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aller-geez · 2 months ago

Note

Different anon here! Have you ever written about Krexar finding out they both have the fetish? I'm obsessed with them at the moment and am reading anything and everything that has them in it!

Hey there Nonny!

Thanks for your request! honestly I LOVED this idea and had so much fun writing it~ seriously been living for the Krexar love lately 🖤

hopefully you enjoy reading it just as much as I did while writing it~

Nothing To Sneeze At

written & illustrated by: allergeez

Summary: Moving in together is supposed to be an exciting step, but for Kriia and Rexar, it quickly turns into a sneezy disaster. Between the dust in Kriia’s childhood home and Rexar’s lingering cold, their first day as cohabitants is filled with congestion, teasing, and way too many sneezes. Rexar, ever the affectionate and over-the-top boyfriend, keeps commenting on how cute Kriia’s sneezes are—so much so that she starts to get suspicious. Did he find something while helping her move? Is he messing with her?

As Kriia struggles to keep her very inconvenient attraction under wraps, Rexar, completely oblivious, only makes things worse. His relentless sneezing, casual flirting, and shameless praise send her into a downward spiral of secondhand embarrassment. But when Rexar finally drops a bombshell of his own—so casually it nearly sends Kriia into orbit—she realizes that maybe she wasn’t the only one keeping a secret 6.3k words

Content Warnings!

Mild Illness/Injury: Frequent descriptions of cold symptoms, fever, and congestion.

Fire/Involuntary Magic: Rexar’s sneezes produce fire, though it is not used violently.

Embarrassment/Shame: Characters struggle with admitting a personal kink and fear of judgment.

Sexual Themes: The story revolves around a sneeze kink, though it remains playful and non-explicit.

Strong Language: Frequent swearing and teasing profanity between characters.

Mentions of Grief/Loss: Brief references to Kriia’s father passing away when she was young.

The late afternoon sun slanted through the dusty windows of Kriia’s childhood home, turning the floating particles in the air into shimmering gold. Boxes were stacked along the walls, the last remnants of a life she was finally—nervously—leaving behind. She should have felt relief, excitement, maybe even the kind of heart-racing thrill that came with stepping into the unknown. But right now, all she felt was—

“Hh‘gsch!! Nngch! H’tshhkt!! —ngsh!”

—completely incapacitated by a relentless sneezing fit.

Kriia barely had time to suck in another breath before the next one tore through her, sending her doubling over against the packed-up box in front of her. Dust. Of course it was the dust. It clung to every surface, stirred up into the air with every box she moved, thick enough that she could feel it curling into her sinuses with every inhale. She groaned, knuckling at her nose in frustration.

And right on cue—

A deep, familiar voice rang out from the front door, far too loud for the quiet house.

"Knock, knock, princess! You ready to ditch this place or what?"

Kriia barely had time to compose herself before Rexar strolled in like he owned the place, all easy confidence and broad shoulders, his crimson-freckled face split into a familiar, cocky grin. He had a box tucked under one arm, the other braced against the doorframe as he leaned in, surveying the stacks of her life packed away.

"Geez, babe, what the hell is in these?" He hoisted the box in his grip, pretending to struggle under its weight. "Bricks? A full-grown person? Your secret collection of stolen silverware?"

Kriia rolled her eyes, still sniffling, her voice hoarse from sneezing. "You’re so dramatic."

Rexar just grinned, stepping closer. “Yeah, but you love it.”

Before Kriia could fire back, Rexar’s broad shoulders suddenly hitched—his cocky expression faltering as his breath caught.

“Hihhh—! Hihh’EXTSH’ue! hH’EISCH’iiew!! hah’ESSHH’IUE!!”

He snapped to the side with a forceful triple, his freckled nose scrunching as he gave a thick sniff, rubbing at it absently with the back of his wrist. "Ugh. Man, I am struggling today," he groaned, shaking his head before sending her an easy grin. "Hope you don’t mind living with a guy who sneezes literal fire every time he gets a cold— and every other time. No refunds, by the way. You're stuck with me now."

Kriia’s stomach did something complicated.

Because here he was, her ridiculous, loud, endlessly affectionate boyfriend, casually joking about something that was making it really hard for her to keep a straight face. She had been trying—really trying—not to stare, but every time he snapped forward with another sneeze, her eyes betrayed her, drawn to the way his nostrils flared, the irritated pink flush dusting the bridge of his nose, the way those damn red piercings of his caught the light—

No. Nope. Not going there.

She quickly looked away, trying to shove the thoughts down before they could form into something dangerous.

Rexar, of course, had no idea. He was already hoisting another box into his arms, sniffing thickly, completely oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend of four months was currently fighting for her life.

"Alright, let’s load up the last of this stuff and get you moved in," he announced, still congested but grinning, ever the picture of carefree confidence. "Unless you wanna stay here and die in a pile of dust, which—" He paused, glancing at her, brow quirking. "Actually, speaking of, you good? You’re lookin’ kinda… sneezy."

Kriia felt her face heat.

Oh, he had no idea.

Kriia cleared her throat, attempting to play it cool despite the way her entire body was still buzzing from the fit she’d barely recovered from. She sniffled lightly, brushing her wrist beneath her nose before straightening up, forcing herself to meet Rexar’s gaze without combusting.

"I’m fine," she lied, voice still slightly breathless.

