snifflequeen

[snifflequeen]

Of course is only if you are feeling up to it but I keep thinking some 🥵thoughts🥵 about a wav of you talking about how you can't stop coughing, along with your moaning about how you don't feel well😷🤒

Update on how I’m feeling for anyone wondering:

Contains: 2 stifles, sniffles, 1 let out sneeze, some let out coughing, and some muffled coughing

Contains: lots of coughing, 9 scattered sneezes, light nose blowing, sniffles, frustrated groans, throat clearing, nose rubbing, swearing, and a bit of complaining

I haven’t had much privacy these past few days, and I’ve also been pretty exhausted, but I think the second wav kinda works for this request?

Anyways, as you can hear, I’ve been pretty miserable and sick :(

[snifflequeen]

For the past few days my nose has been really itchy. I had tons of false starts and kept having to blow my nose, but I seriously thought it was just the cold weather getting to me…

Then last night I had a bunch of nightmares where I woke up with chills, but covered in sweat, and feeling paranoid. Again, I waved it off—thought it was just a bad ptsd night…

But this afternoon I started coughing and just couldn’t stop. I kept having sporadic, painful, barking fits, and my chest felt really off ??

And now I’ve completely wrecked my voice from all the coughing, I’ve started sneezing, and I can feel the congestion creeping into my sinuses.🤧

So yeah, pretty sure I caught a cold for Christmas.

[snifflequeen]

thinking about a fantasy setting where the equivalent of the common cold is essentially harmless at the end, with no significant risks attached, but the symptoms themselves are wretched and messy and just absolutely miserable. where a normal cold involves thick congestion alongside a relentless, endlessly running nose, thick yellow snot that dribbles down constantly, and absolutely explodes out of afflicted noses with frequent, infectious sneezes. any handkerchief, or gods forbid tissue, is saturated within a minute, and it just doesn't stop. anybody with this illness feels and looks absolutely terrible. their voice is nearly unintelligibly congested, with deep shadows under their eyes, their mouth hanging open,a bright red nose, and they're hopelessly contagious. but of course, it’s not worth staying home over - it’s only a common cold.

[snifflequeen]

the weather wizard is coming down with something. everyone can tell; the sky starts to look a bit cloudy despite the official forecast from the tower being clear skies. it gets cloudier as the day goes on, and eventually a new notice comes in the evening, issued to the kingdom, confirming what they already know-- they aren't feeling very well, it might be a touch of a cold, and the skies will be cloudy with possibly some rain over the next few days, as opposed to the scheduled three days of clear weather and preplanned light rain on thursday. they apologize for the inconvienience.

meanwhile in the tower, the wizard feels weighed down, like their head is full of sand. their throat hurts. the only way to handle getting sick is trying to control the symptoms, so the weather is impacted as little as possible. they get in their pajamas and crawl into bed, sniffling, embarassed; they always try very hard not to get sick, and they aren't sure how this bug slipped through their defences. their partner consoles them; everyone catches a cold sometimes, and people understand that. a lot of viruses have been getting passed around in the kingdom lately, and they've been working harder than normal to keep the normal rainy season weather away. the only thing they can do is get some rest.

but the night is rougher than they expected. it's normal for them to cause a couple rainstorms when they're upset or ill, but they wake up in the middle of the night with their throat hurting badly, shivering, the first sneeze of the cold tickling in their nostrils. when they sneeze, lightning strikes and thunder rumbles, so they try to stifle them; but the reflex at all makes the clouds come in denser. their head aches.

the wizard tries to sleep, but they have to juggle the symptoms and end up sleeping poorly. in the morning no sunlight comes in the window; the whole kingdom is cloudy, and they're in the bathroom taking cold medicine, trying to keep off the rain that seems inevitable. indeed it is; their nose is getting stuffy, and it's getting harder to hold back the sneezes. their partner takes their temperature, and to their suprise they're running a little fever. a stream of hot tea and soup follows them going back to bed with a second blanket, propping their head up on pillows to help keep the incoming congestion at bay. the worse they feel, the worse the weather will be, and so they need to keep themselves as comfortable as possible; unfortunately, the stress of catching a cold and sending unpredictable weather on the whole kingdom already has them upset. they take pride in having good control over the weather, but anyone with eyes can see that whatever is happening in the tower, they're feeling worse than they'd hoped.

about lunchtime, later than usual, another forecast goes out: this cold is worse than they originally anticipated, and there might be some storms coming. they don't know when or how bad. they apologize profusely.

meanwhile, they're starting to stuff up. they keep a tissue box and cold medicine close by. their fever isn't changing, but their throat throbs. they never get sick. they're breathing through their mouth by dinnertime.

"How're you feeling?" asks their partner, setting soup on their nightstand.

"Why dodd you jusd loog oudside," says the wizard miserably.

"I can do that already," their partner says. "I'm asking how you're doing, not how the weather is."

"I-- huuETCHOO!" they sneeze. thunder rumbles; a few drops of rain fall. "Drying do geep the raid frob fallig. Snnxxt."

"That still doesn't answer my question," says their partner.

"I'b sigg," they say, irritated. their voice is sounding a little hoarse. they sneeze again; thunder again in the distance; the clouds are grey and heady with everything they're holding back.

"You should just let it fall," their partner says. "They've been pampered with perfect weather for months. a little unpredictability won't hurt anyone."

the weather lets up a little when they sleep, but unfortunately that's getting harder to do. they can't breathe through their nose anymore, their head and throat both hurt, they have chills from the fever, and they just feel lousy, lousier than they usually do when they get sick. they take more cold medicine at 1am and lay there with purple-ringed eyes, sniffling, feeling themselves get worse.

a little before sunrise, the rain starts falling. they're huddled in blankets with their box of tissues in an armchair in the tower, their feet in hot water, trying to breathe. their voice is a rasp and it hurts to talk, so their partner issues the weather report: this cold is worse than they expected, and they're managing their symptoms as best as they can, but there are going to be some bad and unpredictable storms the next few days, as well as clouds and rain.

and the rain does come. the steam from the hot water unstuffs the wizard slightly, but it restuffs and hour later while they're laying in bed, sneezing and shivering, their face pale and their nose red. they're able to take a nap over lunchtime, and even though they're snoring loudly around the congestion and swelling in the tower, the rain almost goes away; but their sleep is troubled, and when they take back up with the feeling of their sinuses pounding on their face and their tonsils and larynx throbbing, they realize their partner was right: storms are coming.

they start at around dinnertime, when the wizard's fever reaches 101. the clouds darken angrily, and the rain starts to come down hard as the wizard fights the third night of what's turning out to be a massive head cold. they can't sleep, they feel too sick, and so they take pillows and blankets from their bed to the couch in the living room, watching tv and avoiding the weather channels.

