snxxt

[snxxt]

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.

[snxxt]

Just something going around... (Contagion cycle)

After a weekend of partying, he drags himself to work. He chalks up being tired to bad sleep. An hour in his throat starts itching. Then the sneezes start. He's not great at keeping them covered, and he sprays the keypad on the copier among other surfaces. He passes on his cold to two people that day, including his coworker who is preparing her big report in a few days.

That day comes, and his coworker gets to the meeting room early to set up. She's taken as many cold meds as she can, and she sucks on a cough drop, trying to quell her tickly cough. Twenty people watch her give a little cough into her elbow every three words and squelch two sneezes into her tented hands during her presentation. The VP shakes her hand afterwards, figuring he'll wash them soon enough.

Four days later, he's running on a treadmill at his neighborhood gym. He's felt off all day. A bead of sweat drips to the corner of his nose, and he inhales it. The burn sets off several sneezes that spray from his open mouth. The marathon runner getting in some extra miles next to him cringes.

Sure enough, she's down for the count a few days later. But it stays above her neck long enough that she keeps training, long runs in the evening. She gets caught in the rain and the next day it's in her chest. She goes to the grocery store to get ingredients for soup. As she pays, a cough wracks through her before she hands the cashier a twenty.

The cashier at the grocery store starts sneezing two days later. They're ignorable at first. But soon she feels like half of her brain is constantly holding back the urge to sneeze. Then, the congestion and snot sets in. She's saving up to move and no one else can come in, and she's scheduled for full shifts the next three days. She spends them in this pattern: scan an item, turn to the side, sneeze helplessly, turn back, scan as much as she can, turn and sneeze again, wipe the slug of snot from her face, apologize (until her voice goes out too). Her eyes are crusted and ringed purple, her lips chapped and constantly half open as she breathes through her mouth, then sniffles in some effort to keep the constant ooze of her nose at bay.

Unsurprisingly, dozens of people catch her cold, sniffling and sneezing a few days later, all of them remembering the suffering cashier...

[snxxt]

someone with a snot laden nose so congested they can’t make more than a squeak with each sniffle. frustrated, they reach for chhinkni in hopes of loosening all their congestion. they portion out a thing of chhinkni onto the back of their hand and lean in for a snort but they’re so clogged up that they barely get enough in for a sneeze. the sneezes they do get blast out all the chhinkni in waves of snot. desperate for relief, they end up sniffing a larger than recommended dosage with the plan of stifling each sneeze so the chhinkni doesn’t get the opportunity to escape. with each sneeze they pinch their nose shut. each sneeze pulsating snot through their sinuses beneath pressed fingers. and with each sneeze they get more desperate to let it out. the more they sneeze the looser their snot gets… mess is now breaking through the presses nostrils onto their fingers, each time their hand lets go their nose remains glued from mess for a few more seconds. now as snot is gushing down their face hands are drenched in mucus they decide their sinuses are adequately loosened and let out one or two loud full force sneezes. for a brief moment they can get a productive blow in and breathe

[snxxt]

obligatory decongesting with inducing.im not getting any sneezes with this cold its just stuck sneeze after stuck sneeze. i get so immediately stuffy whenever i lose a sneeze. figured id help my nose along with some vicks and a qtip

[snxxt]

i'm looking for a couple of snz fics!

i think about these almost daily but read them before i had this account, and therefore couldn't store them properly :')

the first one was a m/agnus a/rchives fic published here on tumblr, titled something like "the case of the cold handkerchief". it was written out in a script format and featured,,, sick j/on, i believe? and stuffy talk <3

the second one was an original work, published in many parts here on tumblr as well, if i remember correctly. it followed a m/f couple and the man was an actor maybe, and the woman was her assistant or something. all i remember is that the man kept denying his cold, they attended a promo party of some kind and the women tricked him into drinking champagne which made him sneeze.

if anyone knows which fics i'm talking about, help would be appreciated :') i've been thinking about these for so long <3

[snxxt]

Wipe(d)out (part 2)

so this one turned out to be way longer than i thought... but here it is! the long awaited second half of this lil' saga! i hope you're all ready for more gay sneezy cephalopod fluff >:3

srsly tho yall have no idea how much fun it is writing these two

tags: M/M, cold sneezes, hurt/comfort-adjacent, a few stifles and holdbacks (and subsequent egging on to not do that)

CWs: there's no egregious mess, but definitely a step up from part 1

word count: 5k

-

Asahi awoke to find himself alone in a car and parked in front of a pharmacy.

A strained groan of discomfort escaped him as he blinked his bleary eyes open and looked around the tiny space, gingerly stretching out his stiff legs as his fever-addled mind tried to catch up. Just a few minutes ago he was in the lobby with Ren, and now he was… in a car, feeling hot and sweaty and barely able to breathe through his nose.

As he pushed himself up he gave a thick, useless sniffle as he roughly rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up in the car’s seat, drowsily thumbing at his chapped nose and cringing as his fingers came back wet. He couldn’t have been asleep for long and yet the congestion had returned in full force; his irritated sinuses nearly compacted with inky snot that still threatened to drip down his chapped upper lip, like both of his nostrils had been sealed off with glue… or wet concrete, Asahi thought bitterly. For now he was stuck taking shallow breaths through his mouth, at least until he could blow his nose.

There was no doubt about it at this point, he was feeling awful. Not only physically, but there was a nagging guilt trying to worm its way into the back of his mind, about having to cancel his plans with Ren today, having him drop everything just to take care of him… 

Still exhausted from his short nap, Asahi swiped his chapped nose on his hoodie sleeve, wincing as the rough fabric rubbing against raw skin started to sting. His eyes watered as his nose scrunched and wiggled, the wall of congestion shifting in his head and making him feel heavy and hot and all-around gross. 

Where was Ren? Still foggy with delirium, he squinted and tried to peer into the building’s windows and seeing only blurred blobs in front of him, wincing as the dull throbbing in his head grew worse as he tried to look. Maybe… not doing that was a good idea, and he slumped back into the car seat with a rough sigh that immediately turned into a coughing fit that left him wheezing and reeling.

The seats were hot, strangely enough, soothing on his aching body and warm enough to keep him from shivering. He reached up to swipe at his nose, rubbing against his hoodie sleeve as he shuffled around trying to make himself comfortable again. Occasionally he’d glance out of the windows; he didn’t really recognize this area of town… that, or his feverish mind wasn’t allowing him to recognize it. Everything was starting to sway and shift around again and Asahi gripped the door’s handle as he waited for his vision to stop spinning and swirling every which way. 

With no one else in the car, the sick Octoling was left alone with only the radio and his fever-addled thoughts. The thumping bass from the sound system sent uncomfortable vibrations through his aching body, even when he leaned to rest his feverish head on the seat belt, even with the volume this low. He’d only laid down for a second before the buzzing from the speakers began to irritate his sinuses, already sensitive and all-around overworked. 

The hitching came on fast, though weak and unstable, and Asahi wiggled and scrunched his quivering nose, attempting to dislodge the itchy buildup somehow before it got too annoying. His hands were quivering, unsure of whether to try and catch the inevitable eruption into his hands or the crook of his elbow. 

Asahi’s eyes were wet with itchy tears as the buzzing behind his eyelids grew more and more overwhelming, needling across his tortured sinuses and barely moving. His hitching breaths grew more jagged and desperate, and suddenly he reeled back with his shaky hands now awkwardly cupped and braced for impact as his watery eyes finally flickered shut… and just as quickly the teasing itch spiked and suddenly receded, and all that came out was a shaky sigh.

…Asahi slumped against the heated seat. That was… weird.

With another thick sniffle he swiped at his raw nostrils and tried to relax a little, leaning back and letting the heated seat soothe his achy body. This was Yui’s car, wasn’t it? She was the only person he knew with heated seats and a sound system like that. At least he wasn’t somewhere entirely unfamiliar, this bringing a small amount of comfort to the ill Octoling.

Maybe a few extra minutes of shut-eye wouldn’t hurt, Asahi thought to himself as he settled in. His eyelids grew heavy as he laid still, warm and comfortable with something to chase that persistent chill away, and he would have dozed off again if the static behind his eyes hadn’t suddenly alighted with renewed fury. 

"—eH'pSSHIEW!!"

The itch behind his eyes spiked and with a shaky gasp Asahi pitched forwards without thinking, hitting the dashboard with a small but noticeable misty spray of saliva. He gave a dizzy groan as he resurfaced, muffling a liquidy sniffle into the wrist of his (now well-used) hoodie sleeve as he struggled to stem the warm, inky gunk threatening to spill out of his cold-ridden nose.

Yikes… that was a little too close for comfort. Asahi had just barely avoided a mess.

He’d snuff the mess back up as best he could, but he could only go without blowing for so long.

Now with his leaky nose buried into his sleeve, a desperate attempt to stem the flow of inky snot threatening to drip down his upper lip, his eyes darted around the car interior in a desperate search for something he could blow into. There had to be a napkin or something laying around… He wished he kept his mask on.

His sniffling increased in frequency as he frantically searched the car, but there wasn’t a single tissue nor paper napkin in sight much to his dismay. “sdrrrk-- Ohh, God…” Asahi muttered to himself as he searched the glove box for anything resembling a napkin or a travel pack, thickly sniffling back another wave of snot threatening to leak out… and wincing as the inky gunk rippling against his overworked and inflamed sinuses sparked another burning itch behind his eyes, deep-seated and spreading agonizingly slow. There had to be something here, anything…

“h’heh–... hehh–!...”

Asahi’s vision went fuzzy as the urge to sneeze crept up on him, and he hurriedly pressed the flat of his tongue to the roof of his mouth, stalling the tickle and buying some more precious time.

God, not now! There was a hefty chance he’d drench himself and Yui’s car if he couldn’t hold back, and Asahi wasn’t sure if the sleeves of his hoodie could take any more damage. 

Still, he’d sniffle again and roughly wipe his chapped, leaky nose on his hoodie sleeve and searched in vain for a napkin he could use… too caught up in his desperate search to notice Ren making his way back to the car, too focused on keeping his runny nose under control to hear the car’s doors unlock and then open.

