo. He should definitely tell Arlo. He’s Arlo. He’s gentle and soft and — 

— too good for you — 

Ben blinks hard at the intrusive thought. 

Arlo is understanding.  One time Arlo’s sister was supposed to pick him up from the airport, but was four hours late because she’d “overslept.” Arlo had just sat at a nearby McDonald’s playing on his phone until she finally picked him up. When Ben shared some thoughts he had about the situation, Arlo shrugged and said “She’s tired. She has kids. It happens.” 

He’s the same guy who spent an extra hour every day — unpaid hours— for weeks tutoring one of his students after school because the kid wouldn’t graduate if he failed Arlo’s class. 

He wouldn’t care if Ben told him he’d quit. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t care… but he’d know. He’d know one more shitty fact about Ben. It’s bad enough that he already knows that Ben has to work two part-time jobs to be able to even just barely make it — for him to also know that Ben can’t even keep both jobs? That’s not the Ben he wants Arlo to know. 

Arlo deserves to know the Ben who can cheer up Arlo when he's near tears because he finds a dead spider in the shower and even though it’s just a spider, it’s “still a creature that was only trying to survive — just like us.”

And the Ben who remembers to tiptoe around the house on weekend mornings so Arlo can sleep in as long as he needs to.

The Ben who makes breakfast for Arlo and notices when it’s the kind of day when he needs his “giant spoons.”

The parts of Ben that can — almost —  make up for the other parts. 

When Ben had first opened up about his depression, it’d been because he’d had no choice in the matter. Arlo had been away one week for some kind of professional development event. Once Arlo left, it was as though all the walls he’d put up finally had a chance to come down and he could finally just be himself. Which meant in between his shifts, he’d just lie listlessly in his dark living room — not a single light on in the house —  on his sofa staring at the ceiling, contemplating how bad it would be to skip a shower for just one more day. This is how Arlo found him the day he’d come back early. Well, not exactly because Ben had to get up from the couch to answer the door for Arlo. But when Arlo had seen Ben… Ben knew he made a mistake — knew he should have at least turned on a light, or thrown out some of what appeared to be dozens of half-eaten cartons of instant noodles that scattered the living room like the physical embodiment of apathy.

Felix once made Ben read a romance novel about magical elves, fairies, witches, and some other shit that honestly made no sense — plus an inordinate amount of smut that left Ben’s little asexual heart reeling. The whole experience had Ben questioning Felix’s taste in “literature.” But something he does remember from that book is the elf having a witch cast some sort of glamour spell over him so that when he went in public, no one would see what he actually looked like unless he chose to drop the glamour. 

When Ben answered the door that day — that’s what it felt like. Like he’d unintentionally dropped his glamour and Arlo had finally seen him. Ben had forced the corners of his mouth upward in an approximation of a smile, but it was too late because Arlo had already seen. Arlo’s face, which initially had shown his excitement at surprising Ben, became etched with lines of worry. Arlo had checked his forehead for, presumably, a fever. He’d asked if Ben had been drinking enough water, if he’d been getting enough sleep, if he’d been eating enough because something was “off” about Ben. That he didn’t look well, that he didn’t “look like Ben.”

But what Arlo hadn’t understood is that Ben had looked like himself. He’d finally looked like his real, authentic self and shame had washed over him at making such a mistake. 

Ben had then proceeded to spend the next ten minutes trapped in a conversation full of euphemisms like “been feeling a little down lately,” and vague attempts at redirection — “Oh you know how it goes. Sometimes it’s just that kind of day. I’m fine, honestly. How are you?”

But Arlo hadn’t fallen for it. Ben doesn’t know exactly what it was Arlo had seen — had he been  pale? Had there been dark circles under his eyes? Fuck, he wouldn’t be surprised if Arlo had smelled him. But the way Arlo had stared… It was as though the words “I’ve spent the last several days trying to remember what the point of living is” were engraved across his forehead.

So, Arlo had said it. He’d said the word that everyone knows you shouldn’t say because if you say it, it makes it real — makes it become this alive thing that demands attention.

“Ben, have you ever seen anyone about your depression?” 

Depression.

He’d just had to go and say it. 

And the worst part was that, clearly, Ben hadn’t been doing as well as he’d thought he’d been at keeping up his glamour. He’d somehow dropped it before without even noticing. And that realization— well that sent up every defensive wall he had within him.

“I’m fine,” were the words that immediately toppled out of Ben’s mouth.

But Arlo had just stared at him before reaching out to brush a strand of hair — a strand of greasy hair— away from Ben’s forehead.

And just continued to fucking stare.

So Ben had admitted that, yeah, sometimes he has days where he’s depressed. He’d mentially applauded at himself for resisting the shudder wanting to overtake him at saying the word. 

Arlo had been very Arlo, and had smiled and said all the right things, but none of it helped because none of it changed anything. Ben couldn’t just be depressed. It wasn’t something a person could just let happen. So, he’d smiled and put the glamour back up, and this time, successfully, changed the subject.

Since then, Ben has only hinted at this part of himself. He can joke about it, but only in a distant, unmeaningful way. He knows he can’t even let Arlo see him like that again.

Just like he can’t let Arlo see him now.

He smothers a chesty cough into the crook of his elbow that leaves tears streaming down his face when he’s finally finished. He takes a much needed breath that instead of offering him relief, spurs on a particularly violent sneeze.

“IIHHHTShHHuuuuh!”

 He looks up and sees several patrons staring at him, wearing expressions with mixtures of polite concern and abject disgust. 

Okay, maybe nobody should see him now.

Part 11

[grayskies2525]

A Year of Falling | Ben & Arlo | M/M | Chapter 9

Word Count: 7,500

Link to all parts: A Year of Falling

Chapter Nine: July – “Just Allergies” (cont) 

It’s around 5 pm when Ben and Arlo arrive at Felix and Connor’s small, but generously decorated, brick house. The sun is still shining brightly, illuminating the pollen scattered all over Connor and Felix’s cars, as well as the front porch railing. Ben cringes at the sight.

When Felix opens the door of his house to greet Ben and Arlo, Ben immediately snaps forward to smother a sneeze into his elbow. 

Great start.

He runs a finger underneath his nose in a useless attempt to ease the tickle still there. He sniffles and gives Felix a smile that he hopes carries no sign of the sheer exhaustion taking hold of him. 

Felix's eyes narrow slightly. “Cold or pollen?” he asks.

Ben, distracted by his nose, gives into the urge to scrub at it again. Felix’s question only reaches the surface of his brain, rendering him incapable of processing the words. So, he frowns and gives Felix a confused “What?” before resuming his nose rubbing.

Felix lets out a long sigh. “Are you about to bring germs into my house, or is your body just overreacting to trees and grass again?”

Just hearing the word “grass” tickles Ben’s nose, causing him to cover another sneeze with his elbow. “The, uh, the second one,” he says with a heavy sniffle. “My immune system obviously thinks gr  — grahhh  — aHH’tSHHuuuhh! Ugh. I can’t even say the word. I’m trying to say my immune system thinks g-r-a-s-s,” he says, spelling out the word before continuing, “warrants a full-scale attack. Well, any kind of pollen, I guess. Fuck, I don’t even know. At this point, I think I’m just allergic to everything,” Ben says, shifting his face rubbing efforts to his eyes instead of nose. 

Ben’s eyes are watering so fiercely that he can’t make out anything clearly. But he sees a large, gray, vaguely couch-shaped blur so he strides toward it and all but collapses onto it. 

“Felix,” Ben begins before giving a big sniff. “I think it’s your house I’m allergic to,” he continues, wiping his now streaming eyes with his hand. “It wasn’t this bad before I stepped in.”

Ben feels a sudden warmth against his thigh and smiles when he sees Arlo’s sat down next to him, their legs touching.

“Stop with the dramatics. You’ve been in my house for barely two seconds. You’re ‘not getting worse,’” Felix says, rolling his eyes.