the rain comes down beating against the windows that night, but their partner doesn't need to know the weather to know how sick they are. their fever rises to 102 in the early hours of the morning and stays, officially the sickest they've been in years, and they convince them to shuffle back to bed and try to get some more upset sleep. they've started to get a cough, chesty and tight, that causes the wind to stir and rush past their windows.

in the morning, the king sends his well wishes and a doctor their partner requested, who confirms, after taking their temperature, examining their throat and nose, and looking both outside and at the pile of used tissues on the bed that they've caught either a horrible cold or a miserable flu. sleeping medicine and cough syrup is all he can provide other than waiting it out; fluids, rest.

their partner sends out another weather forecast: the wizard is down with something bad, possibly the flu, and it isn't very managable. severe thunderstorms are possible, as well as high winds.

the wizard lays in a feverish daze, their body aching, their head swimming with heaviness, their sinuses pounding. they're propped up staring into the thick drapery around their four poster bed, which has been pulled tight all day-- light makes their head pound harder. whatever bug was ravishing their system, they really DO feel miserable. they take all the medication they can like clockwork every four to six hours, and yet none of it seems to make a dent. they decline any soup for dinner and lay there with a fat blue ice pack pressed to their forehead and sinuses, pressed there by their partner, listening to the storm outside.

the storm outside is as horrible as their cold. their sniffling and sneezing and coughing is constant, and when it stops, they're so ill that the rain keeps coming down just as hard. when they get into a deep, painful hacking fit, the wind outside howls and moans through the kingdom. when they manage to dose off for a bit, exhausted in bed, the thunder seems more distant, and the rain comes down not as hard-- and then they wake up with a thunderous sneeze and it returns again.

in the middle of the night, they're running a fever of 102.4, and their partner runs a warm bath in the clawfoot bathtub in the adjacent bathroom. after some coaxing they manage to get the wizard to undress and sit blearily on the side of the bed, a thick bathrobe wrapped around them, staring into space with half-opened eyes. they slip their feet into slippers and stand slowly, every joint creaking, trudge to the bathtub with their partner and slide in.

"What do you think? Cold or the flu?" their partner asks, after they've been sitting and breathing in the steam for a while.

"...I duddo..." the wizard croaks. lightning flashes in the window as they sneeze again, and thunder rumbles in the dark clouds. "...baybe the flu... snxxxt, guu-huhh..." the wizard looks blearily at the windows with a cough. "...whadd a bess..."

"You can't help it."

"Snnnnxxxtt. Ughhh..." They cough miserably again, and the wind howls. "Baybe dodd," they say. The storm outside is violent and churning, and the change in pressure alone makes their head feel even more like it might burst.

The morning comes with the rain less violent than it was the night before; their fever broke, and they're back in the four poster bed with the curtains pulled tight, asleep in a cocoon of blankets and quilts, tissues stuffed up their flaming nostrils. as much as they want this to be over with, their partner knows this is how they'll stay probably into the next week, and they do-- the storms ease up but the clouds and rainstorms stay for another week, as they battle a sinus infection and a touch of bronchitis.

Please excuse the cloudy skies, the forecast says. I'm still feeling under the weather from whatever knocked me off my feet last week. I appreciate the patience. Sunny skies ahead, hopefully.

[snifflequeen]

cw: talking, whimpering, and everything after 2:15 is just very thick miserable sniffling. also i didn’t mean for this to be asmr because i personally don’t like the spine tingles but that’s kinda how it turned out so be warned of that too ^^

[snifflequeen]

someone bundled in their pajamas under blankets in bed in the dark, the curtains drawn tight, tissues scattered everywhere, humidifier on full blast and a fat ice pack pressed to their forehead, breathing heavily through their chapped lips. the light from their phone lights up their pale face, purple-ringed eyes, and red nostrils; they've just called into work, and now they're leaving a voicemail for their partner. "babe, snnnxxTT. Don'dd cobe ober donighd, snnnXXt. Ib so, guhhh, so sigg. SNNXTTTXt, uughhhh. Feel horrible, snsnnXXTT. If you gould gadcel our didder reserbadions, guhhhh, thadd be gr...eeaCHHOOO! eeAHHHCHhOO! Uchhh, snnxnxxtTT snnxtT, thadd be gread, thags. Bye."

[snifflequeen]

It's the magical time of the year again, songs and decorations everywhere, magic in the air, no, not that, the air is just thick with germs as people flock from a store to another, and no mere cold is going to hinder their absolutely necessary seasonal shopping.

People sneezing accidentally on each other when standing in lines or next to crowded counters. Red-nosed, constantly snuffling people sneezing wetly on the mechandise that's soon to be picked up by some unlucky customer, or just in the air, spreading their colds far and wide.

Visibly cold-ridden people wiping their streaming noses into the ratty, wet tissues filling their pockets, then picking up a product, considering, and putting it back entirely contaminated, ready for the next busy customer. Or handing money to the cashier, painstakingly counting their change while sniffing thickly, head is swimming, are they getting a fever or is it just the snot? Eventually sneezing a sudden, rough sneeze into the palm of their free hand, the coins in the other, blushing fiercely, and handing the sticky coins to the poor cashier, asking them to count for them.

Of course the staff keeps catching everything and circulating the vicious colds among them, and giving back go the customers as they sneeze their way though the workdays, sneezing and blowing their noses while filling shelves, serving customers, oh but that one woman who always gets the colds so bad, a cashier today, her line is the shortest because anyone who gets a glimpse of her red, streaming nose or hears her sneeze, blow her nose or just talk will step back and find another line, no matter how long it is. One man even left his shopping right there when she abruptly sneezed, just walked out furiously sanitising his hands (he wasn't spared; he woke up two days later with a dry, sore throat and a leaky nose, remembered her, and groaned).

Yes. Perhaps it's magic in the air indeed.

[snifflequeen]

the congested breaths, thick swallows, and soft snores when someone's asleep with a cold are so good. i think it's the vulnerability... because all these little extra signs of illness come out when they aren't awake to downplay them, and it just shows how much that cold isn't letting up even for a second, even when they're unconscious

[snifflequeen]

Here it is guys! The 2025 Feveruary prompts! We wanted them to be more generally comfort focused so then they be able to be interpreted in different ways to allow you guys to be as creative as you’d like!

We’re so excited to share these with you and we can’t wait to see what you write! As always feel free to ask any questions or share your excitement about this event! :D

We'll post more about how to submit your work and the AO3 collection closer to the time! For now though, we wish you goodluck and happy writing!