“Oh hey, you’re finally up.” Ren’s voice startled the sick Octoling out of his near trance, visibly flinching in surprise at his return. He probably looked pathetic, with his runny nose buried in his hoodie sleeve while he desperately searched for something to blow into while Ren stepped into the driver’s seat. “You were out the whole ride here. Passed out almost as soon as we left the lobby. Figured you needed some sleep, so I didn’t wanna wake you…”

So that’s why he barely remembered having left the lobby…

“Got you a few things, too.” In Ren’s hands were a few plastic bags, likely filled with all sorts of cold supplies and remedies… and hopefully some tissues. He reached over the seat, about to deposit the grocery bags on the back seat and out of his reach when Asahi finally found his voice.

“R-Ren?” He’d gasp out despite the crack in his tone. “I-I need a tihh-” His voice went shaky as the itch in his nose from before suddenly reignited, and Asahi couldn’t finish his sentence before his eyes squeezed shut and he wrenched forwards with a desperate “hiI’gKSSCHHIIEW!!!” -- into the waiting sleeve of his hoodie, drenching the fabric in a barely contained shower of snot and inky mist.

The damp spot was the first sensation he clocked, then the unmistakable, uncomfortable warmth now oozing out of his nose and onto his upper lip… and Ren’s eyes on him, as Asahi woozily blinked back itchy tears and tried wiping his leaky nostrils on his ruined sleeve, but for all his effort this only managed to spread the mess around… and to add insult to injury, he needed to sneeze again, and before he knew it he was already reeling back, with barely any time to see Ren’s expression before he lurched forwards again into his soiled sleeves, soaking the hoodie in more inky snot. “hI’H-... hE’gKSSHHUHh!!”

One of the first things Asahi was aware of when the haze in his head finally settled were the tips of his ears absolutely burning in shame.

He withered underneath Ren’s stunned stare as hot stinging tears began to well up in his eyes and spill over his cheeks, and before he even realized it he was quietly whimpering, ineffectively sniffling back the deluge of snotty ink oozing out of his nose and soaking into his sleeves.

So much for avoiding a mess.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he finally glanced up at Ren; probably shock or disgust at how snotty and all around miserable he looked as he tried to avoid looking into the Inkling’s eyes… and finding neither of his own expectations.

“H-Hey! What’s wrong?!”

The sudden explosion definitely made Ren jump, of course, but his startled look quickly melted away once he caught sight of the tears bubbling up in Asahi’s eyes, and he quickly reached behind the driver’s seat for one of the plastic bags. 

The immediate concern for him caught Asahi off guard; his tear-filled glassy eyes went wide, like a minnow entrapped by an angler fish’s light. And yet the only reply he could muster up was a thick sniffle and a pathetic whimper, slightly flinching as Ren reached over to rub behind one of his rounded ears.

It took a while for Asahi to muster up a response, and at that point the dam caved in.

“I-I feel awful…” he finally admitted, even as he shrunk away from Ren’s touch. “I mb’essed u’b our pla’ds and rui’ded everythi’g a’d… a-a’d I just feel gross!” He eventually choked out a quiet sob, his body shuddering with each shaky inhale, with little hiccups and useless sniffles in between, and Ren sighed softly once he realized how unnecessarily guilty his partner had been feeling… and all over getting sick, no less.

With no other response he then moved his hand to stroke across Asahi’s cheek, delicately wiping away his boyfriend’s tears despite the sniffling and his attempts to pull away. He frowned, almost as if the teary look of shame on his partner’s pale face had him feeling guilty as well-- he had to do something.

“Hey. Look at me.” 

With his other hand he took hold of his partner’s chin, gently pulling him close so that he was facing Ren despite his weak attempts at escape. The sudden boldness had the desired effect, stunning Asahi so that he was completely still, and once he had his attention he shifted that hand to rub behind Asahi’s ear. “You are not gross, okay?” he spoke firmly. “Why would I be mad at you for getting sick?”

Asahi sputtered. “B-But…”

“No buts,” Ren quickly silenced his boyfriend’s protests with a kiss to his warm forehead. “You’re not a burden, Asahi. You didn’t ‘ruin’ anything, I promise. So what if we couldn’t practice today? We can always come back when you’re in better shape, yeah?”

And then he pulled him in across the seats for a hug, despite the thick sniffling ringing in Ren’s ears and his arm still held up to his face, and even moved to rub his back- unmoving even as Asahi eventually wrapped his own free arm around him- leaning into his boyfriend’s warmth as the tears in his eyes began to dry, muttering a weak ‘tha’g you’ into his boyfriend’s neck before pulling away.

Now that the tears had stopped, there was something else Ren had to attend to-- namely, that leaky nose of his.

“C’mon, let me see the damage,” he’d prod as he grabbed Asahi’s wrist and gently pulled his arm from underneath his dripping nose. The fabric on his sleeves had definitely taken the brunt of the damage, with a thin line of snot connecting his leaky nostrils to the stain on his wrist. 

Ren noted a few smaller, dried stains on that sleeve, and a quick offhand glance revealed similar small streaks on the hoodie’s other sleeve. And all while Asahi continued to avoid eye contact, still looking embarrassed about the mess on his hoodie. Just how long had he been doing this? No wonder his boyfriend’s nose was all raw and chapped if he’d been using his hoodie sleeves as a snot rag for who knows how long.

“Old habits die hard, eh?” Ren joked in an attempt to lift his sick boyfriend’s spirits, only getting an exhausted half-chuckle in reply. 

“It’s nothing a pre-soak can’t fix, though,” he would decide as he popped open the box of tissues he just bought and swiped up a few, then pressed the clump around Asahi’s nose— gently lifting his head so that he could gaze into his glassy, unfocused eyes, and stopped for a moment.

At this point he’d known that vacant expression all too well, and reached for another tissue to add to the wad bunched around his quivering nostrils. He held the clump close even as Asahi tried to pull away from his hand between short, breathy gasps and fluttering eyelids. Was he seriously still trying to fight off his symptoms?

Getting an idea, Ren would gently press the flat of his thumb against his nose, lightly rubbing the textured tissues against his flaring ink-rimmed nostrils, and slowly nudging that quivering appendage up and down while applying a small amount of pressure. It was nothing drastic, just a small bit of movement to distract Asahi from trying to hold back. 

Or to coax that itch out. Whatever came first.

“R-Re’d—?” Asahi gasped out between tickly gasps, quivering as he still tried to pull away from the Inkling’s hand. “W-What are you-? I-I gotta-hhh-...”

“I know,” Ren replied rather directly. “Stop trying to fight it, ‘kay?”

So despite his protests he held his hand in place, protected by layers of facial tissue, while Asahi hitched and squirmed in his grasp. Ren kept his grip steady even as Asahi stopped pulling away and began to tilt his head back, even as his breaths grew more shallow and desperate as his eyes welled with itchy tears, then flickered shut. “hehh-... HE’gKSSHHYOO!!”

Ren held his hand firm and steady as Asahi finally pitched forwards, remaining unfazed as warmth filled his palm, and he shifted his grip ever so slightly to make sure the tissues completely covered his nose despite the force. 

“Yeesh, that sounded rough,” Ren chuckled, using his free hand to flick a stray tear from Asahi’s cheek. This was where he noticed the misty, unfocused look in Asahi’s eyes; his lips slightly parted and his chest heaving again with short, tickly gasps— he wasn’t done, clearly. 

“Still itchy?” The dazed, shaky nod was all the confirmation Ren needed, and he pinched the tissue wad around his quivering nose as his flickering eyelids closed again.

“u-uhh’hh‐… hh’tSHHUUHh!!” Ren’s hand grew warmer and heavier as Asahi pitched forwards into the clump of damp tissue… then reeled back again, gasping in a strangled breath. “gh’hehh-... he’PSSCH— -g’KSSCHh— -KSHHUuh!!!” 

And he pitched forwards into the squid’s hand with an uncontrolled, rapid triple, drenching the soft paper in stringy, snotty ink as each sneeze ripped through him, but the itching finally backed off afterwards and Asahi slumped into his partner’s hand; groaning in relief, barely aware of Ren reaching out to rub the top of his head. “Bless you. Feel better?”

“Uh-huh…” The sniffle that followed was long and thick, but exhaustion overshadowed any embarrassment Asahi felt, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. “Tha’g you, Re’d.”

He froze.

Tha’g you, Re’d. Those three words brought a surprising heat to the Inkling’s face, the tips of his ears burning with an unknown feeling. He felt weirdly giddy, hearing Asahi trying to thank him while horribly stuffed up. Coupled with that sickly smile on his face…he’s still cute even when he’s this wiped.

“R-Re’d...?”

Another soupy sniffle brought him back to the present.

Ren glanced down to see Asahi staring up at him, his pale cheeks suddenly flush with color. “Y-You’re stari’g…”

“S-Shit, sorry.”

He quickly shook off that weird giddiness.  

Right, Asahi was more important right now, he could deal with those weird thoughts later. He gently wiped around his boyfriend’s quivering nose before pulling the ink-stained clump of tissue away. For now, he’d stuff the used tissue into the cup holder as he reached for the box again to pull up a few fresh sheets. 

Ren was gentle; tenderly cupping the clean tissues around Asahi’s nose while he gazed into his boyfriend’s glassy eyes. He couldn’t help chuckling to himself watching his boyfriend lean into the tissues without a second thought this time, clearly picking up the relieved sigh that escaped the sick Octoling’s throat. “These feel nd’ice,” Asahi muttered.

“Of course they’re gonna feel better than cafe napkins and cheap toilet paper,” Ren would gently rib as he tried to lighten the mood somewhat. “These have lotion in them, though.” 

He pulled his hand away once Asahi reached for the tissues clumped around his nose, effortlessly passing the wad of paper into his hands, only to take a second glance at his sick partner in the passenger’s seat next to him. 

His tentacles were still very pale; lethargic and limp as they hung from his usual ponytail, and under the sunlight they appeared to have lost even more color. His skin was no different; clammy and beaded with sweat, save for the inflamed tint around his quivering nose, buried deep in layers of tissues with a thick, gurgling blow that sounded desperately needed. 

Most of all, however, Asahi seemed tense— even as he tried to clear his sinuses; straining against the aches and fatigue permeating every inch of his body as he gasped in another exhausted breath and blew as hard as he could with a spluttering honk that quickly lost its strength. He groaned in discomfort before leaning to blow again; this time with more force and less regard for how embarrassing he sounded, but still quickly losing steam.