Ben is glad Connor walks in at that moment, diverting Felix’s attention away from further teasing Ben. 

Connor gives Felix a quick kiss before looking over and nodding at Ben and Arlo. “Hey, you two.”

Ben sniffles and gives some sort of vague hand gesture in acknowledgement of Connor’s greeting. He hears Arlo say something softly but Ben’s too busy sneezing into his elbow to discern the exact words.

“Sick again?” Connor asks.

Ben weakly lifts his head and meets Connor’s gaze. “No, it’s been, like, forever since I’ve been sick. It’s just allergies.” At this point, Ben figures he could really benefit from a t-shirt with that phrase across it.

“Want some Benadryl? We keep some around because sometimes I use it to help me sleep,” Connor offers.

“No, babe, he can’t take that stuff, remember? Ben’s a little weakling whose body can’t handle a simple antihistamine,” Felix says, his tone teasing.

Ben would roll his eyes, or at least narrow them, but he’s too exhausted. “They give me migraines,” he tells Connor. Connor’s grimacing expression tells Ben he understands why trading off a sneezy and runny nose for a horrendous headache and nausea isn’t worth it. 

“That really sucks, sorry,” Connor says.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ben says in a tone conveying how decidedly not fine it actually is. “I can handle it. I’ll resort to other remedies. Like steam, or better yet, dunking my head into a sinkful of warm water and keeping it there until I just fucking die,” Ben says, scrunching his itchy eyes shut.

Ben looks up to see all eyes staring at him in evident concern. “What?” he asks, his brows furrowed.

Arlo places a hand on Ben’s thigh and rubs it in a soothing gesture. “You sound pretty miserable, is all,” he says softly.

“Nooooo, but I don’t want to sound miserable,” he whines.

He hears a mix of snorts and chuckles and then Felix say “You can go home, you know? Nowhere in the best friend contract does it state that you are required to attend every single 4th of July celebration.”

“But I don’t want to go home. I’m not even sick! It’s so frustrating because there’s nothing even wrong! At least when I’m sick, it makes sense to sneeze and to feel like shit. Because there’s a virus inside me or whatever. But allergies? They’re so stupid.” Ben’s aware he sounds like a petulant child, but he’s unable to resist continuing. “Like, how do I tell my body that pollen doesn’t actually pose a danger? And nobody better say ‘oh just take an antihistamine” because I swear to god.” He’s distantly aware his heartbeat has started to pick up speed and he’s raising his voice more than one typically does over the topic of allergies. “It doesn’t even matter. Because I’m fine. It’s just some sneezing, a runny nose, and itchy…well, itchy everything. But it’s fine. I’m perfectly capable of still having fun,” Ben says even as he feels his nose begin to twitch again. 

He ducks his head into his arm. “ATdzschuuuh! AdTSCHUHHhhuhh! Goddamnit, I’m going to commit murder!”

“Yay, so glad you’re here, Ben,” Felix says, sardonically. “What a delight it is for us to have you here when you’re in such an obviously great mood. I just can’t wait to spend the evening with —”

Ben can’t let him keep going. “Shut up, Felix. I, in fact, am in a great mood. Mind over matter, right?”

“God, you sound like Connor. And I don’t think that phrase applies to allergies, but you can knock yourself out trying to make it work if that’s what you really want. Just stay away from me while you do it,” Felix says, flashing Ben a smile before grabbing Connor’s hand to pull him away to, presumably, get stuff ready before everyone else comes over.

“You okay?” Arlo asks, the familiar soft, soothing tones almost enough to pull Ben out of his allergy-induced misery.

Ben sniffles thickly. “I’m fine. Super, super, fine. I’m having so much fun,” he says, giving a weak smile and thumbs-up. 

“We can go home. Well, we can go to your home. Or, uh, my home. Either home. Or if you want to just be alone, you can go to your home, and I could go to my home,” Arlo sputters and Ben finds the corners of his mouth twitching despite his exhaustion and discomfort. 

“If in a hypothetical situation where I were to go to a home — any home — I can assure you I’d want you in the home with me. And it’s silly of you to not know that.” Ben pauses, trying not to laugh as he sees Arlo shift his gaze quickly downward. “I predict a blush in three, two, ah… there it is,” Ben says, an amused smile playing on his lips as he watches the pink creep up Arlo’s cheeks.

Arlo attempts a glare, but it’s impossible for him to come across as anything but almost painfully adorable  — not that Ben would ever say so. 

“Anyway, there will be no running off to any home. I am a big, strong man who can handle some allergies,” Ben says, flexing his nonexistent muscles. 

Arlo frowns. “Are you sure? About not wanting to go to one of our homes? I mean, the prospect doesn’t sound bad to me, at all, I have to say.”

Ben huffs out a laugh. “Okay, first of all, I forbid either of us from saying ‘home’ again because it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore. And second of all, I now see your concern for me is all a facade. You just don’t want to be around people.”

Arlo scrunches up his nose as though the mere thought of ‘people’ is enough to unsettle him. “I mean, people aren’t my favorite….”

“It’ll be fine. Everyone will love you and I’m sure — hold on, I have to heh Hah-dtzCHIEW!”

Ben blinks hard and quickly shakes his head before continuing. “I’m sure you’ll have a good time. I know you like going over to your sister’s for the 4th, but I think leaving your comfort zone will be a good thing.”

Arlo’s expression says he thinks differently, but Ben just squeezes thigh gently. “We’re both going to thrive tonight, Arlo. Just wait and see.”

* * *

“Ndo, I’be dot sigck. It’s just allergies. So, yeah, probise I’be dot codtagious,” Ben says for the forty-thousandth time that evening — this time to Shauna and her husband after he, unintentionally, sneezed uncovered into the air several times. The two now stand in front of their four year old daughter as if to shield her from Ben’s germs. 

His nasal passages feel completely swollen, as if no amount of air can make its way through regardless of how many times he blows his nose. If he wants to continue to breathe, which he very much so does, he must keep his mouth open partially. He watches Shauna and Rob smile politely, then say something he can’t understand because he’s too preoccupied building up to another sneeze. He scrunches up his face in a vague approximation of a smile, which must be the right thing to do because they walk off into the backyard to stand under a tree. A surge of envy spreads through Ben at how some people can just stand under a tree and face no consequences from it. Ben, on the other hand, has isolated himself onto the back porch. It’s a small area that doesn’t even provide shade and is barely capable of fitting three people onto it at once. But it’s as far as he can get away from the trees, so it’ll have to suffice.

Not that it seems to be making a significant difference. The tickle from before has fully blossomed, so Ben muffles a desperate, itchy sneeze into his arm. Then another. And another.

He looks out to see Arlo standing by the grill, mingling with guests. They’d been there together, but the smoke had started irritating Ben’s nose and to his alarm, his chest. Memories from when he was little of his parents talking about how he didn't have asthma exactly, but could present “asthma like symptoms,” when his allergies got bad enough, started flitting through his mind. He’d assumed he’d grown out of that, since as an adult, he’s found that usually his symptoms stick to his nasal passages. But there was no denying the tightness of his throat and chest as he breathed in the smoke from the grill and the pollen wafting through the air. As much as he wants to persevere through his allergies and enjoy (or at least make it through) the evening, he also doesn’t want to risk dropping dead from an asthma attack in his best friend’s backyard, so he’d dismissed himself from the conversation to seek refuge on the porch.

Poor Arlo, though, was in the midst of actively participating in whatever discussion they’d been having, so he couldn’t smoothly leave the situation without being rude. Otherwise, Ben’s positive he would have. Everything about his body language right now screams “I was forced to come here and I’d rather eat glass than continue this conversation.” 