Text Version Below:

“How did you end up like this?” 

Burning Up then Freezing Cold 

Caught in the Rain 

Herbal Remedy 

“Could you just hold me?” 

Spoon-Feeding 

“I’m still not used to being taken care of.” 

“Couldn’t you keep your cold to yourself.” 

Face Masks 

“You’re safe, it was just a dream.” 

“You’re burning up!” 

Role Reversal – Medic to Sickie 

“I wouldn’t even trust you to boil tea in your condition!” 

Falling asleep in the wrong place 

Guiding sickie back to bed 

“Is it me or is it really warm in here?” 

“I know you want to help but you’re only making things worse.” 

Delirious 

“I know ice cream is good for sore throats but that’s way too much!” 

Lost Voice/Strep Throat 

From better to worse 

“Our date can wait! You’re far more important.” 

“You need a tissue?” 

“Don’t you think you should stay home today?” 

Standing Vigil 

“You sure I’m sick? Because I feel fine.” 

Vacation Disaster 

“Well, it sounds to me like you need a little bit of TLC.” 

Alternates:

Forced to work

Cool wash cloth

"I don't get sick!"

Sneezing Fit

[snifflequeen]

The phone rings, A rolls over in bed, disturbing the pile of used tissues that's beginning to accumulate around their duvet and pillows, feeling around on their bedside table for their phone.

A's flushed and shiny nose twitches as they search, lingering irritation causing their nostrils to flare ever so slightly.

They let out an experimental sniffle and run the heel of their palm under their nose to wipe away a slow trickle of thin mess, finally grabbing their phone right as the ringing threatens to give them a headache.

"Mmbbh- *Heeght-hrmm!*- Hello?" A asks, their voice hoarse and tattered at the edges, residual mucus from post nasal drip only adding to the roughness in their throat.

"Jesus, you sound like you've got a cold," B says, frowning on the other end of the line.

"Damn- sNrkk!- I didn't even get a chance to sn...E-ehh...HhyYihh'tSschhew!...sndeeze," A replies, pressing a balled up tissue to their drippy nose.

"The voice alone was a dead giveaway, go back to bed," B says, hanging up the phone and leaving A to roll over in bed, plucking another tissue out of the box and rolling their eyes.

"I don't sound that ba-aAhh...AiIhh'tSschuu! Ah-iIhhh'TsSCHEww!...snFf! uch..." A mumbles, dragging the heel of their palm under their nostrils and dozing off, snoring softly with their hand still clutching a tissue.

[snifflequeen]

Day 30: Contagion

We made it, folks! I really pushed myself to finish @sicktember and I’m so proud I did. For this last work I decided to just let go and do something different. TW for fictional contagion and some mess. Like, contagion is all it is. Which is not something I usually write, but I was inspired by @poetryandsniffles “Going Around” at 3am. It starts with unnamed characters and ends with you. Hope someone enjoys this. As you guys might know, snz isn't fully my thing but I know I have a lot of followers for whom it is, so this is for you. 1,933 words, TW fictional contagion.

It’s Saturday, and all the new freshmen students are moving into the dorms down the street. The bookseller is ready for them, knowing all the students are eager to exercise their first taste of freedom and want to window shop in their new college town. It's probably his busiest day of the year, which is why he absolutely cannot close the store despite the wretched cold he woke up with. He has a cough that won't let him finish a sentence without interrupting himself, and being surrounded by all the used books is making the sneezes that overtake him every minute even worse. He’s putting an old tome of Shakespeare away when he hears the bell ring, signaling a customer. He closes the book and accidentally inhales a noseful of dust. He tries to say, “Welcome,” but instead all he gets out is “Wehh - heee - ahh hatchoo!” 

“Bless you!” It's definitely a freshman, round glasses overtaking half her face and her little homemade clay earrings dangling on either side. 

“Tdangks,” the bookseller mumbles, snorting a huge noseful of congestion up into his face in an attempt to clear his voice. Apparently that's the wrong move, because it causes him to erupt into a harsh round of coughing that forces him to sit down behind his desk. 

The freshman doesn't seem to mind. She’s too interested in looking around the store, fascinated by the used books. The bookseller nurses his poor nose into the fiftieth tissue of the morning, blowing as hard as he can yet it doesn't seem to clear the congestion. He hasn't been this sick in ages. Why did it have to be today of all days?

“I’ll take this, please.”

The bookseller looks up to find the freshman standing in front of him, holding none other than the thick Shakespeare tome he just put away. The one that he knows he really should have wiped down before shelving. 

“Are you sure you want this one?” He asks hesitantly.

“Why?”

Explaining feels like too much work, and bad business. The bookseller shakes his head. “No reason,” he says, coughing into his elbow. “That’ll be $10.80.”

~.~.~.~

It’s well known that a cold isn't uncommon in the beginning of the semester, but the freshman can't believe it took less than a week for her to get hit with this plague. It’s only the end of the first day of classes when she feels a tickle in her throat that makes her cough. By evening she’s feeling the chill of an incoming fever, and by the next morning she feels like she’s been hit by a bus. This feels worse than just a cold, but it's literally the second day of classes in her first year of university. She can't afford to take a sick day so soon.

And so, the freshman drags herself to her English 101 lecture where she continues to cough and shiver, clutching the hoodie she's wearing around her ever tighter. Her bones ache and she feels like she desperately needs to be in bed, but this lecture is three hours long. Three torturous hours, and it's not a huge class. Everybody can hear her coughing away, she's sure of it. She's so embarrassed by her noisiness - the rustle as she plucks out tissue after tissue from the box she's helplessly taken to carrying around. The petite sniffle she's trying to hold back every few seconds, but if she doesn't her nose will be streaming. The stifled sneezes that more than often result in additional chesty coughs. By the end of the lecture she’s so cold and miserable that she's not sure she's going to make it to her next class, which is chemistry 100. 

Somehow she does, and before most of the other students too. She figures now is a good time to try and blow her nose as loudly as possible. Maybe if she can empty it out, she won't be so disruptive at this lecture. She blows into a tissue hard, and it makes her nose tickle. She can't hold it back, and she scrambles to grab another tissue - but it's too late. She ducks her head to the side and sneezes, uncovered, spraying the space next to her. Thankfully no one’s sat down yet. She hastily tries to clean the desk with the tissue, but she stupidly didn't bring any hand sanitizer and the desk is still gleaming with germs when a boy comes in and sits right next to her. 

He greets her and introduces himself as a football player who’s retaking the class. The freshman can't help but watch in horror as he puts his hands all over the desk, then proceeds to bite his nails. She can't just apologize, but she does so in her head, knowing he’s doomed. 