Rexar, ever the skeptical one, narrowed his tired, red-rimmed eyes at her. “Uh-huh. Yeah, sure, you sound fine, and I’m the King of Scrila.”

Kriia huffed, already making her way toward the last few boxes. “If you’re the King of Scrila, does that make me your Queen?”

Rexar grinned, a lazy, knowing thing that made something flip low in her stomach. He adjusted the box under his arm, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Babygirl,” he drawled, voice a little rough from congestion, “you’ve always been my queen.”

She rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw the back of her skull, but—dammit—the warmth in her chest still bloomed anyway.

And just when she thought she was in the clear, ready to put a little space between them before she could make a fool of herself—

Rexar’s breath hitched again.

Kriia froze, box half-lifted.

She watched, wide-eyed, as his crimson-flecked nose twitched, his nostrils flaring slightly as his jaw went slack. His brows pinched together, his breath catching on the precipice of another release.

Kriia’s stomach twisted into a tight, impossible knot.

“hIH’IKTSHhh’uuh! Hh— Hhih—! Het’CHXIEW!! hih’ESCH’iew! ”

Rexar snapped forward again, twisting at the waist, the sheer force of the sneezes rocking him slightly on his feet. A few stray embers flickered in the air for half a second before sizzling out harmlessly.

“Ugh—damn,” he groaned, straightening with a thick sniffle, rubbing the heel of his palm under his nose. “This cold is out to kill me.”

Kriia couldn’t answer.

Because she was staring. Again.

Because every single time—every single time—he sneezed, it did something to her that she couldn’t rationalize, couldn’t explain, couldn’t shove into a neat little box and ignore.

And worse?

She had a sinking feeling that if she didn’t keep herself in check, Rexar would notice.

So she quickly turned back to her boxes, focusing way too hard on taping up a stray flap. “Sucks to suck,” she muttered, attempting to sound unaffected.

Rexar let out a congested, wheezy chuckle, clearly amused.

“Babygirl I’m suffering,” he complained dramatically, rubbing at his nose again. “You’re just gonna let me die like this?”

Kriia snorted. “Rex, it’s a cold, not the plague. You’ll survive.”

“Mm, debatable,” he sniffled thickly, before reaching for another box. “Anyway, let’s get this last load in the truck so I can take my sick, sneezy ass home and move in with my super hot girlfriend.”

Kriia shook her head fondly, still trying to ignore the lingering heat creeping up her neck.

It was fine.

They’d get out of here soon.

And then, hopefully, she could shake whatever this was and just focus on settling into their new place together.

But of course—life had other plans.

The next sneeze took her out like a train.

One moment, Kriia was fine, making a final sweep through the house, checking drawers, closets, making sure nothing was forgotten—

And the next, she was suffocating in a cloud of dust.

The second she pulled open the old linen closet, a plume of dust exploded into the air, settling over her like a curse.

Her breath hitched.

And hitched again.

And then—

“K’tchh! Nnch! Nkch! Ktch! Nkcht! Hh‘gsch!!”

They came so fast, she barely had time to brace herself, body snapping forward helplessly as another rapid-fire fit overtook her.

Her hands shot up, grasping at anything—her sleeve, the collar of her hoodie—before she gave up entirely and simply pinched her nose between two fingers, trying desperately to stop the endless sneezing.

Kriia barely managed to stop the sneezing fit, pinching her nose just in time to smother the last few desperate spasms before they could escape. Her breath hitched a final time, then steadied, though her entire body still trembled from the lingering ticklish burn in her sinuses.

She exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering open, finally regaining control.

And that’s when she saw him.

Rexar stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her with a look so utterly smitten that Kriia’s already overheated face burned even hotter.

“Oh. My. God.” He grinned, his voice thick with congestion but no less teasing. “Princess—was that you?”

Kriia groaned, immediately looking away, still holding her nose as if that would somehow save her from this exact conversation.

Rexar took a slow step forward, his red-grey eyes practically glowing with adoration. “No, no—babygirl, you don’t understand. That was, like, insanely cute.”

Kriia let out a small, exhausted noise of protest.

“Like, stupidly cute.” Rexar continued, voice dropping into something almost soft, despite the amusement laced in every word. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything that tiny come out of someone before.”

Kriia, still refusing to look at him, muttered something under her breath, but it was lost to the congestion still heavy in her voice.

Rexar, clearly enjoying himself, took another step closer, reaching up to brush a few stray strands of hair from her face.

“You good, babydoll?” he murmured, his teasing tone softening into something gentler.

Kriia finally, finally unpinched her nose, dropping her hand—but before she could so much as formulate a response—

Rexar leaned in.

And kissed her.

Not on the lips.

Not on her cheek.

But—

Right on the tip of her still-pink, irritated nose.

The kiss was featherlight, barely more than a press of his lips, but it stunned Kriia into absolute silence.

She stood there, completely frozen, heart stuttering in her chest, as Rexar pulled back just enough to grin down at her.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice warm, fond, hopelessly smitten.

“That was the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my entire damn life.”

For a long moment, Kriia could only stand there, blinking up at him, her brain still trying to catch up.

Rexar, ever the tease, simply grinned, unapologetic and utterly delighted with himself.

Kriia exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she finally pulled away.

“You’re so annoying.”