There’s more people than Ben had expected. This is the first year Felix has actually hosted people at his house for the 4th. Usually he and Ben go to Felix’s parents to celebrate. This year, though, Felix wanted to make a bigger deal out of it now that he and Connor live together. Ben hadn’t given the words much thought at the time, but now as he looks around, he realizes Felix wasn’t kidding. Felix’s parents are here, as well as a plethora of Felix’s friends, who seem to have brought their own friends. Felix’s house is nice, but it’s small. Ben imagines it’s better suited for cozy winter days curled in a blanket watching snow through the window — not a place to host over a dozen people in its tiny backyard. Ben is starting to feel overwhelmed by the amount of socializing happening around him, so he knows Arlo must feel close to drowning.

 Ben wants to save him. He really does. But he can still see the smoke from the grill swirling around over everyone’s heads. Even from his spot on the porch, his chest and throat feel irritated. He’s known all along he’d eventually have to retreat inside, but he thought he’d last longer than twenty minutes. He sighs before standing up from his chair. He’s going to have to go in, but he needs to rescue Arlo first.

He makes his way over to the where everyone is clustered around that godforsaken tree, next to the grill. Arlo’s left hand busily picks at his cuticles, while his right hand rhythmically taps away at his thigh. He’s talking about… something. Ben can’t possibly figure out what. His speech has become a string of “um’s” and “uh’s” and “so yeahs.” 

“Yeah, so, I mean, I’m just saying that yes, I like fireworks, but it’s hard for me not to feel like we’re ignoring the systemic issues of this country. I mean, it’s like, yeah ‘freedom, whoo-hoo!’ but also there’s an argument to be made that, uh, not all people in this country are necessarily free, you know because of… Well because of a lot of things. And that’s without even getting into any of this country’s historical injustices and….”

Jesus, Ben thinks. I leave him alone for five minutes and he goes on a diatribe, albeit a very awkward one, about the problematic nature of celebrating a country rooted in centuries of inequality.

He quickens his pace until he’s standing next to Arlo. He casually places his hand on the small of Arlo’s back. Arlo immediately relaxes into Ben’s touch, making Ben smile. 

“So, what are we talkidg about over here? Surely dot systemic oppressiod?” Ben says, his tone dramatic and eyes wide. Some people laugh, likely relieved at the interruption. He sniffs deeply, wriggles his nose, then rubs it quickly with the back of his hand in effort to lessen his congested tone. “Oh, Is it about that lovely cake Melissa made?” he asks, shooting a smile toward Felix’s mother. “I bet that’s what it is. I can’t wait to eat it. It probably took forever to make, right?”

And just like that, the group begins talking about Felix’s mother’s baking skills. Arlo leans further into Ben then whispers a desperate sounding “thank you” into his shoulder. Ben snorts in amusement, then leads Arlo away from the crowd of people across the short distance to the back porch. Ben feels a warm breeze against his skin and wonders why he ever thought “distancing” himself from the tree would make much of a difference; the wind is going to blow all the allergens everywhere, anyway. 

“I don’t even know why I got started, Ben,” Arlo says. “It’s just… everyone was looking at me and asking questions about how I normally celebrate the fourth. So, I opened up my mouth to tell them how I usually spend it at Brooke and her family’s house, you know, with my niece and nephew. But there were just so many eyes on me and before I knew it word vomit was coming out everywhere. ” The look in Arlo’s eyes is frantic and worried. 

Ben takes Arlo’s hands. “It’s okay. I promise no one is judging you. I’d guarantee nearly every person here agrees with your take. It’s just that I think maybe we try to use this day to ignore all that serious shit. You know, just eat some burgers and watch explosions and pretend everything’s fine.”

Arlo’s eyes widen and he grips Ben’s hands tighter. “Oh my god, and that’s another thing. The burgers! Everyone was asking about why I was eating so many pretzels and snack foods so 

I explained that I was probably going to eat some cake, but not any of the burgers, which of course, led to them asking why I became vegetarian, and I mean, how do I answer that without making people feel like I’m judging them?”

Ben releases Arlo’s grip so he can wipe his nose. “Well, it’s simple. You say ‘ah, you know, it’s just always been a choice that makes sense for me, personally,’ then you change the subject. Easy peasy.” He stares at Arlo’s eyes, which are now rapidly blinking. Ben has to suppress a laugh. “What you don’t say is anything at all about the ethics of factory farming. I’m sure you didn’t, though, right? Please tell me neither the word ‘factory’ nor ‘farming’ came out of your mouth while standing around a bunch of people eagerly waiting to eat burgers?”

Arlo, wearing the most pitifully crestfallen expression, stares at Ben.

“Oh, Arlo, I can’t take you anywhere,” but even Ben can hear the fondness dripping off the words.

Ben feels his amused expression shift into something else, though, when he notices faint pink splotches trailing up Arlo’s neck. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Ben asks, gesturing at his own neck.

Arlo’s brows knit as he looks down at his chest. “What? Oh. Am I splotchy? Sorry, that happens sometimes,” he says quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I don’t want you to apologize, Arlo. I want you to explain why you look like you’ve broken out into hives. You… oh,” he says as realization dawns. “Did you really get that anxious?” Ben regrets immediately how judgemental his tone sounds when he sees Arlo wince. “Hey, it’s okay if you did. I’m just worried. I wouldn’t have left you over heh over — hehhh!” 

Ben scrunches up his face, trying to rid himself of the tickle — an action experience has taught him does nothing except make him look exceedingly ridiculous. Still, though, he gives it a valiant effort.

“Heeh-DTZchuUH!” 

The sneeze feels particularly strong, but there’s still an intense itch deep within his sinuses. 

Fuck, he thinks. This is about to be bad.

“Bless —”

“Bless me, I know, I know,” Ben interrupts, feeling guilty at how much irritation he allowed to slip into his tone. He squints his eyes and fixes his gaze on the sun. “I’ve been haah I’ve been thoroughly blessed today, so my soul’s safe, I think. I — I — het-chuuuh! Etchuuuh! ETschuuuh! Chhh! CHhhh! ETchhh! ETCHooo! ETCHiew! Eh hhhh hhh?”

Ben pulls out a crumpled tissue from his pocket to wipe his nose, but he’s gasping again before he can get a good grasp on it. He watches as it falls to the ground. He shakes his head, then  bends forward, hands on his knees, prepared to aim his sneezes at the concrete.

“Ehhh edt’shhhh! Ahhh Ahht’shiew! AdSHUuuuuh!” 

That irritated, tight feeling is back in his throat and chest, accompanied by an unbearably strong itching sensation. He quickly becomes lost in a fit of coughing that does nothing to bring any relief. It’s not his normal allergy coughing that serves to relieve his post nasal drip. It’s more urgent. 

And it won’t stop.

He feels Arlo’s hand on his back and then hears footsteps. He looks up through watery eyes to see Shauna standing before him, expression full of concern.

“Ben, do you have asthma?” she asks in a calm, but severe tone. He remembers she’s a nurse and probably knows what she’s talking about.

“No. I had —  heh —  ‘asthma like symptoms’ as a kid. Whatever that means. I don’t know. I just remember my parents saying that. I think I had a rescue inhaler, but I don’t remember ever using it? I really —  heh —  I really don’t know. Heh et’SHOO! EH’SHOOO!”

And then the coughing takes back over. Every breath he manages in between is a wheeze. 

Ben’s not a doctor or a nurse, but it’s still very clear that he should not be outside right now, so he tries to make his way inside through the back door. The problem, though, is his eyes are streaming tears, so he can barely see. His coughing and Shauna’s subsequent abrupt jog over clearly raised alarm in people because it seems that everyone has now decided to relocate onto the small porch. He’s surrounded.

Several people are crowded around the door, which just seems absurd. He assumes they’re well-meaning and wanting to help, but he needs to get in. 

Shauna’s hand is on his back, saying something he can’t parse through. Something about how the pollen count is at a record high for this time of year and that he needs to get inside — both things he’s already more than aware of.