~.~.~.~

The football player is pretty pissed that he’s managed to catch something already. He doesn't have any time for a cold, especially not so early in the season. It doesn't matter that it’s cold for September, or that it's raining, or that he already had chills before practice started. He’s got to push through for the sake of the team, and also his reputation and scholarship. And he still has to finish that chemistry assignment. Who gives such a long homework in the first two weeks of classes? It should be illegal.

He’s drying off in the locker room, a now very wet cough echoing against the metal lockers. He changes into clean clothes, but he still feels sticky with sweat and rain water. He shivers and shleps off to his chemistry professor's office hours. He needs an extension.

The professor doesn't look happy to see him dripping and sniffling when he shows up at his door. “C’mon, professor, I just need a few days. It's the beginning of the season, I can't fall behind already, and I’m - koff koff koff - sick.”

“I can see that,” the professor says in mild disgust. “But I don't make exceptions. Not even for athletes,” she says before he can protest. 

“That's not fair,” the football player complains. “I really am s-siii-”

The professor tries to duck, but it's too late. The football player sneezes, only poorly half covering. “Sorry,” he says hoarsely.

“I think you'd better go home and lie down,” the professor says in a clipped tone. There's some spray on the corner of her glasses, much to both of their chagrin. “And skip practice tomorrow.”

“Yes ma'am,” the football player says. He’s too ashamed of himself now to keep begging. The professor sprays lysol all over her office and hopes it’ll be enough.

~.~.~.~

It’s not enough. By the end of the week the professor, too, is full of cold. She has to lecture through it, even though she barely has a voice and nearly spills chemical solutions on herself trying to contain her sneezes into her shoulder while holding glass beakers. The students keep blessing her, and that irritates her more than anything because it's their damn fault she’s sick. She's trying to make tenure though, and isn't about to call out, so she pushes through. Every sneeze hitches in the back of her throat as she tries to hold back, making a girlish noise that kills her inside a little. 

She’s already passed the cold along to her husband, your coworker, who has an immune system as good as a preschooler. She can't wait to get home where she can just relax. Her legs are cramping from standing for so long in heels, her makeup is running because of all the congestion, and she keeps making errors while lecturing that she never would otherwise. This cold is so embarrassing and comes with all the visible symptoms: cough, congestion, sneezing, fever. It's impossible to hide.

Her coworkers have even taken notice and mentioned she ought to take it easy, which the professor absolutely will not be doing. So what if she has to cough through her lectures? So what if the students in the front row may or may not be nursing colds of their own in a week? She has to work, that's just how it is. No exceptions, she tells her students. Not even for herself.

~.~.~.~

You can hear your coworker coughing from his cubicle opposite you. Yesterday he said his wife was sick, and today he seems to have brought her cold to share with everyone. How generous of him, you think dryly. You cringe as you hear him blow his nose again, a wet, harsh sound that is the audible equivalent of contagion. And now - oh no. Now he's coming to you.

“I've got the report done,” your coworker says as he approaches. His eyes are red rimmed and watery, nose raw red from blowing and his lips parted in an awkward fashion because he can't breathe properly. And now he's blowing germs all over your desk.

You take the report from him and hope to shoo him away quickly with a thank you, but no such luck. He bends over your desk and starts to explain part of the report that apparently, he finds is not self explanatory enough. You can hear the whistle of blocked sinuses and his voice crackles with congestion. “Does that make sense?” He asks, standing up and sniffling. He runs his temple, clearly also trying to work through a headache.

“Yes, perfect sense,” you tell your coworker. It doesn't matter if it made sense or not, you wish he'd just go away. “You don't look so good. Why don't you go home?” You ask.

“It's not so bad - snrrk!” He says before snorting loudly. “I can deal with it.”

“I see,” you say. And apparently everyone else has to deal with it, too. 

~.~.~.~

You hope you'll get lucky. That Emergen-C and hand sanitizer will save you - but it doesn't. Because a few days later you, too, wake up with an ache in your head and chest and a shiver that won't go away despite several fall layers of clothing. You have a cough that snaps and crackles against your sore throat and the sinus pressure behind your eyes throbs. You haven't even made it out of bed before you're overtaken by a round of three loud sneezes in succession. You’re definitely sick.

Unlike your coworker, you're not about to work through this cold. You feel too lousy, and the fever you're running is way too high to ignore. It's everywhere, this fever: deep in your bones, making everything ache from head to toe. You spend the day in bed, shivering and coughing away. The bed becomes a sea of used tissues, the small trashcan long since overflowing. The fever must be making you emotional, because you can't help but tear up a little when your partner finally comes home. 

“Aw, baby,” they say sympathetically. They press their cold hands against your hot cheeks and wet washcloths to cool you down. They climb into bed with you and cuddle you, your throbbing head and streaming nose in their lap, and don't complain about how you're getting snot all over their knee. “Poor love,” they say. “You’ll be better soon.”

You close your eyes and just listen to your partner’s soothing voice. In a few days, this will all be over, you tell yourself. Whatever this cold or flu from hell is, you’ll be back at it by next week. For right now though, you decide to just rely on your partner completely. Let them dote on you, take care of you, and hope you don’t get them - and didn't get too many others - sick, too.

[snifflequeen]

A has their head on B's lap while they read aloud, they've been really into reading together lately, and A has been so excited to continue their current book. B, however, is coming down with a cold, and is having difficulty reading, their nose running and tickling like crazy, making them sniffle and sneeze so, so much. the state of their nose interrupting them frequently, and making it hard to focus. A is right in the spray zone every time B fails to cover their sneezes into their sleeve, sending spray all over A's face. from down on B's lap, A has a perfect view of B's nose, and can see their nostrils flare and twitch, as well as the snot trickling down onto their upper lip. B is stuttering and their breath hitching as they try to read during the build-up to yet another sneezing fit. A sits up slowly, takes the book from B's hand, places the bookmark on the page before closing the book and putting it aside. "i think it's time we take a break from reading and get you a hot steamy shower, then tucked into bed, hm?" A presses a kiss to B's slightly warm, clamy forehead, just before B leans forward and buries their nose into the crook of A's neck, letting out another messy fit of sneezes. "HIIH’NKXSHH! H'USSHHHIEW! HEH'KSHIEW!" A takes their shirt off, and holds it up to B's streaming nose, "blow for me" they instruct. B doesn't hesitate for even a moment before unleashing a long wet blow into A's shirt. "that's it. now, you go get in the shower, and i'll go boil the kettle for some tea afterwards. then, i'll come meet you in there, alright love?" A coos. B nods in response, followed by a stuffy "i thigk i m'bight have a cold" B sniffles. A chuckles softly, "oh, honey, you definitely have a cold. now, go on, get under the hot water." they plant a kiss on B's cheek and scurry off to the kitchen to boil the kettle, before joining their cold ridden partner in the shower.