Rexar snorted, stepping back to scoop up the last box near the door. “Yeah, but I’m cute, though.”

Kriia sighed, grumbling under her breath as she grabbed her bag and followed him out the door, carefully locking it behind them.

The air outside was crisp and cool, the sky an endless stretch of deep, twilight blue as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The house—the only home she’d ever really known—stood quiet and still, untouched by time.

Her stomach twisted.

It felt… weird.

Like she was leaving something behind, even though she knew it was time to move forward.

Rexar, as if sensing her shift in mood, didn’t say anything at first.

Instead, he simply stood by the Hummer, waiting for her, his usual loud, teasing energy mellowing into something softer.

When she finally turned toward him, he just smiled—warm and easy, like a silent reassurance that she wasn’t doing this alone.

Something in her chest unraveled.

And without a word, she stepped forward, letting him pull her into a brief, steadying hug.

“Ready?” he murmured.

Kriia inhaled deeply, then exhaled slow.

“…Yeah.”

And with that, they climbed into the car, the engine rumbling to life beneath them, the road ahead stretching long into the night.

The engine of Rexar’s absurdly large Hummer rumbled like an idle beast beneath them, its low, steady growl almost enough to lull Kriia into something close to relaxation. Almost.

Because no matter how much she tried to focus on the road, her traitorous eyes kept straying back to the driver’s seat.

To Rexar.

To his nose.

It was pink. Very pink.

More than usual, at least. The twin red barbell piercings at the bridge only made the irritated flush stand out more, drawing her gaze like a magnet. It twitched almost constantly, nostrils flaring subtly with each congested breath, and Kriia hated how much she noticed it.

She swallowed, forcing her gaze out the window—only for her ears to betray her next.

Rexar sniffled, loud and thick, dragging a knuckle beneath his nose with a soft, grumbly sound of annoyance.

Kriia stiffened, gripping the seatbelt across her chest.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t—

Her head turned.

Damn it.

Rexar, oblivious to her turmoil, grinned lazily, though it came out more as a half-smirk, half-winced grimace.

“Ughhh, man.” His voice was hoarse, thick with congestion, but still way too chipper for someone actively dying of a cold. “I am so sexy right now, princess. You don’t even understand.”

Kriia blinked, caught between horrified and vaguely impressed.

“…Huh?”

“I mean, look at me,” he continued, sniffling hard, waving a vague hand in the air. “I’m the picture of health. The peak of Fang evolution. Hell, I might as well be a god.”

Kriia finally managed to tear her gaze from his nose just long enough to give him the flattest look known to mankind.

“You’re literally dripping, Rexar.”

“Exactly.”

She stared.

He grinned.

“…That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Oh, sure it was.” He cleared his throat, though it barely helped the roughness of his voice. “You just don’t wanna admit how devastatingly attracted you are to my sniffly, pathetic ass.”

Kriia, actively fighting for her life, turned back toward the window.

“You’re strange,” she muttered.

“And yet, you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Kriia slammed her forehead against the cold glass.

The worst part?

He wasn’t wrong.

Unfortunately, her suffering wasn’t over.

Because not even a second later, another sharp, ticklish prickle flared to life in her sinuses, and she barely had time to gasp before—

“H’NgXt! Hh‘gsch! k’gnsh! Ngt’chh! hptt’CH! h’gTShhHh!”

The sneezes burst out of her in rapid succession, snapping her forward so violently that her seatbelt locked up.

A small, utterly miserable whimper escaped her as she fumbled to wipe her nose against her wrist, her head still spinning.

She had exactly half a second of peace before—

“Oh my fucking god, babe.”

Kriia froze.

Her stomach dropped.

She turned her head just enough to see Rexar watching her, utterly mesmerized, like she’d just done something groundbreaking.

She blinked at him, still half-dazed.

He grinned.

“That was the tiniest, cutest shit I’ve ever heard.”

Kriia groaned, shoving her sleeve over her face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said immediately, voice thick with congestion but no less smug.

She sniffled sharply against the fabric, eyes watering as the relentless tickle still lingered, making her nose twitch.

Rexar, clearly thriving off her misery, chuckled warmly, keeping one hand on the wheel as he reached over with the other to rake his fingers through her hair.

“You good, babydoll?” he murmured, teasing, but undeniably fond.

Kriia grumbled something incomprehensible, which only made him laugh again.

But the moment she finally pulled her sleeve away from her face—

“Hh‘gsch!! Nngch! H’tshhkt!! ngsh! Heh’n’gtx! Huhhh.. n’gtx!”

Another breathless fit tore through her, making her jerk forward with each desperate sneeze.

“Geezus Christ, Kriia!” Rexar barked out a laugh, turning his head just enough to look at her in pure, awestruck amusement.

Kriia, sniffly and red-faced, glared weakly at him.

“Oh, don’t start,” she groaned.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Rexar grinned, but his expression was so utterly delighted that Kriia immediately narrowed her eyes.

Because suddenly, she was starting to notice a pattern.

Every time she sneezed—every time—Rexar had something to say about it.

And not just something.

Something specific.

Something way too gushy, way too doting, way too over-the-top.

Her stomach twisted.

Slowly, suspiciously, she narrowed her eyes.

“…Why do you keep calling me cute?”

Rexar, who had absolutely no reason to be this cocky while visibly dripping from the nose, arched a brow.