He continues to stand with his hands on his thighs, trying to even out his breathing, but the damn coughing refuses to stop. It sounds like everyone’s talking all at once. He hears Melissa, Felix’s mom, say something in a voice threaded with obvious concern. There’s actually a lot of concerned sounding voices. Someone’s asking if they should call 9-1-1, which he thinks is highly unnecessary. It’s surely not that bad. 

He just needs everyone to get the fuck out of the way and he’s sure he’d be fine.

Clearly he’s made a bit of a scene of himself. He imagines he looks pretty rough. His eyes are streaming and he has nothing to capture the wetness with aside from the back of his hand. A distant part of Ben’s mind registers this as being a mortifying moment that will replay in his head before falling asleep for decades to come. But right now his main concern is to get the coughing to stop and to just breathe. 

If only he could get inside. 

To his alarm, he realizes he’s starting to feel lightheaded. “Het’chh! Chh! Chh chh chh eh chh!”

The sneezes he aims at the ground are weak, but make the fuzziness in his head worse, and he still can’t catch his breath for all the coughing. It feels like he’s being touched all over by different people. He doesn’t need to be touched. He needs to be inside. 

Suddenly, he feels an arm wrapping tightly around his waist. “Hey, give him space!” The words are firm and surprisingly loud, making it through the chaos around them. “He needs to get inside right now, but you all are blocking the damn door! Move!” 

Holy shit, he thinks. That’s Arlo.

The figures quickly disperse and Arlo, still holding onto him tightly, guides him inside to the kitchen.

“There’s no need for everyone to come in and stare at him. Shauna, please stay and help. Everyone else, just go back out for now,” Arlo demands, sounding uncharacteristically confident and in charge. Ben wonders absently if this is how he talks to his students. 

“You mean Shauna and Felix,” Felix adds, indignantly. “I’m not staying outside while Ben has an asthma attack.”

“Jesus, Felix, I’m not having an —” Ben’s words break off as he continues to cough and wheeze. It’s becoming harder to get a full breath. He’s surely not having an asthma attack. He doesn’t have those. And he can breathe; it’s just not particularly easy. Yes, his chest is tight and uncomfortable, he’s lightheaded, and his breaths are definitely coming out more wheezy than he’d like. Still, though, he doesn't feel like he’s on the cusp of death — the way he imagines asthma attacks would feel. 

Arlo guides Ben to the couch. Ben leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, trying to control his breaths while Arlo rubs his back in soothing circles. Felix sits on his other side — his presence quiet, but comforting.

“Should we get him to the ER?” Felix asks, voice tight with worry.

“No, absolutely not. I’m not going to the ER on the fourth of July with —” Ben breaks off, coughing. “With people who —” More coughing and this time, a slight amount of gasping. “Who have actual injuries, like blown off hands or whatever. I’m fine.”

“I’m not too worried. He’s able to mostly speak in full sentences, so I don’t think he’s in severe respiratory distress,” Shauna says, calmly, from her spot on the coffee table. “All right, Ben. Try to sit up straight and lean a little forward, okay? That’ll help you breathe easier. Focus on getting your breaths in slowly. Try to inhale through your nose and exhale through pursed lips. You’re already starting to sound a little better than you were. I think we can manage this here just fine as long as you stay calm and listen to what I say, okay?”

Ben does as she says, focusing mostly on Arlo’s gentle, soothing touch as he breathes slowly in and out while keeping his eyes closed.

Gradually, the tightness in his chest lessens and his breaths begin coming more easily and with less of a wheeze. 

“Does anyone have an antihistamine?” Shauna asks after a few minutes, breaking the silence. Her voice is still calm, but authoritative.

“I have Benadryl. He didn’t want to take it earlier, though. Something about them giving him migraines.” That’s Connor’s voice. He must’ve come in at some point while Ben’s focus was devoted to getting his lungs to work.

“Well, he needs to take it now.  And then, Ben,” she continues, addressing him directly. “If you feel like you can, you should take a shower and change your clothes. You’ve been sneezing your head off since I got here. You’re obviously having a severe reaction to some kind of allergen. You’re probably coated in it. After the shower, you need to just rest. I think you had a mild asthma attack. ”

“Het’shuuuh! Eh heh et’shhhhh!” 

He sprays the sneezes down at the floor, then wipes his nose with a tissue he vaguely recalls Arlo handing him earlier.

“I don’t have asthma though,” he says, weakly, feeling inordinately exhausted.

“It starts in adulthood for some people. I know you have pretty severe allergies, so I suggest seeing your allergist and talking about this, okay?”

Ben doesn’t have an allergist, but he’s not going to mention that. He’ll sort this whole potential asthma thing out later. Right now he can barely even keep his eyes open. But Shauna’s right — he does need to take a shower and get into non-pollen soaked clothes, so he hums in agreement before getting up to do just that.

* * *

Ben’s never felt more pathetic in his life than he does now, sitting alone watching through a window at everyone else outside talking and having fun. He’d taken a shower and changed into some of Connor’s clothes — some old sweatpants and a t-shirt, both of which are comically oversized, but it was his only option aside from Felix’s clothes, which would have been too small. 

Arlo had wanted to go home, of course. Ben, though, refused to admit defeat. He’d promised to have a good time no matter what, allergies and a tiny asthma attack be damned. He looks through the window again and watches as everyone laughs at something Connor apparently said. Arlo’s fingers tap nervously away at his thigh as he stands next to Annie and Lilah. Ben sighs and clutches the blanket he has draped over his shoulders more tightly. 

After Ben had his little respiratory episode an hour ago, when it became clear he wanted to stay and watch the fireworks even if it had to be through a window, everyone seemed to fixate on Arlo. It was as if they were determined to make sure he had a good time despite his wreck of a boyfriend. Arlo had tried to mutter something about wanting to keep Ben company, but the confident, assured man from before had disappeared and he easily acquiesced. Connor and Felix had all but swept him away.

“We want to get to know him a little more,” Felix had said. “We work together but I want to see who he is when he’s not in a professional environment, you know?”

It didn’t seem to matter what Arlo had wanted.

Ben shifts on the futon. He’s in Connor’s home office, which also doubles as the place Felix keeps his pet snake and tarantula. It had been Connor’s idea to put in a futon. He’d wanted a guest room, but they simply didn’t have the space in the small, two-bedroom home, so the futon had been a compromise. Ben wonders now if Connor’s “guest room” idea came about from how often it seemed Ben ended up crashing at their place. It’s not like they ever have any other guests. Connor probably got sick of tiptoeing around his own living room while Ben slept on his couch.

“Eh’ptshhh! Eh’tshhh! T’shhhhuh!”

Ben releases the light, misty sneezes into his tissues. After taking the Benadryl (and some Excedrin in a preemptive attempt to stave off any potential migraine) Felix had gotten him nicely set up in the office. He has plenty of tissues, several bottles of water, and a nice, fuzzy throw blanket. But still, he feels like complete shit. 

His allergies do feel better, likely due to the antihistamine. The Excedrin seems to have helped him not develop a full-blown migraine, but it didn’t fully prevent a headache  — not that he’s surprised. He was probably going to have a headache from how much he’d been sneezing and coughing even if he hadn’t taken the allergy medicine. Mostly, he’s feeling drowsy. Shauna mentioned the asthma attack, which he’s slowly starting to accept is what is indeed what he had, would probably make him feel fatigued. Adding Benadryl into the mix just made everything worse. 

He tries to take another bite of the slice of cake Felix’s mom had ordered he eat, but his appetite is nonexistent. He instead spreads the red, white, and blue icing around the paper plate until he sighs and sets it aside.

He reaches for another tissue to blow his nose, then borrows deeper into his blanket. His eyelids feel too heavy, so finally he gives in and lets them close.

“There you are!”

The smile comes before Ben can even open his eyes. When he does, he sees a very flustered looking Arlo standing in the doorway. 

“Hey, there you are. Come sit down,” Ben says as he pats the spot next to him, his voice raspy from all the coughing and sneezing.