Ren watched as Asahi carefully crumpled up the sodden tissue so that the mess inside remained inwards, then followed his boyfriend’s lead in stuffing the soiled paper into the cup holder, on top of the tissue from earlier before reaching for the tissue box again.

…At that moment, Ren made another mental note to thoroughly sanitize his sister’s car before returning it to her.

There had to be something he could do to help, Ren thought to himself, reaching over to place one of his hands on Asahi’s shoulders, mostly out of sympathy for his sick partner— and then an idea hit once he clocked just how tense the Octoling’s shoulders were.

A few extra minutes in the parking lot wouldn’t hurt, Ren rationalized, before turning in his seat to place both of his hands on Asahi’s shoulders while he was preoccupied with blowing his nose, startling him out of his focus.

“W-What are you—?” 

“Want a shoulder rub?” was Ren’s nonchalant reply. The suggestion seemed out of nowhere, but… in all honesty Asahi was too tired to argue, and the idea definitely sounded nice.

He gave a slow, tired but trusting nod and Ren began to do just that; rubbing and gently applying pressure to the tensest parts of his shoulders. Asahi shuddered underneath the Inkling’s hands as the aching in his body ebbed away, if only for a while, and before long his eyelids fluttered shut and he leaned across the center console into Ren’s hands. 

Meanwhile Ren chuckled to himself watching his partner melt in his hands, all tension in his neck and shoulders evaporating almost as soon as he laid hands on him. He seemed on the verge of falling asleep then and there, his movements slow and floaty even without the shoulder rub. And despite the weird posture he had to affect to be able to reach both shoulders, he didn’t mind too much as long as Asahi was at least a little bit comfortable.

“Feels gooood…” Asahi mumbled out, eliciting another laugh and a deeper rub. Time seemed to slow, even though the two had only been like this for maybe five minutes. Though he had to pull away after some time though; this position didn’t really agree with him no matter how flexible and limber Ren assumed he was. 

Naturally Asahi began to pout once he pulled away to focus on getting home and cut the shoulder rub short. “I can keep going once we’re home,” he quickly added as a compromise, and Asahi reluctantly agreed.

With his seatbelt on, Ren reached for the gear shift, only stopping to take one last look at Asahi before pulling off, and decided that he should maybe keep that tissue box within his sick boyfriend’s reach. So he unceremoniously plopped the box into his lap, startling him as soon as he was about to doze off, along with another important item he’d bought- a bottle of orange juice, which he’d placed in the only other open cup holder where Asahi could reach it. “Got you some juice, too,” he called out to bring his sick partner’s attention to the drink, then he turned to focus on pulling out of the parking lot for real this time— or he would have, had Asahi not spoken up again.

”T-Thank you…” the sick Octoling muttered. His voice, though clear of congestion now, still came strained and weak. “F-For the tissues, and t-the orange juice, and…”  

“Don’t mention it,” Ren replied. “You sound better, too.”

He looked over to notice that Asahi was avoiding his line of sight again, hiding behind the wad of fresh tissues pressed to his nose. There was visible embarrassment in his glassy eyes, and he shrunk in on himself once he caught sight of Ren. 

“S-Someone in the lobby bathroom said I sounded like a jammed Nautilus…”

And then Ren snorted; unable to suppress a giggle at that comment; unable to stop giggling despite the pout on Asahi’s face. That was… so out of pocket and Ren would be lying if he claimed he didn’t pity his partner being jabbed at by a stranger in the restroom.

But it was so specific and weirdly blunt that the comparison blindsided him, and he couldn’t help but just laugh. Not to mention the added irony in Asahi’s recent decision (last week) to try and take up the weapon in question. A perfect storm all-in-all.

”It’s not funny…” Asahi gave a weak rasp, and Ren eventually stopped laughing. “S-Sorry dude… that was just so outta pocket.” 

Still unconvinced, Asahi continued to pout, and Ren eventually sighed in defeat and reached out to rub behind his ears again. He was surprised to see him resist, weakly pulling away from Ren’s hand as he continued to rub, but he held out for exactly four seconds before the sick Octoling relented, slowly leaning into the embrace as the pout melted from his face. “Knew you’d come around eventually,” Ren chuckled.

”But seriously, it’s no big deal. Just wanted to make sure you were at least a little comfortable.” He pulled away from Asahi’s ear once he began to lean back in his seat, gently patting his cheek before returning to the wheel— for real this time. “I’m no nurse, but I do know how to make a cold less painful. So don’t worry, you’re in good hands.”

…Okay, he may have been a little overconfident in that last statement. But Ren was determined to make sure his sick boyfriend didn’t suffer too much, and it even seemed to alleviate Asahi’s concerns as he began to settle in his seat for the ride home. He kept the tissue box in his lap, of course, as he reached to crack open the bottle of orange juice to take a sip… which turned into the delayed realization that he’d barely had anything to drink all day, if gulping down half the bottle was any indication.

“S-Sorry we still couldn’t do any warm-up rounds, though…” Asahi admitted after a period of silence, staring down into his bottle of juice.

“C’mon, you don’t have to keep beating yourself up over it. We can go back when you’re in better shape.” 

That seemed to finally convince him, and Asahi eventually slumped into his seat, carefully re-capping his orange juice before placing it back in the cup holder. He gave a soft, crackling sigh as he got comfortable in the car seat, humming contentedly as he settled in against the soothing heat radiating along his back… Ren chuckled to himself, wondering when Asahi would notice the car’s heated seats. “Feels good, don’t it?”

“Mmhm…” Asahi purred, slowly sinking into the seat’s warmth.

“Alright, let’s get outta here. You wanna get somethin’ to eat before we head home?” Ren asked as he buckled himself in and shifted gears, but got no response… He glanced over to find Asahi asleep in his seat, lightly snoring with his head resting precariously against the seatbelt. 

He smiled to himself. “You’re gonna be alright. Swear on it,” Ren reassured again, as he moved to plant a small kiss right in the middle of his warm, sweat-slicked forehead. 

It was a small display of affection, sure, but the sleepy smile on the feverish Octoling’s face meant a lot to him.

——

“Yui won’t be back till seven,” the tall Inkling rattled off as he shouldered his sick partner all the way up to the complex doorstep, “so until then we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

Noon had only barely passed when the two made it back to the apartments. At this point Ren was essentially dragging a delirious and clearly sleepy Asahi into the complex he shared with his older sister, held up with his arm braced across his shoulders and matching his uneven, staggering pace, keeping him upright as they hobbled up to the doorstep and Ren dug for his house key.

“We’re almost there, just hang on.” he’d reassure him as he guided him over curbs and low steps that Asahi would have no doubt tripped over in this state. 

At this point Ren sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself rather than the one who actually needed it, who seemed barely responsive save for a weak nod and a shuddering, unrepressed cough that caused Ren to wince in sympathy.

There was something needling at the back of his neck… Pity. 

It sucked seeing Asahi so ill; so low. He didn’t deserve this, if anything! Someone so sweet and kind and gentle, laid low by the changing seasons… He didn’t deserve this! 

“Hang in there, alright?” Ren would try reassuring him as the two hobbled up to the front door. Now he just needed his house key, and he’d be home safe and Asahi could properly rest…

As he retrieved his key and unlocked the apartment door, Ren glanced over at his ill partner, who seemed barely awake while he leaned his full weight onto him for support. His eyelids would frequently flicker between thick, inky sniffling, and he still shivered even underneath the blazing sun. 

Asahi suddenly whipped to the side before doubling over, and his grip on Ren’s arm would clench even tighter as more deep, heavy crackling coughs wracked his trembling frame. The force was enough to nearly pull Ren down with him, and he winced in sympathy once the coughing subsided and Asahi was left dizzily wheezing.

He wasted no time in pulling his boyfriend through the front door and into the air-conditioned space before locking the door behind him. 

“Chez Takahashi welcomes you,” Ren announced with a goofy flourish once the two were inside, hoping to get a giggle or at least a smile from his sick boyfriend. And it worked, somewhat; his silly little show eliciting a small, tired giggle from Asahi, though it quickly dissolved into another fit of coughs.

Home safe, finally, Ren thought to himself as he guided Asahi to the couch, letting him sit down so that he was finally off of his feet. “Kick off your shoes, make yourself comfortable! Remote’s right there if you wanna watch TV.”

He’d have to run back to the car to grab their backpacks as well as the supplies he bought, as getting his unstable boyfriend inside was his main priority, and once Asahi was seated and stable he ducked back towards the door to grab everything he’d forgotten.

Once outside he’d release a heavy sigh, as the day’s events weighed on him— and it was only just past noon. 

He kicked a nearby rock as he went to unlock the car, reaching for Asahi’s backpack first and slinging one of its straps around his shoulder, followed by his own. The grocery bags he could grab with one hand.

“Got the stuff,” Ren called out as he made his way back through the doorway and over to where his boyfriend was seated before depositing the grocery bags onto the couch. Asahi hadn’t moved much from his spot (he hadn’t even kicked off his shoes), groaning and wetly sniffling with his visibly damp hoodie sleeve pressed against his nose, woozily blinking back dizzy tears as he gazed up at Ren… All he could rasp out was a weak, stuttering “sorry” followed by another soupy sniffle. 

It didn’t take long for Ren to piece together what happened while he was gone, but he decided not to draw attention to it. At least not yet, anyway. 

He searched through the bags for a few choice items, not missing the change in Asahi’s expression once he pulled out the open box of tissues— reddened eyes going wide with a grateful gleam as he reached for the box, then promptly swiped up a few of the soft sheets to bunch around his nose in an attempt to stem the leaking. Ren decided not to comment on the honking, gurgling blow that followed.

While his boyfriend was preoccupied, Ren dug through the bag of supplies again, looking for a few more choice items to help ease Asahi’s symptoms somewhat— cough drops, tea, more tissues (because one box was never enough), cup noodles, an ice pack, vapor rub, and most importantly, nighttime-strength, severe cold medicine. “You have your inhaler, right?”

Asahi gave a weak nod and pointed towards his bag, the one that was just brought in. Which was sitting next to Ren’s backpack on the ground by the door, so that was good.

“You want me to wash that?” he’d question as he gestured down to the snot-stained sleeves, and Asahi shrunk away in embarrassment; this eliciting a small, amused chuckle from Ren. “C’mon, that hoodie’s basically a petri dish. You’re not gonna get any better sulking around in it.”