[snifflequeen]

A is sick and B is taking care of them... BUT! B is slowly starting to catch whatever A is, but B is trying their darndest to hide it because they KNOW A would never let B take care of them when theyre sick.

As B is starting to fall ill theyre sneakily dabbing at their nose and holding off blowing their nose until theyre alone.

Slowly B is getting more sick, theyre sneezing more, their head is starting to get heavier, their syllables are rounding out. Theyre having to stifle every sneeze behind A's back, using a hanky to replace the pile of tissues that would have been in its place, hoping their meds are enough to keep them well enough to avoid suspicions from A.

At this point A is starting to recover but B is reaching the height of their sickness, A is a bit more awake and slowly catching onto B. B's sneezes are sounding wetter, theyre sniffling a lot more. They know are struggling explaining to A that theyre sneezing and sniffling so much because of "allergies" and that they are "perfectly fine" (all in a nasally congested voice of course).

Now B is completely ill. Unable to control and hide their symptoms they lay in bed shamelessly sneezing messily with a heap of used tissues overflowing out of the trashcan next to them. Their head is throbbing, sinuses full of snot, forehead warm to the touch. A just looks at them annoyed that B was taking care of them as they too were sick. A also cannot help but do the same.

[snifflequeen]

that stage of the cold when they're just SO snotty. they can't even exhale through their nose without it making some sort of wet, snotty noise, or making a snot bubble. they blow and blow their nose so many times, it's red raw but somehow, they're still full of snot. their sneezes, while less frequent than the last few days of their cold but still more than usual, are ridiculously messy. each sneeze sprays everywhere, snot shooting out their nose, and more often than not, they're left with a string of snot dangling from one, or both of their pink tender nostrils. so messy.

[snifflequeen]

Noticing (M, cold)

Ok, so I got an idea and ran with it and it came out as 4.5k words with no sneezing until 2.5k words in (apologies). But this was a super fun write! In it, Reed and Greyson are newly moved in together and Greyson realizes Reed has some quirks he didn't know about. Sick Greyson, if you make it all the way to the snz then I promise he is pretty miserable by the end lmao. I hope you all enjoy, I know I've been MIA for a few weeks, I'm hoping to be around more but in the meantime I'd love to hear your thoughts on this one. Anyway, enjoy!

CW: Male snz, cold, some coughing. A lil relationship angst. Nothing too crazy in this one.

Noticing

The moment they moved in together, Greyson realized that Reed was… let’s just say a different breed of human than he was used to cohabitating with.

This wasn’t to say that a different breed was bad; quite the opposite, in most ways that mattered. Every roommate Greyson ever had could have been affectionately referred to as a swamp garbage monster from hell; dishes were done by Greyson and only him, and that was when he could actually get to them. Laundry littered the floor of the apartment, and not just the bedrooms but the living room and even kitchen floors, and the fridge would’ve been better classified as a biomedical waste bin.

Then there had been his brief stint of life with Collin. Collin wasn’t a swamp monster, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a monster at all; Collin was what Greyson called the ‘everything-in-its-place’ monster. There wasn’t a single day that went by in their month-long living partner stint where Collin wasn’t berating Greyson about his toothbrush being on the wrong side of the sink, or his shoes being on the wrong side of the closet. As disgusting as it was, Greyson knew that if push came to shove he’d pick a million garbage roommates over a single monster of Collin’s variety.

Greyson had made it a point throughout his late twenties and into his thirties to live alone if he could, even if it meant taking the train an hour one way to work every day. He’d enjoyed his time alone, having everything where he wanted it, a home that most would call a bachelor pad, but without all the grime. Having something just for himself, especially after the disaster that was Collin, had felt safe. Comfortable. Easy.

The decision to move in with Reed had felt easy and comfortable too when he’d agreed to do it, though. It had felt safe, and he knew it was; it was just hard to give up the life he was used to, especially since he was once again moving into someone else’s space. The new apartment was… incredible. But it was Reed’s.

Reed’s life revolved almost completely around his apartment, Greyson quickly realized. His boyfriend worked from home, and worked a lot – there were nights when Greyson would stumble out of bed at three a.m. to pee, only to realize Reed was in his office typing away.

“If I get an idea, I have to write it out,” Reed had explained one morning when Greyson confronted him about it. “If I wait and go back to bed, it’ll be gone.”

Greyson could understand this; after all, he kept a notebook on him at all times for writing down ideas for menus or recipes. Creative force struck when it struck, he supposed. What he couldn’t understand was the absolutely insane schedule his boyfriend stuck to during the day.

“Honey, you don’t work from home so it’s hard for you to understand,” Reed had said when Greyson asked about the hour-by-hour, day-by-day schedule Reed kept on a bulletin board over his desk. “You really have to keep yourself on task in this line of work.”

“Yeah, I get that, babe,” Greyson said. “But I mean… you’re scheduling bathroom breaks. You work next to your bathroom.”

Reed had shrugged. “Sometimes I forget.”

Sometimes you forget?? Greyson found himself turning this idea over and over in his head the day after his boyfriend had uttered it. When Elijah asked him what he was so distracted by, Greyson couldn’t help but ask, “Have you ever forgotten to go to the bathroom?”

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” Elijah shot back. “Remind me to not ask you what you’re thinking about ever again.”

The schedule didn’t just apply to his work, though; Reed had everything scheduled. A cleaner came every Tuesday at nine a.m. sharp, no exceptions except for holidays. On the first Friday of each month, a man came to change their air filters. Was this a service provided by Reed’s fancy-schmancy apartment? Greyson had asked off-handedly the second month he lived there. Reed had raised an eyebrow at the question.

“Of course not,” he said. “I schedule it.”

“But… why? It’s not like you have any pets. I can change the air filters when they need to be changed,” Greyson offered. Reed’s lips pressed together at this offering, an indication that what he wanted to say and what he would would be two very different things.

“Let’s just keep it the way it is, baby,” he said. “So neither of us forget.”

It wouldn’t have mattered if Greyson forgot something, though, because Reed was not only on top of everything, he was ahead of everything. If Greyson forgot to throw his boxers in the dirty clothes when he got in the shower, they were in the hamper before the steam settled. The first time Reed made him dinner and Greyson offered to clean up after, he was shocked to find that there wasn’t a single dish in the sink to contend with. Even the counters were spotless.