Arlo immediately complies, his shoulder slumping in apparent relief to be away from the crowd of people. When he makes it to the futon, his gaze scans Ben up and down. “How are you feeling?” he asks, face twisted with concern.

“I’m okay. Just tired,” Ben answers, then frowns as he sees Arlo’s hives from before are still there. They’re actually worse. “Are you okay? You’re, um… a little splotchy again.”

“I’m fine, really. It just happens when I get overwhelmed. Like, socially overwhelmed,” Arlo admits, casting his gaze downward. 

“I’m sorry I left you out there to fend for yourself,” Ben says, frowning.

“You didn’t leave me.  And I was mostly worried about you. I still feel like we should see a doctor just in case. I mean, Ben, you couldn’t breathe.”

“I mean, technically, I could. It was just a little like doing it through a straw is all,” Ben jokes, weakly.

Arlo nudges his arm. “Stop. You need to take it seriously.”

Ben just groans and leans his head against the futon. Arlo curls into his side, resting his head against Ben’s shoulder. 

“This is very nice, but you’re gonna have to move,” Ben announces as he scrunches up his nose.

“What, why?”

“Because I’m going to sneeze,” Ben states simply, his eyes still closed.

“Are you sure? You don’t look like you’re going to sneeze.”

“Oh, but I am. I’m just trying to stall because I know it’s going to kill my already splitting head.” 

“Well, I don’t see why I have to move. Just turn your head,” Arlo murmurs, snuggling up even closer.

“It’ll heh hh! It’ll still be in the heh air th-heh-though. Can you hand me a t-hih-issue?”

“It’s not like you’re contagious. It’s fine. I promise,” Arlo assures him, but he pulls away slightly to grab a tissue.

But the sneezes are done being patient and start tumbling out over each other before Ben can take it.

“HEH EH’tchhhh! EDT’shhhh! Edtzshooo! Eh chh! Chhh chhh chh chh uhhh CHH!” He sniffles and realizes he’d unknowingly held Arlo more tightly through the fit, squeezing his side. He has a single moment to wonder if he’d accidentally caused him any pain before he’s taken over again. “EH CHIEW! EH CHIEW! HUUHHH! Tshh! Tshhh! TSHHH! HEH-Tshhhhh!”

Ben hopes Arlo was truthful about not minding if he sneezed openly because he’d guarantee the air they’re both breathing is composed of more sneeze spray than oxygen now. 

“Bless you. Are you okay?” Arlo murmurs against his shoulder.

“Yeah, but this will probably go on for a while,” he admits, reaching over to grab the tissue box.

A few moments go by in silence with the two just snuggling on the futon until Ben breaks it with a question he’s been avoiding. “So, feel free to ignore this question if you don’t want to answer. But, have you ever been medicated for anxiety? I’m just wondering because you seem to have some, uh, pretty intense physical reactions.”

Arlo exhales loudly then makes a noise that sounds like a groan. “Yeah, I mean, I was. In my early twenties. But then I stopped because, I don’t know… It seemed like a lot to deal with. Keeping up with the prescriptions, I mean. And I didn't really think I needed it. So, I just kind of stopped.”

Ben snorts, then realizing how rude that seems, quickly defends himself. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not laughing at you. I just find it funny because I did the exact same thing with antidepressants. Just stopped taking them. Sometimes I think we couldn’t be any more different, then there’s moments like this….” Ben trails off.

Now it’s Arlo’s turn to snort. “Moments where you realize we have things in common like being really bad at taking care of ourselves?”

“Exactly,” Ben says, laughing.

“Speaking of…. You know you need to go to the doctor, right? To see about this potential asthma thing?”

“That sounds like a lot of work. And money.” 

Even though Ben feels like he works nearly every waking moment of his life, going to the doctor has never been a luxury he could afford. Neither of his jobs offer health insurance and he doesn’t make enough money to afford medical care on his own, but makes too much to qualify for any sort of government assistance. He hears fireworks off in the distance and wonders if Arlo’s earlier holiday cynicism is rubbing off on him because thinking about the American healthcare system has him wanting to toss all the 4th of July decorations into the trash.

Arlo shifts from Ben’s embrace and sits up straighter. “If I have to help you pay for a doctor visit, or loan you money or whatever, I will. You said yourself earlier today that your allergies are only getting worse. And you heard a literal medical professional say you probably had an asthma attack. What if you have another, Ben? And it’s worse? You don’t have an inhaler or anything. What if next time sitting up straight and doing breathing exercises doesn’t work?” Arlo speaks quickly, almost breathlessly and his mouth is drawn in a tight line.

“You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?” Ben asks with a raised brow. Someone worrying about him, who isn’t Felix,  is still very much a novelty. 

Arlo stares for a long moment before he blinks slowly. “Of course I’m worried. How could you even ask that? I —” He exhales sharply. “I hate seeing you unwell. You’re — I mean, you… I —” He puts his head in his hands and lets out a frustrated huff. He lifts his head to meet Ben’s gaze. “With all the people today and all the food I couldn’t eat…. And the hives,” he says, emphatically, gesturing at his neck. “They were all worth it because of you. Surely you know that? I mean, you know I wouldn’t willingly come to something like this on my own, right?”

Ben feels a twinge of guilt tug at his chest. “Oh, yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have asked you to come. That was selfish of me.”

Arlo gives him another stare and slow blink combo. “That’s not what I meant. Ben, I love you, but you are so frustrating sometimes that I —” Arlo stops abruptly, his eyes widening into saucers.

Ben opens his mouth, then immediately closes it. Then he watches Arlo’s mouth do the exact same thing.

“Are you sure?” Ben hears himself finally ask. “Like, are you serious? Or did you just mean it the way people say they ‘love’ potato chips or they ‘love’ their car?” Ben doesn’t know what he wishes the answer to be. He doesn’t know anything right now. His head hurts, his eyes feel heavy, and nothing makes sense. 

Arlo seems to carefully consider the question. “I feel a lot stronger about you than potato chips or cars. So, yeah, I really mean it. I think.”

Ben rolls his eyes, snorts, then sneezes twice into the tissue he’s been holding before breaking out into nervous laughter. “What a grand romantic declaration of love, Arlo. Seriously, I’m honored.”

A blush has taken over Arlo’s face and he averts his gaze. “Hush. It was an impromptu declaration of love, so stop with your judging.”. 

Ben snorts again. Then, sneezes again. “Hmm… I think you can do better. You literally read poetry and shit. You teach students about Walt Whitman and Emily Dickenson. So, go ahead,” he says, gesturing broadly to the space around them. “The floor is yours and there are literal fireworks going off outside, so I expect the very best.”

He doesn’t know why he says it — why he’s inviting Arlo to continue talking about such an absurd thing. Except that he has to maintain the pretense of lightheartedness — has to pretend his fight or flight response hasn’t kicked in and that he’s definitely leaning heavily toward the flight side of things.

Arlo narrows his eyes. “I know you’re teasing, but joke’s on you, because I’ve got this,” he says, his voice taking on a more confident, assured tone. He straightens up on the futon, taking Ben’s hands in his. Ben feels his stomach twist in… what? Dread? Apprehension? Excitement? He doesn’t know, but there’s no time to analyze because Arlo’s staring at him blush-free and with a very intentful look in his eyes.

“Ben —”

Ben abruptly pulls his hands from Arlo’s and desperately grabs the tissue from his lap. “Hah eh-shooo! Eh hih ihtshooo! Ihshooo! IH —heh — fuck. Idtz’shooo!”

Ben blows his nose loudly. “Sorry. Uh, please, proceed to tell you how perfect I am and how much you love me,” he says, voice muffled by the tissue.

Arlo stares at him, his face softening with an expression full of unmistakable fondness. Or, no, it’s more than that, Ben thinks. Arlo doesn’t need to have a grand speech prepared full of eloquent words — his face says everything. How had Ben not seen it before? How is it possible that someone is looking at him with an expression like that? His heart is thundering in his chest and he feels like he should say something to stop Arlo from opening his mouth because what can Ben offer in return? But it’s too late.