“Because you are?”

Kriia stared at him.

Rexar, utterly oblivious, sniffled thickly and ran a knuckle beneath his irritated nostrils.

Kriia’s stomach tightened.

Because suddenly, the paranoia hit all at once.

What if…?

What if he knew?

What if he found something while they were packing?

What if, somewhere in the depths of one of those old boxes, he came across something that gave her away?

What if—oh god—he was actually making fun of her?

Her face burned.

She crossed her arms, stiffening. “You’re messing with me.”

Rexar, clearly confused, let out a hoarse, sniffly chuckle. “What? Princess, no—”

“No, you’re messing with me,” she accused, whipping around in her seat to squint at him.

Rexar, still so clearly out of the loop, simply gave her a lopsided grin, shifting in his seat. “Why the hell would I— hhet’tCHOO!! hah’ESSHH’IUE!! Hhih—! heT’CHXOO!!—fuck—mess with you?”

The sneezes rocked him forward, and Kriia barely held back a flinch at the sheer force of it, her breath catching at the way his nostrils flared in the aftermath.

She immediately looked away.

Rexar, sniffling thickly, sighed and gave his nose another harsh rub.

“God, I feel like a bag of dicks,” he groaned, voice rough as gravel.

Kriia huffed. “You deserve it.”

“Wow. Rude.”

“Maybe if you let me drive instead of insisting on being a martyr, you’d have time to rest.”

Rexar snorted, but it immediately turned into another sniffle.

“Nah, babe, I got this. I’m—hhHh—! fuck— totally fine.”

Kriia rolled her eyes.

But despite herself—despite everything—her gaze kept drifting.

Kept falling back to him.

To the way his breath kept hitching, never quite catching before dropping back into thick, sluggish sniffles.

To the way his nose kept twitching, his pink nostrils flaring slightly every few seconds like he was constantly on the verge of another sneeze.

To the way his brows kept pinching together, his lips parting subtly every time the irritation built up too fast, only for him to sniffle sharply and push it back down.

And with every single one of her own sneezes, came another adoring, overly affectionate comment.

Every single one.

At this point?

Kriia was starting to spiral.

The drive to the Fang estate stretched on, but the tension in Kriia’s chest refused to ease.

The whole thing felt too pointed.

Rexar, completely oblivious sniffled thickly, rubbing a rough knuckle beneath his pink, irritated nose before clearing his throat with a hoarse little grunt.

"Damn, babe, you sure you don’t wanna make out right now?" he rasped, his voice shredded from congestion but still undeniably smug. "'Cause I feel like I’m at peak attractiveness."

Kriia just stared out the window, gripping the door handle like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Because she still couldn’t shake the feeling that Rexar was messing with her.

The way he kept commenting on her sneezes—how cute they were, how tiny they sounded, how much he loved them—it was too much.

Too frequent.

Too pointed.

Had he… found something while moving her stuff?

Had he seen something he wasn’t supposed to?

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Because if he had—if he knew—and he was making fun of her for it—

She swallowed hard, jaw tightening.

No. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Rexar was loud, obnoxious, and a relentless tease, but he wasn’t cruel.

But still—the comments.

The constant, unrelenting praise every time she sneezed.

It was like he was pushing it.

Like he was waiting for something.

Kriia risked a glance at him—only to immediately regret it.

Rexar was leaning back in the driver’s seat, one large hand lazily gripping the wheel, the other rubbing idly at his nose, which was still twitching faintly from the aftermath of the last monstrous fit.

His nostrils flared slightly with each sniffle, his breath still uneven, the congestion so thick she could practically feel it in her own chest.

And the worst part?

The smug little smirk on his lips.

Like he knew something.

Like he was waiting for her to say something.

Kriia’s fingers tightened around the door handle.

She needed to be normal about this.

She needed to stop staring at his goddamn nose.

She forced herself to look away.

Forced herself to breathe.

Because if she wasn’t careful, Rexar was gonna figure out exactly what was going on.

The thought made her stomach twist.

By the time they pulled up to the estate, she still hadn’t spoken a word.

And if Rexar noticed her sudden shift in mood, he didn’t say anything.

With a deep, exhausted sigh, he shut off the engine and shoved open the door, stretching with a dramatic groan before immediately sneezing into his elbow.

“Hhhh— hIH’IKTSHhh’uuh! et’CHXIEW!! Hhih—! hih’ESCH’iew! Ugh. Babygirl, we should just go ahead and set the place on fire. It’ll really bring out my natural musk.”

Kriia rolled her eyes, snatching a box from the backseat and stomping toward the front door without a word.

Rexar blinked after her, sniffling thickly.

"Uh. Princess?"

Still no response.

"...You mad ‘cause I sneezed? Damn, I know they’re powerful, but I didn’t think I’d actually offend you."

Kriia still didn’t answer.

Because if Rexar was messing with her—if he was somehow making fun of her—she’d rather drop dead than react to it.

By the time they started hauling boxes inside, Kriia had mostly recovered.

Mostly.

The Fang estate’s empty, cavernous halls echoed their every step, and it took a concentrated effort not to get completely overwhelmed by the sheer size of everything.

Rexar, however, seemed completely unbothered, effortlessly carrying three boxes at once despite actively dripping congestion like a leaking faucet.