“B-But I’b cold…”

“We’ve got blankets, yknow.”

Asahi eventually relented, and he shuffled out of his hoodie with assistance from Ren; now he sat in only his undershirt, sniffling and shivering as soon as his exposed skin hit the air-conditioned front room atmosphere. The sudden temperature change definitely wasn’t easy on his tortured sinuses, and he suddenly pitched forwards into the crook of his elbow with an unusually harsh sneeze that left him winded and dizzy. “–hE’tSHHIUUH!! Uughhh…”

There he was, clumsily fumbling for the tissue box a few feet in front of him… nearly dropping it a couple of times as he tried to get a hold of it.

“Still can’t believe you thought you could still play like this,” Ren sighed out without thinking.

He stopped once he noticed Asahi withdrawing in on himself underneath his stare, a faint, embarrassed blush coloring his flushed cheeks.

“Shit, I wasn't thinking straight… Sorry, dude.”

Quickly shaking himself out of his thoughts, Ren slid the tissue box to where Asahi could easily reach it, even plucking up a few sheets himself to help clean him up a bit before folding the soiled hoodie so that its snotty ink stains were inward facing while he blew his nose again. “You wanna take a shower? It’ll warm you up the fastest.”

The idea of a hot shower was tempting to the sick cephalopod, but there was one problem. “S-Shower? B-But I dod’t… ha’be ad’y clothes…”

“So? You can borrow some of mine while I wash yours.” 

He’d worn Ren’s clothes before, and in better situations than this. 

But even so, Ren’s straightforward suggestion had him blindsided and slightly bashful, but a chill up Asahi’s spine quickly changed his mind and he pushed himself off the couch. “Okay t-the’d…” Besides, the idea of a hot shower definitely sounded appealing to his fever-ridden mind.

He began to sway as soon as he was on his feet and upright, shivering and stumbling while he used the couch’s arm for support, only to double over into a coughing fit— deep, crackling coughs that ripped through his chest and left him stumbling, tumbling over his foot and close to the ground had Ren not swooped in to catch him mid fit. 

Asahi gasped in a shaky wheeze once the taller Inkling helped him upright, leaning into his chest for support as Ren eventually steadied him on his feet. He felt heavy. Standing up too quickly made him dizzy, and all of that coughing only made it worse.

“Y’know…” Ren sighed after a short silence as he eased his clearly unsteady partner down the hallway and to the bathroom. “Maybe a bath sounds safer.”

[snxxt]

Wipe(d)out (part 1)

its here its heeeere!!! a full story about Asahi and Ren! this one was SUPPOSED to be a short and sweet little oneshot... but it eventually turned into smthn a lot longer than i planned. so much that i split the fic into two parts to ease up my workload a little bit. i genuinely love writing about these two and i hope yall love them too 🥺

CWs: M/M, male snz, illness, stifles/holdbacks, on/off mess descriptions, game terminology and extensive brainrot /j word count: 6.97k

"hI'gKSCHoo!! he’h… h'TSSHuh!!"

He snapped forwards, finally giving in to an itch that had been brewing in the back of his nose. One hand gripped onto his locker door in an attempt to steady himself mid-sneeze, the other hand clamped around his nose to pinch his nostrils shut and limit the amount of damage done to the cloth mask strung across his mouth and nose. The overwhelming urge had been appeased, at least for now, allowing him a moment of reprieve. He sniffled and ever so slightly thumbed at his flaring nostrils through the fabric as he tried to concentrate on the day ahead.

Doing his best to ignore the dull aching in his head the young man returned to his task; precariously squatting down, gingerly resting himself against the closed locker underneath his own for support as he hefted his trusty Range Blaster from its case. He performed best with this weapon; its weight in his hands was a welcome familiar feeling, despite how warm and heavy and sick he felt that morning. The wheeze in his breath didn’t go unnoticed as he straightened himself upright. 

Weapon in hand, Asahi gave a deep, thick sniffle as he shut the locker door and trudged into the lobby past the odd pack of squids or two. 

Getting out of bed today seemed more and more like a mistake, he thought, if waking up heavy and warm with his throat uncomfortably tight and sore was any indication. But it was his partner’s idea to blow off some steam with a few rounds, and there was just no way he could say no to Ren of all people! (Even if Ren himself said otherwise.) 

So despite his aching sinuses and better judgment, Asahi dragged himself out of bed and down to the lobby to meet up, putting on his favorite thick, oversized Zekko hoodie despite the searing temps. The lengthy train ride from his tiny student flat to Splatsville was the least agonizing, at least he could catch a few extra minutes of sleep… Nevermind the fact that by the time he’d stepped off at the one station in between destinations he started feeling dizzy and itchy, or the fact that he’d been nudged awake by someone on the train.

Each step into the spacious lobby range eroded Asahi's will, and the urge to pull down his face mask and furiously wipe and scrub at his chapped and irritated nose grew more and more tempting by the minute— it itched and buzzed and burned and everything in between, and a certain Octoling was at its mercy today, sniffling and wiggling, trying everything he could to dislodge that unbearable itching. He needed a distraction, and his eyes wandered down to the Range Blaster in his hands- its weight in his grasp familiar and reassuring…

So again, despite his symptoms and rational judgment, Asahi hauled himself up and began to sprint, despite the immediate burning sensation in his chest, and aimed for the closest squid bumper, enticingly moving side to side on its track.

He shot a singular blast of light blue ink towards the target, a thin enough line for him to dive, swim close enough and advance, only to start coughing as soon as he was upright and out of swim form. His vision began to waver and he doubled over as his overworked lungs tried and tried to rid themselves of the perceived irritant. 

The coughing subsided after what felt like forever, and with a shaky tentative breath he righted himself again, softly wheezing as he readjusted his grip on the weapon. Recovering from that took a lot longer than Asahi would like; if he were in battle he would have been an easy target. 

Still, he tried to shake off the heavy haze of what he was pretty sure was an oncoming cold and focus on the target. He’d try for a different route this time, inking a second path around two of the bumpers in front of him, swimming through and resurfacing a good distance away from it. There was no need to close the gap between himself and the bumper, his fever-addled mind realized a second too late, and instead he could make use of the Range Blaster’s extended… well, range. Asahi aimed for the bumper once again— struggling to see around the wavering in his blurred vision; trembling, clammy fingers tightly gripping the barrel of his weapon. He shakily inhaled in an attempt to catch his breath, although that turned into another fit of coughs as he squeezed down on the trigger, the recoil throwing off his shaky aim even more as the shot exploded just next to the bumper- chipping off a small bit of the bumper’s health, not even enough for a two-hit indirect knockout. He groaned and sniffled and tried again, this time shakily aiming for the damaged bumper’s center before shooting again. The bumper exploded with a satisfying pop and Asahi finally allowed himself to relax, letting his shoulders slump and giving a heavy exhale (that inevitably turned into a chesty cough). He slumped against the pillar close by the moving squid bumpers; underneath the metal grates above him, grateful for the lessened amount of light coming through. His breathing came uneven and heavy, and Asahi’s wobbly legs began to give out, just barely upright in a feeble attempt to avoid sliding to his knees. 

He shivered underneath the cool, air-conditioned lobby atmosphere, drawing his arms closer to himself to try and retain some body heat. His thick hoodie held heat well, but even that didn’t seem to help.

If only there was a way to bottle up that famous Splatlands heat, maybe a swig of it would warm him to his core and kick that chill he had all morning…

Asahi gingerly pulled his mask down, giving into the urge to rub his twitching damp-rimmed nostrils on his hoodie sleeve, a discreet attempt at wiping away some of the ink-tinted snot threatening to leak out of his nose. This brief act only ignited another itch in the back of his sinuses, his glassy eyes watering as the stinging sensation pricked and needled its way up his chest, heaving with each tickly gasp. Asahi's eyes flickered shut, his head snapped back— 

His mask was still down, he couldn't reach it in time…

"hh'HIh—... hHI'IKSHH—!!" 

At the last second he pinched his nostrils shut as the itch finally exploded out of him, barely contained and setting off that dull, droning itch in the back of Asahi's nose once again. He'd forced most of the sneeze through his teeth to try and minimize the mess his leaky nose would have no doubt made, though this also resulted in a visible spray that he did his best to aim downwards and out of the open air. And all the while his mask dangled precariously from one ear, threatening to fall from his face altogether. 

“Hehh—” he suddenly gasped, and pressed his fingers together as tightly as he could. “-iIKSHhh—’KSShh!! hN’Gt—sshuh!!” He kept his nostrils pinched shut as he pitched forwards again and again, each barely suppressed sneeze sending bursts of pain that spread behind his eyes, rebounding and intensifying the droning, buzzing itch deep in his sinuses… but above all else the sneezing finally stopped for now, and Asahi gingerly un-pinched his nostrils, unceremoniously wiping the small leftover string of snot on his hoodie. He groaned, not bothering to conceal how crappy he felt, before roughly swiping his hoodie sleeve underneath his chapped, dripping nose. No one was nearby to see, anyway.

And then his chest heaved again.

"hI'hhH—... hhehH'—!"

Asahi was scarcely upright when the hitching returned, the dull, buzzing itch in the back of his nose quickly blossoming into an overwhelmingly strong stinging behind his eyes; one that sent a shudder through the sick octopus as his breathing snagged again. His nostrils flared, and Asahi pitched forwards into the crook of his elbow this time.

"’—h’HESSHEWW!! hHI'ITSHIEW!!! h’hehh-... eh’hhKSSHIEW!!"

The sneezing came painfully slow and relentless; that pent-up itch finally exploding out of his raw throat, scraping his voice and doubling Asahi over at the waist. Glassy eyes eventually blinked open, his vision fuzzy with fever and the oncoming haze of another sneeze; his damp-rimmed nostrils flaring with each desperate hitch. Each gasp came more strangled than the last, ending in Asahi finally doubling over into his sleeve. “H’ehh—... hE'hDSSHUUH!! Heh’hKSSHIEW!!”