“Ben, I love you.”

Ben waits for more, but Arlo continues to sit there staring before he bites his lips.

Ben’s anxiety eases and he feels the corners of his mouth twitch. “That it?”

Arlo frowns. “No. I have more,” he says, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, the thing about Dickenson and Whitman is that they had time to write their poetry. To get all the words right. And, Ben, I really want to get the words right.” He pauses, his expression thoughtful. “Do you think you can give that to me? Time to get the words, right?”

Ben feels the tension leave his shoulders and the beat of his heart resume a more normal pace. 

“Yes, if you do the same for me. Give me more time, I mean. You deserve the right words, too. Words not said through a Benadryl haze. And, honestly, Arlo, you also deserve more time to really think about your feelings. I mean, you barely know me,” Ben adds, hating the crack in his voice that has nothing to do with his allergies. “There’s still so much shit about myself I haven’t even shown you. So, save the speech for later okay? For when you’re sure.” 

Ben knows that he’s never going to get to hear the speech. Because with enough time, Arlo will come to his senses and realize Ben tricked him — that he hid his true self away and when Arlo finally does see who Ben really is — well, he’s definitely not going to care anymore about the “right words” or perfectly crafted romantic speeches.

Arlo silently stares at Ben for such a long time that he has to stop himself from squirming in discomfort. Finally Arlo lets out a long sigh before taking Ben’s hands in his. “Okay, then. We won’t talk about it anymore for now. I won’t tell you any more about how I love you. And you don’t have to say it back.” At this, Ben shifts uncomfortably on the futon and begins to open his mouth, but Arlo holds a hand out, stopping him. “But, Ben, I do promise. I promise that one day I will find the right words to encompass everything I feel for you. It’s not a matter of if but when.”

Ben says nothing. What can he say to that?

Outside, the fireworks continue. Ben clears his throat before slowly pulling his hands away from Arlo’s. “C’mon, let’s actually watch the fireworks Felix stupidly spent hundreds of dollars on.”

So the two leave the futon to stand by the window that gives them a perfect view of the fireworks. Ben wraps his arm around Arlo, who easily leans in. Ben snorts as he sees Connor pull a lighter away from Felix’s hand. He doesn’t need to hear to know Connor is forbidding Felix from setting off any fireworks. With Felix’s history of being accident prone, Ben has to agree with Connor’s decision. 

The fireworks really are beautiful. He and Arlo stand shoulder-to-shoulder in silence as they watch the pretty colors explode and crackle across the sky. Children are running through the yard and Ben can see from here that everyone is having a fun time laughing and celebrating.

Ben remembers his promise from earlier in the day — to have a good time no matter what. He’s had multiple horrendously awful allergy attacks, as well as what most likely was an asthma attack. He was forced by his body’s limitations to sequester himself off in a single room to watch everyone else celebrate through a window. He’s had what anyone would consider to be an exceptionally bad day.

And yet….

“Thank you for being here with me. You have a way of making things feel a little less awful,” Ben says softly.

“God, you too. All I could think about while I was out there was ‘I just have to make it back to Ben and everything will be better.’ And it is better. When I’m with you, I feel like I can finally breathe,” Arlo says, giving a long exhale as if to demonstrate his point.

Ben recalls how just an hour earlier, it felt like there had been a weight on his chest. Each breath had taken a deliberate effort from his burning lungs. Arlo had been his anchor, soothing him with his gentle touch. As Ben focused on Arlo, he’d felt the weight slowly lift until he was finally able to get in a full breath.

He turns to face Arlo — his features flickering beautifully in red and gold from the last firework. “I can breathe better when I’m with you, too” Ben finally says, pulling Arlo in closer as another firework lights up the sky. 

He thinks back to what Arlo said about loving him. Ben knows it can't last, but in this moment, he can pretend.

They continue to stand together in the dimly-lit room as the muffled booms from outside rattle the window pane and the lights dance across the walls. As the last firework of the night crackles into silence, Ben realizes with astonishment that despite the incessant sneezing and minor health crisis, he truly did enjoy the day — and that the reason is solely down to the man standing next to him. 

Part 10

[grayskies2525]

God, now this! It's getting hard to pay attention to the story 😅

I just finished this book (M/urder on M/ilverton S/quare in case anyone is wondering -- it's a cute, cozy, little mystery/romance) and oh my goodness, I am not usually an allergy lover, but the main character has dust, cat, and pollen allergies. And it's described so much! The main characters mentions frequently having to take "hayfever tablets," and he describes in detail the building pressure he feels in his sinuses, and there's, of course, sneezes. This is my favorite part:

I cut off the last bit because it's kind of a spoiler. But there's so many other good instances. Like this part:

Anyway, figured I'd share lol. I'm on the sequel now, and there's already been several sneezes!

[grayskies2525]

I just finished this book (M/urder on M/ilverton S/quare in case anyone is wondering -- it's a cute, cozy, little mystery/romance) and oh my goodness, I am not usually an allergy lover, but the main character has dust, cat, and pollen allergies. And it's described so much! The main characters mentions frequently having to take "hayfever tablets," and he describes in detail the building pressure he feels in his sinuses, and there's, of course, sneezes. This is my favorite part:

I cut off the last bit because it's kind of a spoiler. But there's so many other good instances. Like this part:

Anyway, figured I'd share lol. I'm on the sequel now, and there's already been several sneezes!

[grayskies2525]

does the kink[tm] for anyone else kinda come in like... waves- but like, of what you're interested in??

like i swear, one day I'm like hhhhhhhhh over a someone down sick, all warmth and cuddles, the next day it's someone sick as a dog but pretending they aren't,

then the next week I'm not thinking about it at all, and the week after I want someone so wrecked by an allergy that all they can do is bend over hands-on-knees and snz,

and then the next week it's all about fics, listening to wavs doesn't hit at all I just want to read about my lil guys,

then the week after that it's all about the audio, I need to hear it and at first I want it desperate, and then I want it rapid, then hitchy, etcetc

like???? does anyone else have this because I swear like- I read a post one month that I'm damn near drooling over and the next it does nothing- or I'll see a post and be like 'damn, gotta come back to that one when I'm in that mood because that'll hit so good'

[grayskies2525]

Homecoming pt.1

And we’re back! Featuring Jude in the throes of a cold, accompanied by their childhood friend (always take the word “friend” with a grain of salt when I use it) and fellow English lad; Ezra!

Jude and Ezra were zesty together in their conservative childhood town for a bit and got back in touch in college. Though they’ve both been busy since, they’ve remained close.

This is set a little bit later on in Jude’s life after they quit modelling (late 20s-early 30s) to pursue writing full time! I wanted to slowly develop+establish another character dynamic, this time between Jude and a man. I also wanted to explore Jude’s character more, of course in relation to Ezra so part 1 will be told more from his perspective!

They’re both on their way to said hometown for bonding time and so Jude can attend a Q&A about their novel (a questionable endeavour), when Jude’s symptoms start to get the better of them. Mild chaos and caretaking ensues!

Word count: 3k

As he waited for the elevator to reach Jude’s floor, Ezra tried to remember the last time he’d actually seen the fucker. It must have been at his sister’s birthday party almost a year ago. Jude had been distracted—friends were gathering around them at every opportunity to congratulate them on the success of their first publication, and they couldn’t get so much as a moment to themselves before getting sucked into another conversation. 

That didn’t bother Ezra, though. Why? Because Jude looked happy. Because they seemed to be at a healthy weight again, their tanned skin had its usual glow to it. Happy to talk, happy to write. Ezra remembered thinking to himself that he’d never speak to Jude again if it meant they could just stay that way. 

Ezra knew that the last few years had been pretty turbulent for them, that they had abruptly severed ties with their modelling agency and been through some sort of breakup. Ezra, swamped with work in London during that period, could only imagine what had happened. He had never known Jude to be the kind to commit to a singular love, and wondered what on earth could have been so special about this person.