“Hey babygirl,” he sniffled thickly, pausing as they dumped the first load in the entryway. “Did you see me just now?”

Kriia, still avoiding his advances, barely glanced up. “Uh. Yeah?”

Rexar sniffled dramatically, tilting his head back with a grin so self-satisfied it could have powered the entire mansion.

“Strongest sick guy ever.”

Kriia let out a slow, weary sigh, eyeing him with pure exasperation.

But just as she opened her mouth—ready to roast him into next week—her gaze caught on the box in his hands.

Wait.

Was that—?

Her medicine cabinet.

Or, at least, the box she had kept all her meds in since she was a teenager.

Finally.

Rexar was too damn stubborn to stop for a break, but maybe if she could quickly swipe some antihistamines, she’d at least survive the rest of this dust-ridden nightmare.

"Oh—thanks, babe, I’ll take that one," she said quickly, reaching out to take the box from him.

Rexar, oblivious, just grinned and handed it over.

Kriia flipped the lid open—

And immediately realized her mistake.

It wasn’t her medicine cabinet.

It was a box of old books.

A box of very dusty old books.

The cloud of dust that erupted from the box was so thick it was visible in the sunlight.

Kriia barely had time to react.

Her eyes widened.

Her breath hitched.

Rexar, mid-sniffle, immediately turned.

“Oh? Oh, babe—are you gonna—?”

Kriia twisted away, barely managing a strangled noise of protest before the fit overtook her.

She barely had time to suck in a gasp before the sneezes began tearing through her, one after another, unstoppable, breathless, overwhelming.

"K’tchh! Nnch! Nkch! Ktch! Nkcht! Hh‘gsch!! Nngch! H’tshhkt!! ngsh! H’NgXt! Hh‘gsch! k’gnsh!Ngt’chh! hh’ihhh!!— Hhihh—! "

They just kept coming.

Kriia stumbled backward, bracing herself against the edge of a half-unpacked box, her head snapping forward helplessly with each desperate, ticklish release. Her nostrils flared wildly, eyes squeezed shut, unable to do anything but succumb to the fit consuming her.

Rexar, who had been struggling through a sneeze of his own just a moment ago, blinked in mild disbelief, then let out a hoarse chuckle, shaking his head.

"Shit, babygirl," he sniffled, swiping the back of his wrist beneath his nose, "I think we’re officially the sneeziest couple in Hiraeth. Gonna have to start charging people for the show."

Kriiabarely managed to glare at him between sneezes.

He grinned, but it faltered when she kept sneezing.

And kept sneezing.

His expression shifted from amusement to mild concern as Kriia desperately tried to stop the fit, fumbling to pinch her nostrils shut just like she had at her dad’s house earlier.

It didn’t work.

Her nose twitched violently against her grip, the congestion thick and unrelenting, her breath still hitching, her body still locked in the relentless, breathless cycle.

"Hey, hey—Princess…"

Rexar stepped in front of her, voice softer now, the teasing lilt replaced with something gentler.

And then—without hesitation—he reached up, catching her twitching nose between his thumb and forefinger, pressing just firmly enough to hold it shut.

Kriia let out a shaky, muffled noise, her entire body jerking at the sensation.

The tickle surged beneath his grasp at first, flaring wildly, making her breath hitch so sharply she thought she might combust—

But then—

Slowly—

Finally—

It faded.

Rexar watched her carefully, his fingers still steady, still holding her nose shut, the congestion there making the softest squelching noise as he adjusted his grip.

"Like this, yeah?" he murmured, tilting his head slightly, waiting for her to confirm.

Kriia exhaled shakily against his palm, her eyelashes fluttering as her body sagged forward in relief.

It worked.

It actually worked.

Rexar held her there for just a moment longer, thumb pressing lightly against the bridge of her nose, before slowly releasing his grip.

Kriia froze.

Her stomach dropped.

Her heart skipped an entire beat.

Oh.

She stared at him, stunned, mortified, and still slightly dazed from the fit—blinked up at him, her mind racing.

Because there were two possible explanations for this.

Either—

One: He somehow found out about her thing—her little, barely-admitted, never-acted-on-in-her-entire-life kink—and he was making fun of her.

Or—

Two.

He had one too.

The silence stretched just a second too long, and Rexar’s teasing grin finally faltered.

Slowly, carefully, she searched his expression.

Really searched.

Looking for any sign of amusement. Any hint of mockery. Anything that would suggest he was messing with her.

And—

There was nothing.

Nothing but genuine affection in his red-grey gaze. Nothing but fondness in the curve of his half-smile.

…Oh my God.

Kriia swallowed hard.

“…Why do you always have to comment on my sneezes, Rex?” she asked self-consciously, voice quiet, testing him.

Rexar did not hesitate.

His grin snapped right back into place—warm, shameless, entirely unbothered.

“Because I love them?” he admitted, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And then—just to make sure she really got the message—

“I do have a sneeze kink, babygirl...”

So casually.

Like he was commenting on the weather.

Like he was saying, hey, it might rain later.

Kriia’s entire brain short-circuited.

She stared at him.

Rexar blinked.

“…What?” he asked, like she was the one acting weird.

Kriia opened her mouth—then closed it.

Opened it again.

Closed it again.

Then, finally—

“No, you do not.”

Rexar snorted, sniffling thickly. “Babydoll. Yes, I do.”