His sinuses burned as the overwhelming itch finally exploded out of him, nearly knocking him over as the tips of his tentacles curled tightly in on themselves. Another flash of pain behind his eyes came and went with each forceful sneeze, his head throbbing each time he jerked forward, but the buzzing itch in his nose ebbed away again, thank God, and Asahi sighed heavily in relief and slowly stood up straight. The damp spot on his hoodie sleeve was the first thing he could feel, warm and pressed against his clammy skin. He gave a thick, exhausted sniffle as he pulled his arm away from his mouth, revealing a thin string of snot that broke almost as soon as he’d noticed it. 

His head felt hot and heavy, his nose still twitching and threatening to leak all over himself, and his hoodie sleeve was marred with blasts of stringy, ink-tinted snot. Asahi buried his twitching nose in the used sleeve and staggered towards the nearest restroom as quickly as he could, before anyone caught sight of how snotty he was. 

Thank God the restroom's empty, Asahi thought as he ducked into the nearest empty stall and sat down, grateful to finally be off of his feet for a moment as his vision started to waver and dip. He sniffled; thick, heavy, unproductive sniffles that echoed through the tiny stall space, and groaned in exhaustion as he slumped against the toilet and pulled his still-dangling mask from his right ear. 

Glassy eyes gazed up at the fluorescent ceiling lights while his vision continued to waver and spin. His chest crackled with every shaky inhale; his drippy, chapped nose irritated and flaring, generally not much better. 

Another coughing fit took hold of the sick Octoling, and he doubled over his knees as each cough ripped through his lungs and throat and left him even more sore than before once the coughs finally let up. The wheezing in his breaths didn’t go unnoticed and Asahi dug through his hoodie pocket for his rescue inhaler- he moved much more slowly than usual, clumsily popping off the mouthpiece cover and comfortably positioning the tiny little thing in his hand and firmly pressing down on its canister and inhaling deeply. Two puffs of medicine usually did the trick; as he sat still the wheezing settled down after a short while, and Asahi could breathe somewhat easily.

For a moment he weighed his options. Asahi thought about giving in; admitting defeat and sending Ren that fateful text; "I don't feel well." He thought of being back home, in his tiny student flat. In bed, cocooned in blankets and propped up with pillows, deep in a slumber aided by a cocktail of cold and asthma medicines, lulled by the rumbling monorail tracks above his flat and the drone of his TV. Maybe Ren was there with him, fretting over him, gently rubbing his back while he dozed in the taller Inkling’s lap…

Asahi was barely aware of the sound of the bathroom door opening, slowly sinking into a feverish daze that began to tune out everything around him.

Another chill ran through him, and Asahi drew his knees up to his chest, precariously resting the heels of his boots on the lip of the toilet bowl, still pitifully sniffling as he struggled to retain some body heat. Of course he chose the stall right underneath the air vent… and that air-conditioned chill was now blowing directly on him. His nose still itched and buzzed, a useless congested block in the middle of his face despite the near stream of inky snot spilling out of him. 

“hH’hDSHUUH—Hhh… hhE’zZSHOO!!!”

Asahi pitched forwards twice into his knees, barely covered and with enough force to dislodge the heel of his boots from the foothold on the toilet seat. A small burst of pain flashed behind his eyes each time he jerked forwards, and Asahi groaned in heavy discomfort when he finally resurfaced.

A careless attempt at inhaling through his near-useless nostrils triggered one last prickle in his sinuses, and between itchy, jagged breaths he quickly tore off a sizeable length of toilet paper and cupped it into his hands—

“hIIH’dzZSHHIEW!!! Ugh…”

“You ‘aight in there?” 

He flinched, and didn’t dare make a sound- when did someone else come in? And how long had they been there? He sniffled thickly and dropped his used tissue into the toilet bowl underneath; he had to reply… 

“Yeah-” 

His voice was unsteady and weak, straining from his efforts at raising his voice and scratching his raw throat, and gave way halfway through his response. Asahi cringed at how pathetic he sounded, but got no immediate reply. Had they left? He wouldn't blame them. With a thick sniffle he tore off a fresh length of toilet tissue and buried his nose into the wad to blow, producing an equally thick, unattractive sputtering noise as he emptied his sinuses into the cheap paper. 

The wad grew warm and heavy in his cupped hands, and once it was useless Asahi dropped it into the toilet as well before reaching for a third wad of toilet paper to blow into and thoroughly soil again. At least now he could breathe through his nose somewhat. “You sure you’re fine?” The stranger would ask again, their voice noticeably accented. “No offense, but ya sound nastier than a jammed Nautilus.”

He winced. Well, they were right about something. He felt gross.

“I-I’ll be fine,” Asahi rasped. His breathing snagged mid-sentence but he managed to keep the itch down. It was a boldfaced lie, of course, but he hoped they'd get the hint and leave him alone. He sat still, listening for a response… or for the stranger to finish their business and leave, which they would eventually do, and Asahi gave a shaky sigh of relief as the footsteps eventually hurried out and the heavy bathroom door clicked shut. Were they in a rush to get away from him, as audibly contagious as he was? The thought was funny to his feverish mind.

Now for the other hurdle, he just had to get out of here… With a shaky sigh Asahi pushed himself off of the toilet and to his feet, wobbling as he stood upright and leaning onto the nearest wall for support while his vision continued to dip and sway, clumsy hands fumbling to loop his mask around his ears and adjust the cloth around his mouth and nose; the fabric rubbing against his twitching nose triggering a weak itch that dissipated after a tired sniffle from him. The shivering still didn’t stop, only growing more intense as he tried to move. His head spun with each movement, and in a spur of the moment decision he grabbed the stall door’s handle, that way if he got too dizzy and went down he’d have some purchase on the way back up.

Asahi slowly shuffled out of the stall and over to the sink to wash his hands, clammy and cold and unsteady from his shuddering movements. He could barely smell the hand soap, but figured it was for the best…

As Asahi stalked out of the bathroom and into the range area once more, wincing as the sunlight from the windowed ceiling hit his eyes, he fumbled through his jacket’s pockets for his phone to see a missed text from Ren. He wanted to meet in the lobby’s upper floor cafe, so Asahi trudged up the lobby steps, ignoring the bright lobby screens searing his bleary eyes and the thumping bass from the speakers throbbing in his head… well, at least trying to, and over to the tiny corner cafe, where he nearly collapsed onto a barstool to wait for Ren to get here. The Jelly barista eyed him suspiciously but Asahi wasn’t paying much attention towards them.

He groaned softly to himself and reached up to massage his temples, hoping that would soothe the dull aching throbbing through his head.

There had to be something else to do other than sit here and feel miserable, so Asahi pulled out his phone, idly sniffling as he scrolled through his messages so he'd have something to do other than sit here feeling miserable. When that didn't work he switched to a game, sniffling thickly every so often as his nose continued to leak. Sniffling grew less and less effective. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this up.

Asahi sniffled again— a little too hard this time, the inky gunk clogging his nose rippling against its tortured inner walls and triggering that painfully familiar buzzing itch in the back of his sinuses. That itch quickly grew into a needling, prickling urge quickly rising up his throat, threatening to blast out of his nose and likely all over his gear if he didn’t react in time. 

"H-H'eh-..." Asahi's eyes watered and his damp-rimmed nostrils flared, and his hands wandered up to try and contain the inevitable. He'd found a grip, and he quickly pinched his nostrils shut through the fabric of his mask as that prickling itch finally exploded out of him. "hE'pTCH-ew!!! hehh'h-... He'TCHH—!!!"

Each sneeze sent a dull ache through the sick inkfish; barely able to escape through his pinched nostrils and instead exploding through his body and sending him crumpling at the waist. His head throbbed with each jerk of his body, but relief overshadowed all as the incessant dull buzzing finally settled down for now. Asahi sighed softly in relief, sniffling (lightly this time) and gingerly rubbing his nose. 

Squish. He cringed. 

With a soft groan of discomfort he reached for the napkin dispenser closest to him and carefully pulled out a few sheets. Cheap paper napkins, undoubtedly rough on chapped and runny noses, but it was all that was available, and Asahi was in no position to complain.

He gingerly pulled down his mask and dabbed at his leaking nose with the wad of napkins, rubbing and massaging the damp rims of his nostrils with the rough paper to appease the lingering itch that made his nostrils flare with each breath. No doubt this would only chap and irritate his nose even more, but right now that was the last of the sick Octoling’s worries— his nose had finally stopped itching for longer than a minute, and he savored this fleeting moment of relief from his uncooperative airways.

Out of the corner of his eye Asahi noticed that the barista was still eyeing him suspiciously; did they want him to leave? 

"...I-I ca'd go sobewhere else if I'b botheri'g you…" Asahi rasped, his attempt at being courteous punctuated with a soupy, pathetic sniffle. He kept his voice low, just enough to keep from straining his throat while also masking how ill he truly was. 

In his mind, the barista kicking him out was totally understandable given how he was practically a walking germ beacon…

Surprisingly enough, the jellyfish shook their head, stretching one of its long arms to motion for the Octoling to stay put. Asahi didn’t question twice, and carefully wiped the dampened rims of his nostrils before blowing his nose into the wad of napkins (and even then, as quietly as he could). Somehow, even with less nose-blowing force the napkin was a soggy ink-tinted mess.

Thankfully he was seated relatively close to a trash can, so Asahi quickly tossed the soiled napkin wad away before reaching for the dispenser again; this time yanking out a fair amount of napkins to blow his nose into— still as quietly as possible, but with more effort put into clearing out his airways. Like before, this napkin wad was thoroughly soiled even with half of his effort.

Asahi felt gross. He probably sounded gross, too. 

He threw away the ruined napkin wad and pulled his mask up over his mouth and nose again before resting his head on the adjacent wall, its cool material feeling heavenly pressed against his warm, achy temples. The congestion didn’t budge much, Asahi still felt like his head had been filled with liquid concrete… but at least his nose wasn’t leaking all over anymore, that would have been disastrous if he needed to-

“Ha’h-…”

His nostrils flared. God damnit.

—

On his way up the stairs and to the lobby entrance, Ren’s attention was mostly on his phone. He felt good despite having to hurry to the station closest to the lobby in search of a good parking spot in the garage underneath. He’d been browsing previous tournament results on his walk from the station, scrolling through score listings from other X-rank players in the area— right now he’d found himself thumbing through recent matches from the Tentatek division, mostly just to keep up with statistics. This wasn’t his division, obviously, nor was it Asahi’s. But being informed was already a good thing, right? Besides, he’d taken a liking to watching some of the replays posted by the others in other divisions. Not even for any practical reason, like studying their moves or anything, just for fun.