The elevator dinged at the fourth floor and shuddered to a halt, and Ezra stepped out down the hall to flat forty nine. He knocked gently on the door. A rustling sound came from within the flat, followed by footsteps and the click of a lock, and there stood Jude, grinning. Ezra felt his face split into a grin of his own as he pulled Jude in for a bear hug. Jude squeezed him back with zeal, catching the man pleasantly off-guard. He stepped back, holding Jude by the shoulders like some sort of proud dad.

“Judyyy,” he said in a sing-song voice. Jude smiled, rolling their eyes and coughing lightly into a ringed fist.

“Good to see you too, Ez.” 

Ezra was about the same as Jude had remembered him; dusty greyish blonde tufts around a handsome face. Peculiarly black eyes dancing darkly over his roman nose. Jude, however.  

“Look at you!” 

And look at them indeed. Ezra let the contrast between the familiarity and shock of Jude’s striking beauty establish itself before his eyes. Tall, with long lashes and an angular jawline, Jude’s maker seemed to have not been able to decide between pretty and handsome and settled for both. They were well dressed too, the collar of a white button up poking up underneath a black zip-up jumper, all swallowed by a deep brown leather jacket. Their brown curls sat beneath a baseball cap, falling around their eyes and flicking upwards in soft tufts around the nape of their neck. 

“You scrub up okay Judy, don’t you?” 

Ezra clapped them on the back and grabbed their duffel bag from where it sat between them on the ground. Jude snorted.

“I scrub up phenomenally, Ez. The Vogue features don’t lie.”

Ezra laughed, caught by surprise. He knew Jude didn’t hold their modelling days in the highest regard. If they could allude to it, let alone joke about it, they were probably in a pretty good headspace. 

“The spandex photoshoot?” He asked playfully. Jude gave him a shove as they made their way out their flat and back down to Ezra’s car. 

“No, dingus. And it’s not like I asked to wear that.”

They were both referring to an unfortunate shoot Jude had done with a well-known designer that had decided to get experimental with things last minute. Jude’s phone had erupted with pictures of them striking extremely questionable poses in outfits that were pretty much extraterrestrial (derogatory). Their friends sent these photos incessantly as if to never let Jude forget, which they already never really would. 

“Or so you claim.” Ezra poked his tongue out at Jude between sharp incisors, swinging their duffel bag into the trunk of his car and slamming it shut. 

                                                 ☆

On the road it didn’t take long for them to fall into long, elaborate conversations like old friends do. They discussed people they knew mutually, people they knew separately, shows they had seen, projects they’d been trying to partake in. Ezra had been asked to help film and direct a music video for the band CRAZE, but was afraid that people wouldn’t take him seriously as a filmmaker, which Jude thought was ridiculous. 

“And what about you, big shot novelist innit?” Ezra took his eyes off the road momentarily to cast a crooked smile towards Jude, who in turn simpered towards their lap. 

“I dunno. I’m just glad the response has been positive. I’m lucky, I guess. I wanted to do this and now I’m profiting off of it. Bit nervous for this signing, though.”  

Seeming to remember themselves, they straightened a bit and let their face rearrange itself into an expression of ease. Reaching into their jacket pocket with long ringed fingers, they pulled out a small carton.

“Mind if I have a fag?”

“You’ve got one right here behind the wheel.”

“Progressive,” Jude sniffled and started fumbling to pull out one of the cigarettes. 

“Put the window down. And I thought you pretty much quit?” 

“I’m trying to keep it to more of an occasional thing, yeah. But I could use the buzz, I’ll be honest I’m a little tired.” Jude flicked their lighter next to the now open window and inhaled. 

It was true that they had been busy. After quitting modelling they had poured themselves into their writing at the expense of their own wellbeing, only returning back to normal momentarily after the established success of their very first novel. In the last month however, they realized they couldn’t bask in the glory forever, and the pressure to produce new work of the same quality if not better had been slowly whittling away at their sanity, at their sleep schedule, at them. 

And now, to top it off they were on their way to some insignificant signing/Q&A in their hometown, if only to spend some much needed time with Ezra and (admittedly) to show the locals that the success hadn’t gotten to their head (which some days they wished it finally would).

Ezra took advantage of the red light to take another look at Jude where they sat in the passenger seat.

Not having seen his Jude in a while, Ezra was initially merely in admiration of their looks. Now however, upon closer inspection, they did look a bit exhausted. 

The cap they wore cast convenient shadows over their eyes, so that the darkness beneath them was unnoticeable at first glance. Their skin, which was usually abnormally dewy, had a duller finish to it today, and a quiet resignation had etched itself into Jude’s posture, their mannerisms. As if to emphasize Ezra’s new findings, Jude swiped a jacket sleeve under their nose and sniffled meekly. 

“Well, I hope you’ve not been running yourself into the ground, à la Jude. Already don’t see you much, so we can’t have you knocking on death’s-“

“heH’ndkT! ehT’Zztsh’Ue?!-yh…” 

Jude was left blinking in surprise in the aftermath, one hand cupped over their mouth and the other still holding the cigarette. They straightened slowly, licking their lips. 

“Gross, s’cuse me. Sorry sorry.” They offered sheepishly, wiping their palm off on the leg of their trousers. 

“Bless you. Spoke too soon I take it?” 

Eyes now trained back on the road, Ezra reached over and patted Jude’s knee. They felt moisture there where Jude had wiped their hand and chose not to say anything. Jude dragged a hand over their face, sniffling experimentally.

“God, I hope not. I was sick just last month. Had to take antibiotics and everything.” 

Ezra shook his head incredulously. 

“We’ve gotta hire someone to keep an eye on you or something Judy, I swear to god.”

Jude chuckled and lifted their hands defensively. “Whoa, I know I’m getting a bit older but I don’t think it’s quite that dire yehH-hiH? hHaPt’SHieW! Hh--`nN`TshuE!!”

“Bless y-“

“HAP’NTZSchoo!!-Tshue! hH’TSsch’ieWw! N’TZsh! Hff…”

“Bless you! You done?” 

Panting slightly in the aftermath, Jude flicked their cigarette gingerly out the window and rolled it back up with a shudder. 

“Yeah. Sorry, ew.” They had aimed the volley of sneezes into the sleeve of their jacket but their lips were oddly shiny, as if they had just put on gloss. 

“Don’t apologize. I’m sorry but I think you might be coming down with something, Judy.” 

Ezra felt a rush of sympathy towards Jude then, who, in hindsight, had probably been feeling off since that morning and run down for a while, and yet had still agreed to come visit home with him and sign books for a small fee they didn’t really need. Jude licked at their lips.

“Go figure, I guess. Honestly if I weren’t so distracted I’d have probably noticed by now. Been sneezing a lot recently I suppose.”

Ezra reached into their pocket and procured a small travel pack of tissues. He held them out to Jude, eyes still on the road, and they took them from him appreciatively. They tried blowing their nose gently but their breath got caught, sending them into a flurrying series of coughs. Ezra could only really glance over in concern as their friend submitted to their body’s protests against the unfairness of it all: the frequency with which they slept, ate, took breaks, wore an adequate amount of layers, wasn’t in a general state of agitation. It was all catching up to them now with a vengeance. It was going to be a long trip.

                                                     ☆

By the time they finally arrived in their small hometown Jude’s condition had steadily declined. The sneezing became more frequent, more difficult to contain, and they seemed to curl into themselves more and more with each one. The conversation died down, and Ezra, sensing Jude’s discomfort but unable to provide any relief while driving, could only ruffle their hair after particularly harsh sneezes and mutter reassurances that they’d be there soon. 

Pulling into a spot in front of their local gas station, Ezra filled up the car before opening the passenger side door to check on Jude, who had fallen into a fitful sleep. 