“No,” Kriia insisted. “I—I would remember that.”

Rexar’s brows pulled together slightly, like he was genuinely confused.

“Wait,” he muttered, tilting his head. “I swear I told you about it months ago?”

Kriia let out a disbelieving laugh. “You did not.”

“Are you sure?” Rexar rubbed his nose absently against his sleeve, sniffling again. “Because I feel like I did.”

“You didn’t!” Kriia cried, flustered beyond belief. “Believe me, if you had, I would have—”

She cut herself off.

Too late.

Rexar’s grin stretched wider.

His red-grey eyes gleamed.

“You would have what?” he asked, way too amused.

Kriia went rigid.

She stared at him.

The only sound was the distant echo of the house settling around them, the wind shifting outside the windows—

And Rexar’s damp, stuffy sniffle as he dragged his sleeve across his nose.

And then—barely above a whisper, stunned, mortified, and still very much recovering from what he had just said—

“…I do too.”

Rexar froze.

Kriia wanted to die.

Her face burned.

Her entire body burned.

For a long, painfully drawn-out moment, neither of them spoke.

The words still hung in the air, raw, unfiltered, and Kriia could feel her own pulse thrumming in her throat, loud and insistent.

Rexar just stared.

His red-grey eyes, still glassy from fever, blinked once—slow, unfocused. Then twice.

And then—

He sniffled, hard, dragging the back of his wrist beneath his still-twitching nose again.

“Wait.” His voice was hoarse, thick with congestion, but undeniably incredulous. “Run that back for me real quick.”

Kriia swallowed hard, immediately regretting every single life choice that had led her to this moment.

Rexar’s bleary stare did not waver.

“‘Cause it kinda sounded like you just said,” he continued, rubbing at his nose with the back of his knuckles, his grin slowly creeping back onto his face—“that you, my hotass, gorgeous, absolute smoke show of a girlfriend, have a sneeze kink.”

Kriia could have died right then and there.

Instead—against her better judgment—she clapped a hand over her face and muttered, weak, mortified, barely above a whisper—

“…I did.”

Silence.

Then—

A slow, deep, thoroughly congested inhale.

And a wheezy, unrepentant, utterly delighted laugh.

Kriia groaned, loud and suffering. “Oh my God, Rex—”

“Nah—nah—” Rexar rasped, grinning so hard it had to hurt. He sniffled sharply, shaking his head like he needed to make sure he was hearing her right. “So you’re telling me—”

“No.”

“—That this whole time—”

“Rexar—”

“—While I’ve been walking around sneezing my literal lungs out like a damn flamethrower—”

“Rexar Fucking Fang.”

“—You’ve just been out here silently losing your mind?”

Kriia’s entire body was burning.

She turned away sharply, refusing to meet his gaze. “I—shut up.”

“Oh, this is amazing.” Rexar scrubbed a hand down his exhausted face, still grinning like a lunatic. “My hotass, perfect, badass Scrilian girlfriend has been hiding her sneeze kink from me.”

Kriia, officially planning her own funeral, let out a frustrated noise and tried to walk away.

Big mistake.

Because before she could escape, Rexar—still visibly feverish, but apparently not weak enough to miss an opportunity—reached out and snatched her up by the waist.

He reeled her right back in.

And, to her absolute horror, he nuzzled—nuzzled—his fever-warm face against her shoulder.

Like some kind of needy, oversized, fire-breathing kitten.

Kriia froze, her brain short-circuiting between two equally strong instincts:

1. Shove him away immediately before she lost her entire mind.

2. Sink into his warmth like a touch-starved idiot.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," Rexar murmured dramatically, hoarse and wrecked, his words thick with fever and congestion.

Kriia flinched, her hands hovering uselessly at her sides.

"Rexar, what the—" she started, scrambling for literally any argument, because she absolutely could not let him see how much she didn’t actually mind.

She opened her mouth— Paused. Floundered.

…Because she couldn’t exactly complain about him being sick.

Not when she was— Not when that was—

Nope.

Absolutely not.

So instead—her traitorous mouth blurted out the next best thing.

"You're so damn heavy."

Rexar snorted, but it immediately dissolved into a thick, miserable sniffle.

"Nuh-uh, nope, you’re stuck with me," He rasped, barely intelligible through congestion, clinging to her despite his ridiculous lack of energy. “Can’t believe you didn’t tell me, babygirl. We coulda been sneezing on each other this whole time.”

Kriia made a sound that was not of the mortal plane.

"Do not phrase it like that."

"But it’s true," Rexar sniffled pathetically, blinking up at her with red-rimmed, fever-hazy eyes. "Think of all the missed opportunities. We could’ve been livin’ the dream. I could’ve been sneezing on you, for you, because of you."

Kriia whimpered.

"Rexar, please, I’m begging you to stop talking."

"And you—" he ignored her entirely, "—you coulda been sneezing all over me. Just a little sneezy princess and her fire hazard of a boyfriend."

"I’m going to throw up."

"You’re gonna have to now, babydoll," he grinned, voice pure evil. "Cause I’m gonna be so annoying about this."

Kriia let out a strangled noise.

Rexar—still sniffling thickly, still clinging to her like a furnace-warm barnacle—just laughed, weak and hoarse, and nuzzled further into her neck.