None of this was to say that Greyson felt he’d moved in with a stranger; he knew that Reed was particular, Type A, and just a touch anal retentive before he’d moved in. He just hadn’t realized quite how intense the situation was.

“I don’t see the issue,” Elijah said when Greyson casually brought up the situation over drinks one night. “That sounds like a dream living situation. It’s like you have a free butler. Is he being an asshole about doing everything? It’s not like a Collin situation, is it?”

Greyson took a long pull from his whiskey, signaled the bartender for another. “No,” he said, turning towards his friend, “that’s exactly why it’s weird. He doesn’t say anything about it. I could probably smash all the plates in the cabinet, shred his blankets and shove them down the toilet and then take a shit in our bed and he’d have it cleaned up by the time I got home from work. No questions asked.”

Elijah pressed his lips together, thinking. “I just don’t see how any of this is bad.”

“I’m not saying it’s bad. I’m saying it’s weird.”

“Like you don’t have any weird quirks,” Elijah said, nodding at the bartender’s gesture to pour him another whiskey as well. “C’mon, Grey. Be serious.”

Greyson rubbed a hand down his face. “Yeah, I mean obviously. I’ve just, like… I’ve never lived with anyone like this. I feel like I’m tiptoeing around the house. Remember that Disney movie from way back? Smart House?”

“You are constantly forgetting that I am ten years older than you, asshole. No, I don’t remember fucking Smart House I was busy paying taxes when it came out.”

The chef flipped off his friend, laughing in earnest. “Whatever. It’s like the house is watching me, is what I mean. Which it isn’t, Reed isn’t watching me, obviously, it’s just… a totally different way of living. I don’t know.” Defeated, he knocked back the drink and shrugged, looking down. A hand slid over to pat his arm.

“You love him?” Elijah asked when Greyson looked up at him. A flush bloomed on Greyson’s face, prompting a laugh from Elijah. “Yeah,” the GM said, “you love him. So just accept him for this. It’s a weird quirk, yeah, but I mean it’s better than the alternative.”

“Swamp monster being the alternative?”

“Collin being the alternative,” Elijah corrected. Greyson shuddered. “Exactly.”

That was where he landed; he’d just accept the schedules, and the clean-freak weirdness, and the anticipatory service that would put a five-star hotel to shame. Greyson loved Reed, quirks and all, after all.

There was, however, one quirk Greyson hadn’t realized his boyfriend had – not until three months into living together.

On a Monday in May, Greyson woke up to the sound of Reed on the phone.

This was hardly new; Reed was on the phone near-constantly on days he worked, talking to magazines and news sites, interviewing other chefs and restaurant owners in the city. At first, Greyson assumed this was one of those calls – that is, until he walked into the kitchen and began eavesdropping.

“Thanks for understanding, Melissa. Yep, should be all good by next week, I appreciate it. Mmhmm. I’ll Zelle the partial payment now. Thanks again, hun, see you next week. Buh-bye.”

Greyson raised an eyebrow as Reed hung up the phone. “Was that Melissa the cleaning woman?” Reed nodded, penning something into his day planner.

“Mmhmm,” he said, looking up at his boyfriend and smiling. “Why? Good morning, by the way.”

“Morning,” Greyson said, peeking into Reed’s planner. “Were you calling her off for tomorrow?”

“Yes…?” Reed said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Is that okay?”

“Obviously it’s okay,” Greyson said as he made a coffee in their Keurig. “I mean, I’m just surprised. You’ve never called her off, she comes like fuckin’ clockwork. Do you have some sort of plans?”

Reed shifted uncomfortably on his seat. “Um,” he said, closing the planner. “Sort of.”

Pouring creamer into his coffee, Greyson burst out in a laugh. “Sort of? I’ve lived with you for months, baby. You’ve never sort of had a plan. I’d be shocked if you hadn’t planned your own birth for a specific day.”

“Don’t be silly. No one would ever choose to have a Christmas birthday.”

“Mmm, fair enough,” Greyson said, sitting next to his boyfriend. “Sooo… what’s the plan?”

Again, Reed seemed uncomfortable. “You’re going to think I’m weird if I say it,” he admitted. Greyson snorted out a laugh.

“My love,” he said, cupping Reed’s chin, “that ship has sailed. You are very weird, and I love that about you. Now tell me why you called off Melissa, throwing a wrench in your otherwise-perfectly-curated day.”

Reed pressed his lips together. Then, quietly: “You’re getting sick.”

Greyson reeled back as if Reed had pushed him. “What?” he asked, dumbfounded.

Immediately, Reed set to explaining: “Okay, okay, I know this is bizarre but… um… okay, the explanation is going to sound even more bizarre, I’m now realizing, but you have, um, a tell. When you’re getting sick. And I know that sounds weird or invasive, but I just noticed it last night so I figured I would call off Melissa so that tomorrow you can just sleep instead of, like, listening to the vacuum all day. That’s all.”

The apartment was quiet then. “What’s the tell?” Greyson asked after a long pause.

“Grey, please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, I’m… I don’t even know what I am, honestly. Freaked out?”

“Fuck, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Reed moaned, putting his head between his arms on the table. “I’m so fucking embarrassed.” He lifted his head then, his face red. “Please don’t be upset?”

The wind had been taken out of Greyson’s sails. “I’m really not… upset. Just tell me the tell.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not. Tell me why you think I’m getting sick.”

Reed sighed, looking down at his planner. “I just… like details. That’s all.”

“Reed, for God’s sake just tell me.”

“Okay!” Reed said, his embarrassment turning to frustration. “Okay. It’s just… ugh this sounds so weird. Okay, so like… you start to say a couple days before that some food that you love tastes weird, even though it doesn’t. This time it was an orange, you said it tasted rotten - I tried it, it didn’t. Then you’re super cold and moody, you wear your jacket to work even though it isn’t cold. That happened yesterday, then you came home and refused a drink. Those are all tells. So I figured by today when you got home from work, you’d be feeling shitty.” Reed shrugged, an attempt at being blasé that failed miserably with the catch in his voice that meant his embarrassment was about to spill over into tears. “That’s all.”

For a moment, Greyson just nodded – one continuous nod that he couldn’t seem to stop or accompany with words. “Okay,” he said, standing. “Um… I need to go to work. Can we talk about this later?”

“Greyson,” Reed said, desperation clear in his voice. “I promise I didn’t mean this to be so weird. I just… every time you’ve been sick, it’s been the same thing. I’m sorry. I notice patterns, it’s… one of my things, I guess. I don’t want you to think I’m a freak.”

“Reed,” Greyson said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I need a minute with this one. Okay? That’s it. I’m not mad, I just need… a minute.”