They had slumped forward slightly so that their cap completely obscured their face. Ezra leaned them gently back against the seat. Their eyebrows were knitted together in an expression of concern as they dreamt of god knows what, flushed lips parted slightly so that they could breathe through their congestion. Their nostrils had become slightly pink, no doubt from repeatedly being scrubbed against the rough denim sleeve of Jude’s jacket. Some strands of their hair clung determinedly to their forehead. Ezra frowned at this. Placing the back of their hand against Jude’s cheek, he was startled to find clamminess accompanied by a prominent warmth. 

Ezra gently removed Jude’s cap to card a hand through their hair in the hopes of providing some comfort. The warmth emanating from their skin had become concerning. They stirred. 

“Judy, hey bud.”

“Mmn…” Jude’s long lashes fluttered as they began to open their eyes. The harsh light of day flooded their vision, and quite frankly, their nasal passage. Still practically asleep and with no time to really properly cover, they pitched forward, misting the air between themselves and Ezra. They were so close he could smell their breath in them, the spearmint toothpaste they had brushed their teeth with earlier that morning.

“hh’nPZZsschhUe?!—n’gTssch! Hehhh—hH’HnZZSHieWw!- gh…hmnuuhu…”

They let out a confused whimper on the tail end of that final sneeze and Ezra cringed in sympathy, reaching out the rub the writer’s shoulder. He knew Jude must’ve been out of it to be making sounds like that.

“Bless you, guy. Forgot the light makes you do that, that’s my bad.”

 Jude sniffled thickly and attempted to crinkle their eyes back open at Ezra before ducking down towards where their arm extended towards them with a trembling set. 

“hHh’EhhTZZsch’uu! hh-hH’Zzsch`oo! H-Huhh'PzZTshh’uue!”               

It snapped them forward, shaking them like a leaf, and Ezra grabbed both their shoulders to rub them in reassuringly and try to get them to settle down. 

“Hey, hey, Judy try to get a breath in ok? Don’t die on me now.”

“M’nntryingh… s-sorrysorryih?!—hhuh-h’HHTSSHheuWwhhh!!“

Palming their forehead a final time, he plopped Jude’s cap back on in an attempt to block out the sudden harshness of the sunlight and passed Jude a couple of tissues. They accepted them with a quick nod before crumpling into them with a final, wrenching 

“Hehh’NgTZzshu?—`tZschu! snnf… Ugh…“

 They groaned and coughed tiredly but seemed to have gotten some sort of grip on themselves for the time being. They wiped their face cautiously into the dampened mass of paper in their hands and lifted their gaze to meet Ezra’s through their wet lashes, flushed (not entirely from the fever) and apologetic. He palmed their cheek. 

“You still with me?” Ezra asked warily, impossibly soft. 

“Mmb. Yeah.” They sniffled and cringed at the thickness that had seeped into their voice.

“Hhnn…” They breathed out a cross between groan and some sort of worn out mewl in a desperate attempt to reorient themselves. 

“Hey, listen. I think we should maybe just check in and call it a—a really early night, so to speak.” Ezra suggested. Jude looked down at their watch and back up at Ezra, nose twitching and inquiry written across their features. 

“I know, I know yeah. Like- a 3:30 kind of night. You’re practically burning up, Judy. Have been since you fell asleep.”

At this Jude’s cheeks flushed even darker somehow, as if in utter indignation of being exposed. They dragged a jacket sleeve across their nose and flinched.

“And stop that, are you seeing this material?”

 Ezra gently pulled Jude’s soiled arm from their face and held it up in front of them for them to see the rough denim, as if for the first time. He dropped it and it fell limp at their side. The man couldn’t help but get the fleeting sensation that he was trying to rationalize with a small child.

“I just feel like you’re not really in a fit state to be, like, answering a bunch of questions from a bunch of locals right now. And that’s ok! We can have a good trip! You can take tonight and then some to rest and then we can go see my sister, you know Lisa’s been dying to see y-another round? He paused mid desperate ramble as he watched Jude’s focus evacuate their eyes and become replaced with bodily need. 

They sniffled impatiently now, finally fully awake (though by no real means of their own). Seeming to wrangle the tickle away into nothingness for a moment, they shook their head at Ezra, a tear that had beaded on a wispy lash falling down their flushed cheek. Not really thinking much of it, Ezra reached out, palming their cheek to swipe a thumb over the droplet. Jude’s resolve weakened for a moment, as they drooped slightly into the coolness of Ezra’s hand.

Beautiful, the word passed through Ezra’s mind and was gone twice as fast, as fleeting as a shooting star. He propped up Jude’s chin a bit. Like some sort of lens, the tears in their eyes worked to filter in the specks of green that lay there. 

“I think I’mb gonna do it.” Jude said suddenly, decisively, snapping Ezra out of their trance.

“What?” Ezra said, perhaps a bit more accusatory than he had intended. It sounded more like wot.

“The signing? And the Q&A? Judy, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. I know you’re gonna beat yourself up over this later and think you’ve spoiled my time but I really am just happy to see you. But you’re clearly sick as a dog. I’ll be proper worried watching you burn yourself out.”

Jude looked pained. Ezra felt a sudden hopeless desperation to see them crack a smile. 

“I’mb sorry Ez. But it’s only two hours and people already don’t have the…highest expectations. I don’t want to pull a no-show at the last minute like this.”

“Judy you don’t owe these people shit! I know you’ve sort of got some idea that if you humble yourself before them because it’s “where you came from lest you forget” that they’ll change, but they won’t! All they were ever good for when we were younger was questioning and tutting and scoffing and judging, and that’s all they’ll be good for now. No magazine cover, no best-selling novel is gonna change that! It’s them. You’ve always been right brilliant Jude, I wish you’d—you’ve always been fine, Judy.” 

He ran a frantic hand through his hair and looked at them in earnest. Jude’s flush had now spread down to the small chain around their neck.

“I…I can’t. I can’t cancel. It’ll feel like proving them right. Like I’m giving them the last laugh. I’m sorry Ez, you don’t know how happy I am to see you too, but I’m gonna rough out these two hours and I won’t force you to watch. We can check into the hotel and I can take a cab there and back. Take your sister for dinner, tell her I say hello. And I’m sorry to worry you with this.”

Ezra sighed in complete resignation at the long-limbed figure before them. He wondered how many years it had been since he’d met Jude now. Jude, who through the years had been such a pleasure to watch grow. Stubborn, self-sacrificing, self-effacing, trying their hardest, always, for something. Caring, more than they’d ever let on. Strangely afraid of people but unable to keep themselves from loving them. From the day Ezra met them, he felt it was the least he could do to never abandon their side.

He dragged a hand across his face.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jude. Of course I’m coming with you to this thing. We’ll tough it out together, yeah?”

Relief flooded their features and their eyes widened as they nodded like a small child.

“But afterwards, bed. Please, for the love of god.”

Jude spluttered out a chuckle and nodded again. Ezra patted their knee and gave it a squeeze before standing and climbing back into the driver’s seat.

“Right, then.” He said, starting the car.

“Let’s get this thing over with.” In spite of himself, he couldn’t feel any real frustration towards Jude, who all these years later still caught colds like they were balls being thrown to them.

“Nnn’tSzCH!” 

It was a soft little thing, girlish even. Ezra flicked their eyes to Jude, who was peering at them uncharacteristically bashful through behind silver-clad fingers. Ezra let out a soft huff, full of fondness.

“Bless you, Judy.”

What the hell was he ever gonna do with them?

To be continued

[grayskies2525]

“ESSCCHhuh!”

“bless you :(“

“snf. thadks.”

“...oh mby god, stop lookig at mbe like that.”

“like what :(“

“it was one sdeeze.”

“well, yeah, that’s why i blessed you :( do you think i can’t count now :(“

“heh… hERSSCHHugh!”

“that was two sneezes :(“

“ugh, fide, you wadt mbe to go to bed?”

“i’ve already fluffed the pillows :)”