He’d noticed a lack of available videos today, though, the same as yesterday…

I wish these guys posted replays more often, Ren mused to himself as he stuffed his phone into his jean pockets and stepped through the lobby doors. 

As he stepped into the cool, air-conditioned building and headed over to the locker rooms, Ren fished through his jacket pockets for his phone to check for any texts. The last message open was one he sent to Asahi, about thirty minutes ago on his way to the lobby: "On the way up", left on read. A bit strange, since Ren had known him to respond relatively quickly, but he chalked it up to him not being near his phone.

They'd meet soon in person, anyway.

He pulled out his earbuds as he messed with the padlock, occasionally looking up to watch as the locker room slowly began to fill up with new arrivals— a few solo or pair queuers in varying states of wakefulness, idly chatting or milling about as the music played overhead. The early morning energy here was actually quite nice, Ren thought to himself. Maybe he should visit the lobby in the mornings more often.

Ren stowed his water bottle and car keys, not reaching for his weapon case just yet. He’d rather wait until Asahi was here before he did any serious practicing. As he re-locked his locker and left the area as it filled up, he glanced up towards the second floor, just barely able to make out the top of the cafe from where he was. There was a spring in Ren’s step as he made his way towards the stairs, a grin on his face as he glanced towards the lobby screens to see what was up (Mincemeat Metalworks was in rotation, ew) on his way to meet with Asahi. There was a good chance that he was here early, or that Asahi had briefly left to go get a snack or drink, so he’d probably have to wait for a little bit. No sweat though, he’d developed a taste for the drinks from the 2nd floor cafe-

His ear twitched, and Ren glanced towards the cafe at the top of the steps. He’d heard something.

Ren slowly put his phone away. Was that…?

The weird sound was almost faint, but still airy and sharp. There it was again. It sounded like… someone was sneezing?

Now fully alert, Ren slowed his pace as he made his way up to the lobby’s second floor, craning his neck to try and peer above the stairs. All he could see was the edge of the tiny little cafe.

"hE'DTchh—!! hdtt'SHw—!! Hd'PTshh!!"

A familiar figure; hunched over the tiny cafe's bar. He'd recognize that pathetic sniffling anywhere.

Ren gently inched closer to the bar, about to greet the obviously sick octopus.

As he approached the cafe bar he lowered his voice, reaching out of Asahi’s line of sight to pluck up a few napkins himself, and quickly pulled away once the miserable Octoling resurfaced. He gave a long, deep sniff that didn’t seem to do much, and rested his head in his arms on the small cafe bar, not moving much after that save for a sniffle or two.

Ren inched closer, noting pale skin and lethargic tentacle hair that was a noticeably less vibrant hue than normal. 

He still had yet to notice his presence behind him. Concern needled at the Inkling’s conscience, and he reached out to try and get Asahi’s attention- just before he suddenly lurched forwards in his seat. “Eh’hKSSHEWW!!”

He cringed. 

Ren couldn’t see the damage from his current position, but the groaning and wet, soupy sniffling afterwards told him all he needed to know. 

He moved over to Asahi’s side, who still hadn’t noticed Ren’s arrival yet, and picked up the napkins again to offer to the sick octopus. 

“T-Tha’g you,” he could just barely hear him rasp, gratefully taking the napkins from Ren’s hand without a second thought, gingerly removing his ruined face mask before burying his leaky nose into the wad of napkins and looking up at whoever this kind stranger was…

His eyes went wide.

“R-Re’d?!” Asahi gasped, and right away the first thing Ren could hear was how horribly stuffed up he was.

He sniffled thickly, despite his panic, and quickly got up to try and make himself presentable, still pressing the wad of napkins up to his flaring nostrils. Ren was quick to notice that he wobbled and stumbled as he stood. “I-I’b ss-sorry, I ca’d go c-clea’d ub and be ready t-to—“

And before Ren could even try to respond, Asahi would barely finish his sentence before he pitched forwards mid-sentence into the wad of napkins in his hand. “hE’dtSSHUUH!! He’dPSSHEWW!!” 

A twinge of pity compelled him to go over and place a firm hand on his shoulder to try and steady his miserable boyfriend, even gently knuckling up and down his back to help him recover. He was trembling, Ren noted, and he heard a faint whine from him as he slowly righted himself, keeping the wad of napkins pressed to his nose while he sniffled more and more. 

For a moment Asahi’s eyes met his; glassy and reddened and barely focused on Ren despite his attempts to appear even somewhat well. He tried to speak, but his voice was weak and unsteady, and his words died on his lips.

Someone should have stayed home, Ren thought to himself.

"You look wiped.” He reached down to press the back of his hand against Asahi’s cheek to try and gauge his temperature, and was admittedly unsurprised to feel heat. Asahi was warm, very warm; nearly hot, not unlike pressing his hand against the shell of a running Explosher. “And you're runnin' hot.”

He watched as Asahi straightened himself up somewhat; still quivering in his movements, struggling to look him in the eye even as he used his frame for support. “I-I *sdf* w-woke up feelin' off…'' he began as he gingerly removed the napkin wad from his face, just long enough for Ren to catch sight of what he’d been hiding. Asahi's cheeks were flushed, the delicate skin around his nose visibly irritated and tinged an inky light blue. Combined with the tiredness in his glassy eyes and the heat radiating off of him...

The concern needling at Ren began to grow. Asahi was clearly sick, anyone could tell, and yet here he was, having hauled himself to the lobby anyway— just to meet up with him. "Well, if you woke up feeling bad then why did you still show up? You… kinda look like a hot mess."

He watched as Asahi’s expression changed; a sincere, apologetic look in his glassy, fever-ridden eyes. "I-I'b… *sdf* a mb'ess, I know…." he mumbled out, his voice weak and barely audible. "B-But I saw your text, a-a’d *snrk* I-I didn'dt wad't to just *sdf* lea'be you had'ging…" 

Ren noticed the ill Octoling slowly leaning into his hand even as he still tried to placate him, heavy eyes flickering like he was about to fall asleep just before he caught himself, suddenly straightening up and quickly pulling himself away from Ren’s hand. "W-We ca'd… *sdf!* S-Still do Turf War o-or…"

Ren eyed him closely as his voice trailed off, then he blew his nose into the napkin wad and hobbled over to the trash can to toss it, leaning against the wall for a moment to recuperate… slowly sinking down against the wall where he stood as his eyelids began to flicker, that being the only thing keeping him upright.

He'd admire the determination, but Asahi was in no condition to be battling today. 

"Alright… change of plans." Ren declared, as he pulled Asahi from the cafe wall. "We're going to my place. It's closer to the lobby than your flat, yeah?" 

"U-Uhh….*snf-*...W-Wha'd for…?"

"For bedrest, obviously."

Asahi opened his mouth to protest, only barely managing a pitiful squeaking wheeze before he instead doubled over into a coughing fit. 

"See? You sound like you can barely breathe." the taller Inkling tutted as he helped him stand upright, even tapping his boyfriend’s back as he coughed and sputtered. “Do you really think you can do Turf War like this?” 

While he didn’t intend on scolding his partner, that’s what it felt like either way— like chiding a schoolkid who’d been caught in some misdemeanor. Asahi’s rounded ears drooped ever so slightly, and he slunk away, weakly mumbling out another apology. “M-m’msorry….”

There he goes again, apologizing for things that aren't his fault…

Ren softened somewhat upon seeing him falter and avoid his gaze, then sighed softly and pulled the sick Octoling into a hug— his shivering lessened just a little bit in Ren’s arms, and he gave a pitiful sniffle as he returned the gesture, trembling arms slowly wrapping themselves around his partner’s waist. 

“Oi, don’t say that… We can always come back when you’re in better shape, y’know?” He knew he started to make some progress when Asahi relaxed in his arms, if only just a little. 

“B-But still…” Asahi started, his voice hoarse and weak and barely above a whisper. “Y-You made plans for me a-and everything…” He shuddered in his arms and coughed into his hoodie sleeve, and Ren decided to get him in bed sooner rather than later.

“And shit happens, yeah? Now let’s go home."

Ren grabbed another handful of napkins, plus an empty takeout bag to hold Asahi’s soiled face mask. He then dug through the pockets of his jeans to fish for something, eventually producing a crumpled paper bill to hand to the barista. “Sorry for the germs and all that,” he spoke quickly and in a hushed voice as the bemused Jelly took the cash tip, then hurried back to Asahi to make sure he was still upright.

As the two made their way down the lobby stairs, Asahi leaned over to rest his head on Ren’s shoulder as he walked with plodding, uneven footsteps barely in time with his own. With his head so close Ren could see his eyelids flicker and nearly flutter closed as the two made their way back into the range area, eyes glassy and barely focused on his surroundings. He seemed… dangerously close to falling asleep, Ren thought.

“Jeez, you really are wiped,” he spoke softly. “We’ll be home soon so you can lay down, ‘kay?” 

When they made it to the locker room, now considerably more populated than earlier, he guided him to sit down on one of the various couches placed in the lobby, though it was less of a sit-down and more of his legs just giving out. That was concerning.

“I’ll grab your stuff, you just rest here.” Ren took a moment to stay and reassure his ill partner, swaying this way and that as he stared up at him with hazy red eyes… hazy eyes that suddenly began to flicker shut.

The hitching came on right away, something Ren registered in the nick of time as he dug through his pockets for the cafe napkins he’d stored away earlier, hurriedly pressing the napkins around Asahi’s twitching nose just as he reeled back with one last gasp. “Oh, no you don't-”

Silence.

Ren wasn't sure what to make of the dead air between the two.

…Eventually, though, his efforts won out— Asahi slumped forwards into his hand and relaxed; a whistling sigh escaping his throat. And Ren gave a sigh of relief, having avoided a messy situation. “That was close… I’ll grab your stuff first so we can get out of here.”

He wasn’t surprised that Asahi didn’t respond— clammy hands fumbling to take the napkin from him, glassy feverish eyes lulling upwards to face the taller squid, and little else. Ren raised an eyebrow, staying put for a moment and eyeing his movements and waiting to see what he’d do next— watching as he drew his knees up to his chest, probably trying to keep himself warm, and eventually resting his head on his arms before going still. It wasn’t long before his eyelids fluttered closed.