They stood in silence then, a stand-off with no winner or loser. “Okay,” Reed said finally. “Have a good day.”

Greyson went to the bedroom then, put on his work clothes, and gathered his backpack. What the ever loving fuck, he thought as he left without saying goodbye, was that?

***

“I mean, yeah, boss, that’s kind of weird I guess.”

This was not the reaction he’d been hoping for from Matt. “What do you mean kind of weird?” Greyson said, throwing his hands in the air. “He’s, like, stalking my habits. Keeping tabs on me. It’s insanity, Matt.”

The sous just shrugged, noncommittal, and continued chopping onions. “First off, I think you’re blowing this out of proportion. He’s watching your habits because he cares about you. It’s called intimacy. And second, I don’t know how to tell you this, Chef,” he said, glancing up, “but you do kind of have a tell when you’re getting sick.”

What kind of fucking nega-universe am I living in right now? Greyson thought, slamming his knife on the cutting board. “I do not have a tell,” he said. Matt glanced to the side, silent. “I don’t, Matt.”

“You don’t what?” Mark glided into the conversation, popping a cherry tomato from his boyfriend’s prep station into his mouth. Greyson took this opportunity gladly.

“Mark, glad you’re here,” Greyson said, turning away from his sous. “Random question: can you tell if Mark is getting sick?”

The floor manager furrowed his eyebrows together, looking Matt over. “Are you sick?” he asked his boyfriend.

“No,” Matt said. “But Greyson is.”

“Oh, my God no I am not,” Greyson insisted, throwing his arms over his head. “Never mind, Mark. Go.”

“Snippy,” Mark said. A knowing look passed between Mark and Matt then. “I’ll let Elijah know.”

No shot in hell this is my life, Greyson thought, looking wildly around the prep kitchen. “What the fuck is happening right now? I’m – HRRTSHH-ue!”

Silence fell over the back kitchen as Greyson ducked into his elbow. Then Elijah, from the office up front: “Oh, fuck off, I knew you were getting sick!”

Matt and Mark cackled while Greyson attempted to quell the volley of sneezes he knew were on that first’s heel. “You guys are asshoo – assholessITSZCH-ue! Hh - ! HETSZH-ue!”

“Bless, Chef,” Matt said, still laughing. The blessing made Mark literally double over, unable to catch his breath. Greyson glowered at the two of them as he yanked a handful of paper towels out of the dispenser and blew his nose. This is fucking humiliating, he found himself thinking.

“Shit, sorry Chef,” Mark said, finally catching his breath. Matt wiped a hysterical tear from his eye. “It’s just… I mean, it’s always so easy to tell when you’re sick. Can I get you some medicine from up front?” “No, Mark, you cannot get me some medicine,” Greyson grumbled. “You can go to the front and do your fucking job, though.”

Greyson could see Mark bite his cheek to keep from laughing again. “Yes, sir,” he said, disappearing from the back kitchen. On a roll, Greyson whirled around on his heels to point at his sous.

“And you,” he said, “finish up this prep. I’m going to the office.”

Matt just nodded, the smile on his face betraying his thoughts. “Yes, Chef,” he said.

As he stomped, defeated, to the front office, Greyson checked his phone. One new message.

11:52AM

Reed

hi, love. just wanted to make sure you’re having a good day. sorry again for my weirdness. love you.

God-fucking-dammit.

***

It had been a running joke from the time he was a kid.

Greyson, the go-til-you-drop expert. Greyson, the workhorse. Greyson, who wouldn’t know he’d been hit by a bus until someone else forced him into an ambulance. It was weird, he guessed, but it was what it was; he didn’t realize he was sick until it hit him because he was working. He was busy. That was how it always had been.

“Would you get in the office and take some fucking Dayquil, please?” Elijah plucked the knife from Greyson’s hand as he ducked under the prep station to stifle a flurry of coughs into his jacket. “We already said we’re sorry for embarrassing you, now go take something.”

Unwilling to give in, Greyson just shook his head and yanked his knife back from Elijah’s hands. “You didn’t embarrass mbe because I’mb ndot sick.”

“Uh huh,” Elijah said, crossing his arms. “Could you say that again?”

“Say what again?”

“‘I’m not sick’.”

Greyson rolled his eyes. “I’mb ndot sick.”

“‘I’mb ndot sick’,” Elijah parroted back, his consonants purposely dulled. “That’s crazy, that’s exactly how well people sound when they say that.”

Greyson’s face flamed. “Fuck off, Elijahhh – ahhTXSH-uhh!” An attempt to stifle a sneeze that immediately backfired. “HRSHH-ue! Huh -! HhhITSZCHH-ue!”

Taking pity, Elijah took the few steps to the office and grabbed a box of tissues. He placed it in front of the chef’s face and, begrudgingly, Greyson pulled out a few. “Bless you,” Elijah said, pointedly.

“You kndow what I miss,” Greyson asked, wiping his nose and sucking in, fruitlessly. Elijah raised his eyebrows as if to say, What? “I miss when I first started here and you were so clueless and self-involved that you didn’t ndotice I was walking around the kitchen with the fuckigg flu. I mbiss clueless Elijah. At least he wasn’t up mby ass twenty-four-seven.”

Elijah barked out a laugh. “You do not miss that,” he said. “You couldn’t even handle an afternoon of me not realizing you were sick. You were so downright offended that I hadn’t noticed you were sick that you literally went off on me. Please, Greyson. You can play the I’m-not-sick card all you want, but don’t pretend you don’t like the attention.”

At this, Greyson balked. “Are you calling mbe an attention whore?”

“Grey, of course I’m calling you an attention whore,” Elijah exploded, throwing his hands in the air. “Someone who isn’t an attention whore doesn’t turn a weird fight with his boyfriend into a day-long diatribe at work. You think Reed realized you were getting sick because he’s stalking your movements? Please, Grey. He realized it because you do the same damn thing every time – you sulk around work for a day or two, complaining about the thermostat being wrong in the kitchen. Your taste is off, and every dish Matt brings to you for editing doesn’t have enough salt. Then you come into work one day in a bad mood and seemingly out of nowhere start sneezing and coughing and shit. It’s like clockwork.”

The two of them stood there for a moment, silent. Despite it all, Greyson was in a bit of shock – was he really that obvious? How the fuck did everyone else realize he was sick before it ever even dawned on him? “It’s like that every time?” he asked, finally. Elijah nodded.

“Every time,” he said. “I thought you were always just trying to soft-launch your illness before it hit, get us all ready for a few days of you being an asshole.”

Was that what he was doing? Now Greyson was having a hard time even trusting his own brain – but no, that couldn’t have been his intention. He’d never even noticed before when he was getting sick. He figured that’s how everyone was; one day you’re fine, the next you’re on your ass.