"I love you, babygirl," he muttered, half-delirious with fever, but full of warmth, his breath still slightly hitching like he wasn’t done sneezing yet.

“I love you, too, butthead…” Kriia groaned again, not sure whether she wanted to kiss him or throw him directly into the sun.

Maybe both.

For a long moment, Kriia just stood there, caught in the ridiculous fever-warmed gravity that was Rexar Fang.

The weight of him, the heat of him, the utter lack of shame as he clung to her like an overgrown child with separation anxiety—

She let out a slow, measured exhale, her eyes fluttering shut as she attempted—tried, really—to mentally reset.

Okay.

This was fine.

This was just her life now.

Her big, ridiculous, fire-breathing idiot of a boyfriend had just casually admitted to having a sneeze kink, was actively melting against her with fever, and was now nuzzling into her neck like he was trying to burrow into her soul.

Totally normal.

Totally fine.

Nothing to freak out about.

Kriia sucked in a breath, willing herself to find the strength—the patience—the sanity to deal with the creature currently latched onto her like an overgrown koala.

"Rex," she started, voice dangerously steady.

"Yeah, princess?"

His words were thick with congestion, his hoarse rasp vibrating directly against her neck as he nuzzled in even further, like he planned to just fuse into her body and live there forever.

She gritted her teeth.

"Let. Go."

Rexar hummed, considering.

"Nah," he finally decided, his grip tightening, his voice a touch too smug for someone who was actively falling apart at the seams.

Kriia huffed out a breath through her nose, eyes narrowing.

She could do this. She could handle this. She could—

Rexar sniffled sharply, his entire frame shuddering, and Kriia barely had time to process the warning signs before—

"hh’KTSHH’uhhh!! HaH’tTSCHhiew!! Hhih—! hhhh’HIXTTSHH’ieu! "

A trio of unrestrained, harsh sneezes tore through him, rocking his entire oversized frame against her, his grip momentarily loosening as he snapped forward, his breath catching and stuttering even as he tried to recover.

Kriia, officially having seen enough, took the opportunity to wrench herself free.

Rexar made a pathetic noise of protest, still sniffling as he blinked up at her with hazy, dazed, red-rimmed eyes.

"Princess, wait, come back, I’m fragile—"

"You are not fragile," Kriia snapped, aggressively brushing herself off, like she could physically shake off the effects of his existence.

Rexar gave her his best pitiful look, rubbing a shaky knuckle under his pink, irritated nose.

"But I could be," he muttered. "If it means you’ll cuddle me again."

Kriia closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath.

When she opened them, he was still looking at her like that.

Like she had personally handed him the greatest gift of his life.

Like she wasn’t seconds away from throwing him out a window.

And then—because apparently, she hadn’t suffered enough today—

His breath hitched again.

His red-grey eyes fluttered, nostrils twitching, before—

"hh’NGXSHhh!! Hhah—! hIH’IKTSHhh’uuh! HAHH—! HAHH’IKKTsh—uhh!"

Another messy, fire-laced fit ripped through him, sending embers scattering onto the already scorched floorboards.

Kriia stared.

Rexar sniffled, wiping his sleeve under his nose, and then—

Grinned.

"Bet that did something for ya, huh?"

Kriia malfunctioned.

Her entire system shut down.

Rebooting…

Rexar laughed—hoarse, exhausted, and way too pleased with himself as he latched his lanky frame around her again.

"Oh, babygirl," he teased, voice thick with congestion and amusement. "We’re gonna have so much fun living together."

Kriia groaned again, shoving at his shoulders weakly. "Rexar."

"KrIiA." he mimicked, his face again smushed against her neck, his voice a rasp of congestion and exhaustion.

"You’re burning up," she muttered, trying and failing to untangle herself from his grip.

"’m fine," he sniffled, immediately contradicting himself as his breath hitched sharply.

Kriia felt it—the sharp tremor in his chest, the way his broad frame tensed against her as another fit took hold.

"Oh, for fuck's sake—"

"hhHh’ESHHh’uhh!!— HIHH—! hihh’KXXtsh’chhu!!—hh'ieXSHHH’UEHH!!"

Fire. Heat. A blast of fevered warmth against her shoulder as flames flickered against the air, tiny embers skittering to the floor before burning out.

Rexar let out a long, miserable groan, scrubbing at his nose.

Kriia just stared.

Her brain was actively buffering.

"…D-did you just—"

"Princess," Rexar croaked, tilting his head up to blink blearily at her. "You cannot tell me that wasn’t the hottest shit you’ve ever seen in your life."

Kriia gaped.

"Rexar, you just sneezed actual fire on me."

"Yeah, and?"

"And—" she flailed. "—AND? You just set me on fire a little bit!"

"Okay, but hear me out." Rexar sniffled, completely unbothered. "That was objectively sexy as hell."

"You’re objectively an idiot."

"And you’re objectively into it."

Kriia whimpered, violently covering her face with both hands.

Rexar’s grin was devastating.

"This is the best day of my life," he announced, fully congested, barely keeping himself upright, still somehow the cockiest man alive. "This is even better than the time Thorne got stuck in a tree."

Kriia peeked at him between her fingers. "…Why was Thorne in a tree?"

Rexar shrugged. "I dunno, I think he was mad about something? Nyx said she was testing his ability to adapt under pressure."