Was there really any shame in letting him rest his eyes right here for a second? Besides, this was about as peaceful Ren had seen his sick partner today. He chuckled to himself as he headed over to the lockers. 

He’d grab Asahi’s things first, putting his Range Blaster back in its case before grabbing his backpack, loosely carrying the straps over to where his ill partner was catnapping and depositing the case and backpack on the couch space next to him. He shut the locker door and went to grab his own things as well before rejoining Asahi, still curled into himself on the lobby’s couch and shivering helplessly. 

Another twinge of pity came and went, now really seeing how disheveled his partner looked, and Ren felt compelled to rub behind one of Asahi’s ears. His hands were warm and steady, even as Asahi flinched and gasped. "Easy, easy," he lowered his voice, helping him stand up from the couch (holding him steady as he stumbled) and guiding him into resting his feverish head on his chest. "Don't you wanna sleep somewhere more comfortable?"

The noncommittal "mmhm" he got as an answer only strengthened Ren's suspicion. Asahi's hands were clammy and cold as they fumbled to grab onto his. His eyelids were heavy; that dangerous flickering having returned once more as his boyfriend veered closer and closer into falling asleep where he stood.

Was he imagining things? Or was Asahi getting warmer? 

He'd know for sure once they were home, and Ren comforted himself with that thought as he guided his ill partner out of the lobby doors. Both winced as the sunlight hit their eyes, and Ren quickly dipped with his sick partner into the shade of the nearby train station entrance.

Ren slowed his pace, moving in time with his partner’s uneasy steps as the two moved through the crowded station, steering Asahi away from crowds and nosy onlookers and into an elevator. The tiny space was quiet with just the two of them, with only an intermittent sniffle or cough from Asahi as the two descended. 

Thankfully his sister let him borrow her car for the morning.

Ren kept his sick boyfriend upright as the two shuffled into the parking garage and into the car. Asahi seemed to be declining by the minute, and the concern needling at the back of Ren's mind began to overtake his thoughts, a concern which only became more apparent as he watched Asahi stumble into the passenger's seat, clumsily buckle himself in, and curl in on himself before going completely quiet, save for the odd sniffle or sneeze or two being the only sign that he was still awake. He shivered, even underneath his thick oversized hoodie, and Ren thought to himself that it didn’t take much of a genius to deduce that Asahi felt much worse than he was letting on. So he’d try his best to make him comfortable. 

[snxxt]

Absolutely feral for the idea of a person with a bad cold who will not stop sneezing until they can blow their nose.

Imagine A, with a bad case of the sniffles, feeling stuffy, itchy, achey and overall not well. They sniffle repeatedly in hopes of avoiding an embarrassingly wet nose blow in public, but as they snifffle, something shifts in their sinuses. They feel a harsh tickle, which leads to the overwhelming need to sneeze. They rub their dripping nose, clear discharge leaking onto their knuckles, but it’s no use. They inhale a deep breath, and

“HA-eshhhou, HE-shoo,” the desperate double tumbles from their red nose, leaving snot pooling under their nostrils. They sniffle again to avoid more of a mess, but it only serves to exasperate their poor membranes again. The sudden inhale brings more dry air into their sensitive nostrils, the tickle is unbearable.

“HA-KEshoo, “HaEshoo,” two more barrel out, directed into their soggy sleeve. People are watching now, as they attempt to clean themselves up enough to life their face. They sniff against the fabric, trying desperately to curb the itch and mess of mucus, but their poor nose is too irritated and sick. The sniffle recharges the itchiness, and they gear up for yet another sneeze.

“snff, snff, heh-ha-HA-EshOO”

They sneeze harshly once more, their sleeve now completely soaked. Their breath hitched again as they try to sniff back the congestion. The fit won’t seem to let up until they can blow the infection out of their sick nasal passages.

“Hey, A? Need a tissue?”

[snxxt]

Sneezing at sea!

So I recently got totally hooked on the Aubrey-Maturin series (I've been a huge fan of age of sail books since a little girl), and not only are these books highly entertaining and wonderfully rich in detail about sailing and fighting these magnificent ships, but in the 8th book (The Ionian Mission) there's probably the most fetishy portrayal of a cold I have ever seen in published fiction.

I put highlighted screenshots of my fav passages under a cut. I don't think there should be any major spoilers. (Warning: LONG POST)

So the ship's captain, huge man called "lucky" Jack Aubrey who loves his own terrible puns, his ship, the smell of gunpowder, and his bestie Doctor Maturin, has came down with a cold while on blockade duty at the Mediterranean during the Napoleonic wars.

Just seeing that in the wild...

Omg!!

Aghh that image is adorable...

This whole scene!! And it continues:

A terrible boozy Finnish cold cure 😂 As a Finn I find this realistic (also, apparently the "Spanish fly" probably refers to cantharidin, which was used as a sexual stimulant back in the day... I am side eyeing this author so hard)

"thick, cold ridden voice" ok but this is just fic

Again, this would work in a fic (the cute lieutenant relaying the orders would of course get sick next)

I'd like to hear more about these wardroom discussions... ("standing talking to a woman with one's hat off" ohh 🥺)

Poor baby...

Ok I love Killick, the cantankerous old steward, and again, that scene is pure fic.

Also there was a mention somewhere how Jack couldn't hear very well because of his cold... that's like one of my favourite fetishy details because it tells how stuffy the person is. Also, a mention of the crew doing their laundry in seawater, including handkerchiefs, making them hard and unpleasant... but I'm sure Killick has seen to Jack's handkerchiefs being washed properly... but omg the ideas this gives me

[snxxt]

salivating over the idea of someone who’s just been thrown on their ass by a horrible cold that makes it feel like they’re slogging through every movement, the pressure in their head and sinuses is so much they just want to lay down and let it rest on a pile of pillows but instead they’re up blowing and blowing and sniffling and honking, and on day 3 it’s so bad the backs of their eyes and teeth and ears and head are all throbbing when they heave open their eyelids to their alarm and their throat feels like it’s lined with glass and they can’t breathe at all and they finally stay home sick and go back to sleep in their tissue heap with ice packs pressed to their face. their partner leaves them in bed snoring loudly through their cracked lips with a snot bubble inflated out one bright red nostril and a faint sickly crackling sound coming from the other. it’s just so much swelling and congestion. and when they wake up later the sneezing has started and it’s explosive and they’re running a little fever and just want to lay motionless in the dark and breathe through their mouth all day… it’s exactly the disgusting, heavy cold that makes someone have snot bubbles when they sleep, and as it keeps happening their partner knows how sick they are and notices and doesn’t mention it.

[snxxt]

loving the “sick day” episodes when i was younger and never knowing why….

[snxxt]

CW: light mess

bunch of snotty noses

[snxxt]

Summertime Blues

Challengers fic (M, Patrick, Art). Sometimes I wonder what I'm gonna do, but there ain't no cure...

Set break.

As soon as he drops onto the bench and stops moving, Art's face flushes with blood. It's fucking hot. His heart pounds behind his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead. Last night, the wind ripped trees from the ground, roots and all. Today, the late morning is stagnant and stale.

But the sun feels nice on his skin.

He couldn't say the same if he were dressed in black. Patrick must feel like he's got a sheet of hot metal draped across his back in that black tank, in this sun. Maybe the heat was what did him in at the end of that last set. Cooked his brains. Literally boiling mad, enough to smash his racket to chips like Pete fucking Townshend's guitar. Art has a vision of stripping off his own white jersey polo and handing it across the net. Can't get a much better flag of truce than that—gleaming white, reflecting the cruel sun. But that looks like an exchange. A jersey exchange happens after the match is already over, as a gesture of respect, camaraderie. Brotherhood and shit.

No, what he should offer Patrick is a replacement racket. There. All right? You don't ever have to think ahead, temper your outbursts, worry about harming your chances. That's my job. Maybe the racket would remain loyal to him and refuse to lob a single ball as long as it stayed in Patrick's hand. Art unzips his sport bag.

One glance over the net pokes a hole in his fantasy. At least three rackets protrude from Patrick's bag, an ugly matching set of traffic-cone orange that just makes his mismatched shirt and shorts stand out worse. Instead of asking Patrick if he thinks those'll last him to the end of the match, Art sucks down a pack of energy gel. It's nectar. Disgusting, objectively, but his body's too short on sugar to care. He closes his eyes as it fills him. Sweat drips from his lashes. Salt stings, bites.

His eyes blink open against the burn when Patrick gathers a breath like he's going to say something. Art looks without meaning to, and at first, he's not sure what he sees. Patrick is staring into the blazing sky. He's frowning like the answers are written on the sun, but despite his squint, Art can see tears fill his eyes from the fierce light. Patrick lifts one hand to block out the worst of the rays and keeps on looking at—what?

He gives a sudden soft gasp, and Art can't help but follow his gaze.

Art hands back Patrick's lighter and huffs a sigh of smoke. He scored the most points this practice. Sent Patrick scrambling and leaping for the ball more than once.

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO

AFTER THE U.S. OPEN

He doesn't even want to think about it. What did it matter? That one fucking normal serve. Somehow miles worse than actually kissing and telling, because now Art knows, he has proof. It isn't a tic. It's a choice.

Patrick snorts, caught in a cloud of his own smoke. He pulls his cig from his mouth, pinching his nose with his other hand, but it's a weak apology; too little, too late. His chest swells with a slightly wheezing breath and he sneezes, so hard he bends himself in half.

Art exhales a soft laugh. Patrick's grinning as he straightens up, too, snuffling loudly while he rubs and messes with his nose. It's a funny smile. Not bashful—smug. Art peers at him curiously. Patrick stares into the middle distance, working his tongue behind his smirk, chewing on a thought. Smoke trails from his cig, still perched between his fingers, unattended.

"What?"

Patrick looks over, his trance broken. He shrugs, What, yourself?—but even as he takes another drag, a big, dumb smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Art cocks his head, unimpressed. Patrick remains silent, so he asks, "What are you smilin' about?"

Patrick catches his lower lip in his teeth and shakes his head.

"Come on."

"I told her about the sun thing." Patrick raises his cig but stops just short of his lips. He grins at the memory.

"What sun thing?"