“I’mb gonna keep it really real with you, Lij,” Greyson said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve ndever ndoticed that I did any of that. HRRTSHH-uhh! Fugck.” He grabbed another handful of tissues from the box beside him and wiped his nose. “I thought ‘getting sick’ was, like, a myth. You either are or you aren’t.”

Elijah closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You… are a different breed, Greyson Abbott,” he said, gathering himself. “You’ve never, like, taken inventory of how you’re feeling? Ever?”

“I mean, if I’mb forced to,” Greyson said, coughing into a fist. “Like ndow I am.”

“So you’re saying the only time you think about how you’re feeling is when you’re already down bad.”

“Uhh. Yes,” Greyson admitted, sniffling. “Pretty much.”

Elijah cracked his neck then, as if gearing up for a fight. “Get help, Grey,” he said, laughing. “That’s fucking crazy work.”

But it was true. From the time he was young, Greyson was busy. Sports as a teen, then restaurants the second he graduated – there simply wasn’t time to take inventory of how he was feeling. Taking inventory meant spending time thinking about how shitty things were, or could be, or would be eventually. In all honesty, Greyson had no interest in thinking about how or when things would all fall apart. They always did, eventually. No need to dwell on it.

Again, the two of them stood in silence, until finally Greyson broke the tension. “You said we have Dayquil?” he asked. Elijah just nodded.

“Want me to bring you some?”

“Yeah. Thanks, boss.”

***

By nine p.m., Greyson so done, if he were a steak you’d need a bone saw to cut through him.

“Huh-!” For the millionth time that evening, Greyson’s breath hitched painfully, and he folded completely in half to -

“HRRTSZHH-ue! Huh...hhITZHCHH-ue! ETSCHH-ue! Huh -! Hhnnn… Fuckigg – HRRETSZH-ue!”

“Bless, Chef,” the cooks called. Matt raised his eyebrows at his boss from behind the line.

“Ready to admit defeat yet?” he asked as another ticket printed. Fuck, Greyson thought, pulling the ticket. Yes, I fucking am.

“Order ind,” Greyson called, his voice dipping on the second word. “Two scallops, one ribeye. HRRTSHH-uhh!”

“Yes, Chef. Bless, Chef,” called the cooks.

Okay. Even he knew when it was time to call it.

“Mbatt, combe expo,” Greyson said, yanking his apron off. “I’mb going home, I’m fuckigg dying.”

Matt just nodded and walked around his coworkers to the other side of the line. “Feel better, Chef,” he said, pulling another ticket. “Order in.”

Greyson trudged to the office and slammed the door. Fucking Reed. Fucking Matt. Fucking Elijah, he thought, unbuttoning his coat and yanking his hoodie over his head. Just as he was about to open the door to leave, someone knocked timidly. “Come in, ndo one’s naked,” Greyson muttered.

Elijah opened the door and stood in the entry. “Admitting defeat?” he echoed the sous. Greyson rolled his eyes painfully.

“I guess,” he said, coughing into the sleeve of his jacket. “Gotta go face the all-seeing-eye at home. Can’t wait.” Elijah nodded, shifting from foot to foot as if weighing what he wanted to say next.

“Greyson,” Elijah said finally; gently, carefully. “I know what you’re used to. We all know what you’re used to, and it’s what Collin gave you. Neglect. Nothing. I get it, dude. You aren’t used to a partner really caring about you. But Reed? He’s like us, like me and Mark and Matt. He cares about you.” Elijah shrugged. “Let him.”

Even if he didn’t feel like shit, Greyson probably would’ve teared up. As it stood, he felt the tears fall down his face before he could even look away. “What happens whend he leaves?” he asked, his voice small. Elijah placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, looked him in the eye.

“What happens if he doesn’t?”

***

When he walked in the door, Greyson was surprised to find that the TV was on and Reed was nowhere to be found. The TV was almost never on in this apartment, and Greyson could almost always hear the click-clack of Reed’s keyboard when he walked in, no matter the time.

“Reed?” Greyson called, his voice straining. “Are you hombe?”

From the bedroom, Greyson heard a crash, then a “Fuck,” then suddenly Reed was standing in front of him in a t-shirt and pajama pants, looking very much not like his usual put-together self.

“Grey,” he said, throwing his arms around Greyson’s neck, “you came back.”

Greyson pulled back, looking at Reed’s face – had he been crying? “Of course I cambe back,” he said. “What do you meee – HRRTSCHH-ue! Fuck, ’scuse mbe.” Greyson wiped his nose on his jacket and Reed, ever-prepared, handed him a box of tissues from the entry table next to them.

“Bless you,” Reed said. “I mean… you never answered my text. You kinda stormed out this morning I figured… I don’t know. I had freaked you out too hard and you were done with me.” He shrugged, one hang wringing the other. “I’m sorry for being such a freak.”

Gently, Greyson pulled Reed’s hands away from one another, placed them on his own face. “Please don’t be sorry. You’re ndot a freak,” he said. “You’re just… you care. And I’mb ndot used to that. That’s on mbe, Reed. Ndot you. Caring, noticing… it’s a good thing.” He smiled then. “It’s something I admire about you. I’mb sorry I’ve never said it.”

Reed looked down, blushing. “You’re really warm,” he said, finally. Greyson coughed out a laugh.

“You’re also a bit of a prophet,” he said. “I feel like dog shit.”

Tutting, Reed moved one of his hands from Greyson’s cheek to his forehead. “Want me to get you some ibuprofen? Or I can make you tea, we have a ton, or let me run you a bath, or -”

“What I want,” Greyson cut him off, pulled him close, “is to go sit ond that couch. With you. And rot for the next few hours. Mbaybe order Doordash.” He coughed into his sleeve again, then, prompting Reed to attention once again.

“Shit, I should’ve made dinner or something, I honestly was just so worried you weren’t coming back I haven’t done anything today, I’m sorry baby I should’ve -”

“Hey,” Greyson said, pulling him back. “I just want you. I don’t want you to do sombething for mbe, or get something for mbe, or mbake something. I just want to be with you. Is that ok?”

Reed stopped in his tracks. “You don’t want anything?”

“Just you,” Greyson said. “And – HRRTSSH-ue! Snrf. And mbaybe the tissues.”

A smile spread across Reed’s face then. “I can handle that.”

[snifflequeen]

Contains: sneezing, sniffling, coughing (starts at 1:09)

Cold update (in wav form) before I go to bed✌️

[snifflequeen]

Contains: just coughing with a nose rub at the end

This cough is starting to hurt…

I wanna hug🥺