"You know, my..." Patrick sniffs. "When I play on the side facing the sun, it makes me—"

"Oh," Art says, drawing it out long. "You told her your excuse."

"It's not an excuse—"

"Did she tell you to wear a visor? Like everybody else—"

"It is a, a legitimate...medical—"

"Oh, I can't wear a visor, I have a fuckin' doctor's note—"

"You ever seen her play distracted?"

They're eye to eye now. No one's around, but Patrick leans in like it's some big secret. Art's hackles raise slightly.

"It's a beautiful thing." Patrick's eyes practically glaze over even as they drill into Art's. He can almost see her in them. He imagines Patrick can, too.

"What are you talking about?"

"She made me prove it." Patrick retreats a step back and starts puffing away.

"She made you look at the sun?"

"I think she might have got a kick out of it."

Art scoffs.

"First time I've ever seen her blush."

"Bullshit."

"You think I'm joking."

Art looks Patrick full in the face. "I think you're full of shit, yeah."

"Play her on a sunny day." Patrick's arm comes to rest across Art's shoulders. Almost paternal. "Take the side facing the sun."

"That doesn't work for me. That's never worked for me." Art shakes his head and ducks Patrick's arm with a joyless smile. Up to now, he's been grateful the sun sneeze gene skipped him over. It would seem a cosmic unfairness to find it in the same body as his summer hayfever. He's never thought of it as a natural talent.

Patrick tosses his head back as he sniffs roughly, a guttural rasp, and hawks in preparation to spit.

Art laughs in disbelief. "Yeah, I bet she was really creaming herself." He shoves his hand under Patrick's nose and saws back and forth, as if helping clean him up, but he feels the cool wetness spread across the back of his hand, over Patrick's lips and cheek. Feels the cartilage click and shift. "You're disgusting. Blow your nose."

"Why? Is she watching?" Patrick grabs the hem of Art's shirt in both hands and takes a big, big breath.

Art scrambles away, not caring if a seam rips or his cigarette falls to the ground, his cries of protest and revulsion weakened only slightly by hysterical laughter.

When Patrick spits, and his payload finds its mark, Art screams.

TWELVE YEARS AGO

With his eyes closed, Art hears Tashi bouncing the ball on the ground, ready to serve. His useless left hand flashes her the first finger. The ball stops bouncing.

He yanks his collar up over his nose. It's inevitable anyway, but it feels like the stench of his sweat, the tingle of his deodorant helps it along—or makes it worse. He sneezes sharply. Two for the price of one.

It's not like Art expected a Bless you. But what Tashi says as he emerges, sniffling against his shirt, is, "Quit skipping your meds."

Art spreads his hands. "I took my meds." It's not a lie. He swallowed a Claritin this morning, his first one in three days. It'll be another 21 hours before it kicks in, after a break like that.

Tashi knows he's doing it. Early this morning she didn't seem to mind. She left the bathroom window open to let out the steam from the shower, and Art woke up sneezing. He gets pretty bad spells in the mornings, when the redwood pollen's at its peak and everything's been settling in his head all night. It's why he started allergy pills when he moved to Stanford. Without them he's...like this. Tashi's not shy, but he's never seen her blush in any other context.

Damn him, Patrick was right.

Art ate her out through the worst of it this morning. It was over in a few minutes. Then a long, hot shower by himself, clearing his sinuses with the steam and a quick, utilitarian orgasm.

Tashi starts bouncing the ball again. "Then you need to be taking different ones."

Art gives her a helpless look, but he lowers into his stance. "It just takes a little—"

"You think that's what I want right now?" Tashi doesn't serve. And she doesn't blush.

Art sighs, lowering his racket.

"This is play time for you?"

No, Art silently agrees, they haven't played tennis in a long time. His nose starts to drip. He knuckles it away and fixes his stance.

Tashi waits a minute more, then serves with a cry of effort. Art thinks of this morning and slugs it right into the net.

PHIL'S TIRE TOWN CHALLENGER

Art hasn't even finished shielding his eyes when he realizes why Patrick is looking at the sun. In his peripheral vision, he can see Patrick's head tipping back, in time with another and another hopeful inhale.

He feels it, too.

Maybe it's the brightest sun he's ever been under. Maybe the stress of this last week has re-wired his fucking DNA, but by some weird science, the sunlight is making his eyes flood and his nose burn with the need to sneeze. He slams his eyes shut—it's already too late. Pushing a finger under his nose just makes it build and build. Art gulps a shaking breath. His lungs can't hold any more.

They reach the breaking point together:

A twitter of laughter goes through the crowd. Art doesn't look at them, nor at the shape next to him straightening to its full height at the same time. He wipes his nose gently, sniffs and swallows.

"hHH'iEHSHuh!"

"hhp'tchhhyw!"

Patrick snuffles and snorts and breathes heavily through his mouth. It sounds like, between the two of them, he got the worst of it.

Out of curiosity, Art spares him a glance. Patrick's pulling down at his nose, pinching and swiping away the lingering sneeze, but he doesn't let go. Sort of holds his nose like he can't trust it. His lips part to let in a steady breath.

Art reaches into the outer end pocket of his bag and produces a travel pack of tissues. Branded, unopened.

Someone in a yellow shirt starts jogging over to where Patrick sits, carrying—a towel? Art hopes not. He leans forward and brandishes the pack of tissues.

Patrick's head swivels. The yellow shirt stops.

When Patrick meets his eye, Art smiles. He wiggles the pack like they're cigarettes and extends his arm, near the net but not across it. Give up? he says with his eyebrows.

Patrick eyes up the plastic pack of white flags, looks at Art, looks at their spectator. He smiles.

Art ducks his head charitably. Really.

Instead of reaching out, Patrick looks away, props a hand under his nose, and gives a short huffing blast, like a bull. Even half-shielded from view, it's gnarly. Art chuckles in disbelief and disgust. Patrick wipes his nose on his hand and his hand on his shirt.

A glimmer of light draws Art's eye away—Tashi's necklace.

She shakes her head almost imperceptibly, once; left, right, center.

Art drops her gaze and stows the travel pack—not in the mesh outer pocket, where they can be seen, but in the center, nestled and hidden among his extra rackets.

He wishes he'd brought a visor.

[snxxt]

someone shuffling slowly around the house in pajamas, slippers, and a fluffy bathrobe with the hood pulled up, their lips parted to breathe around the congestion, a full box of tissues under one arm, their voice low, stuffed, and gravelly. they usually wear contacts but today have on their glasses, and their eyes are droopy, watery, and ringed purple; they clearly didn’t sleep well last night. their nose is red and a little perpetually wet around the nostrils. and they’re sitting at the table trying to breathe in steam from a pot of boiling water. or answering the door. or they’re at the corner store or doctors office with a coat thrown over it all because they’re too sick to care what they look like. they’re at the stage in their bad cold/flu where they feel like they’re moving through molasses with cement in their head. they’re quiet and don’t talk much but their coughing, sneezing, and sniffling is loud. or they’re walking around with tissues stuffed up their nostrils just to try and catch a break. they clearly feel disgusting and exhausted and just want to be in bed or listlessly on the couch. their body is battling it hard and they can’t even breathe or speak right, forget sleeping.

[snxxt]

someone with both a bad cold and strep throat at the same time and they're just laid up in bed in the dark, their voice is really low and raspy because of how swollen their tonsils are and how stuffed and full their head is, they cant breathe through their nose but breathing through their mouth irritates their throbbing sore throat and makes the back of their sinuses tickle, which makes them sneeze, and sneezing makes their whole head pound and their body ache under the covers.... their only relief is putting the humidifier on their nightstand on high to keep everything marginally moist and a little less like gargling a mix of wet cement and broken glass. every so often they shuffle slowly out of their dark bedroom in their fluffy slippers, their whole head throbbing and blankets pulled around their pajamas to fend off the chills from the fever, sneezing uncovered, and lean miserable against the kitchen counter while their tea brews so they can take their antibiotics and some more cold medicine, neither of which seem to be making them feel better. the doctor said they could go back to work three days after starting antibiotics, but they feel horrible and are still tethered to the humidifier to get any relief at all— at one point they open the door in an attempt to go outside, and the cold, dry winter air hits their poor, sensitive red nose and struggling-to-recover swollen throat like a truck, and they have to go lay back down in their dark bedroom while violently sneezing, their nose and throat snorting and whistling around all the swelling, throbbing, and snot, and setting off a disgusting wheezy cough that they up until then had managed to keep under control. ordering more distilled water for the humidifier to their door instead, it was…. Maybe they should go back to the doctor, they think. it feels more like strep throat and the flu…

[snxxt]

someone standing in the kitchen dressed in button up striped pajamas and fuzzy slippers and a bathrobe with a comforter from their bed pulled around their shoulders, a scarf around their neck, breathing through their mouth and sniffling as they read the instructions on a bottle of severe cold and flu relief nasal spray; they're currently on day 2 or 3 of some kind of bug, and they've been spending all their time between their bed and the couch, trying to get some rest between miserable violent sneezing fits that pull them back awake and make their sinuses pound with pressure. they lick their chapped lips, prime the nasal spray, and put it up their left nostril.

it disturbs their nose hairs in their swollen canals, and they almost feel the start of a sneeze; but it dissapears, thankfully. they let out a little stuffed sigh and pull down the trigger on the nasal spray, sniffling the best they can through the snot at the same time, but before they can even remove the applicator a sneeze comes barreling out as their sick, red nostrils violently reject the medication. they sneeze again, and again, and again, the sneezes blasting through their already swollen, tired passagways and proelling snot all over the counter. they sniffle and start into another heavy, aching fit, then another, and their sinuses and head feel like they're going to explode, pounding and aching. still sniffling and sneezing violently they fumble around in the fridge until they find a cold pack to press to their head miserably, which they do between the sneezing, which continues on and on so badly it draws the attention of their partner.

"Sounds like that nasal spray isn't gonna work," they say sympathetically, rubbing their back. Another explosive sneezing fit barely covered, their poor nose spasming wildly; then they stop, let out a phglemy cough and a sniffle, and press the cold pack back to their sinuses with a stuffy groan.

"Babe," they say in a rough, husky voice, rendered gravelly from the constant sneezing, "I thigg I deed do lay bagg dowd for a bidd...by head is godda bursd..." and then their pink-rimmed eyelids flutter again as another fit comes barreling out, one after another.