"…And?"

"He adapted by climbing a tree like an idiot and refusing to come down for six hours."

Kriia blinked.

"…Your family is unhinged."

Rexar snickered but then immediately winced, scrubbing at his nose again as the tickle flared back to life.

Kriia, despite her exhaustion, despite the fact that her entire worldview had been forcibly rearranged in the last ten minutes, couldn’t help the way her stomach flipped in anticipation.

And Rexar, because he was the most annoying man on the planet, clocked it immediately.

"Oh-hoh, babydoll," he sniffled, tilting his head like he was actively having the time of his life. "That’s a look."

Kriia went feral.

"Shut up," she snapped, stepping back, but Rexar was already following her, lazy, sniffling, all fever-warmed amusement.

"Nuh-uh," he grinned. "Now that I know? Now that we know?" He leaned in, all heat, all mischief. "Sweetheart, it’s over for you."

Kriia was in hell.

And the worst part?

She might have loved it.

The End ✨

43 notes · View notes

aller-geez · 2 months ago

Text

Wrapped Around Your Finger

written & illustrated by: allergeez

I am not not in the slightest bit sorry for the pure diabetic coma this may put anyone in cause GOD I LOVE THEM SM.

Summary: Kriia and Rexar set out on what was supposed to be a peaceful, romantic camping trip—just the two of them, deep in the wilderness, away from the chaos of their everyday lives. But as the fresh air, chilly breeze, and long day of travel start taking their toll, Kriia finds herself fighting off an untimely cold. Determined not to let a little congestion ruin their trip, she pushes herself to keep up, stubbornly refusing to slow down—even as her body betrays her at every turn. Rexar, ever the devoted (and very turned on) boyfriend, sees right through her denial and makes it his personal mission to take care of her—whether she likes it or not. Between sneezing fits, teasing banter, and the warmth of their shared blankets, the trip takes on a different kind of intimacy—one filled with soft moments, stolen kisses, and the quiet kind of love that lingers between every touch. CW: snz, cursing, FLUFF. 6.5k words.

Kriia had been camping before. Growing up in the frozen reaches of Scrila, she’d spent plenty of nights under the stars, blanketed in the hush of the tundra, surrounded by the flickering dance of auroras against an endless sky.

But camping with Rexar? That was an entirely different beast.

It started out as an ambitious, maybe too ambitious, attempt at a romantic getaway—just the two of them, deep in the wilderness, no city lights, no distractions. A chance to slow down, to enjoy the quiet, to revel in each other’s company without the ever-present chaos of their lives creeping in.

By the time they pulled up to the clearing, the afternoon sun had reached its peak, pouring golden light through the trees and casting long streaks of warmth over the forest floor. The crisp air smelled of pine and damp earth, the distant lake reflecting the sky in a shimmering blue stretch beyond the tree line. It was, by all accounts, a perfect day for camping.

So why did Kriia feel off?

She blinked, slowly, against the dull pressure that had begun settling between her brows. It wasn’t enough to call a headache, not yet—just an annoying heaviness, like her body was subtly protesting something she hadn’t quite figured out. Even the air felt thicker than it should’ve, sitting strangely in her throat when she inhaled, as though her lungs had to work just a little harder than usual.

Maybe it was the altitude. Or the long drive. Or the fact that she and Rexar had been up late packing the night before, neither of them willing to admit they should have started way earlier than they did.

Yeah. That was probably it.

She rolled her shoulders, dismissing the sluggish feeling with a firm sniff—nothing dramatic, just enough to clear the strange tightness in her sinuses. Then she turned to grab their bags from the back of the truck.

Rexar beat her to it.

"Uh-uh." He slung the heaviest bag over one shoulder, shooting her a knowing look as a thin wisp of smoke curled lazily from his nose. "I know you, baby girl. If I don’t start carryin’ this stuff first, you’re gonna try and act like you’re way too strong to let me help."

Kriia huffed. "I was gonna grab that one."

"And I knew that, which is why I got it first." He smirked. "See how good I am at this relationship thing?"

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, reaching instead for one of the lighter supply bags. As she lifted it over her shoulder, a sudden, ticklish prickle flared high in her sinuses, sharp enough to catch her off guard.

Her breath stuttered—just barely—a sharp inhale before she turned away from Rexar, pressing her wrist hastily to her nose.

"Hh'ktschhh! …hh'tschhht!"

The sneezes were soft, almost delicate, nothing more than a brief snap forward at the waist. But they left a strange, lingering warmth behind them, a flush that crept up her neck before she could will it away.

Rexar, of course, noticed immediately.

He slanted her a look, amusement tugging at his lips. "Bless you, beautiful. You good?"

Kriia sniffed, quick and discreet, as she adjusted the strap of the bag on her shoulder. "Yeah. Just the air."

Rexar arched a brow, unconvinced. "Uh-huh. You always sneeze twice when it's just ‘the air’?"

She gave him a flat look. "Don’t."

He held up a hand in mock innocence, grin widening. "Hey, you said it, not me."

Kriia narrowed her eyes but didn’t take the bait, choosing instead to turn on her heel and head for the clearing. Rexar chuckled, grabbing the last of their gear before following after her, his footsteps crunching lazily through the dried leaves.

They made quick work of the setup—unrolling the tent, hammering in the stakes, securing the tarp. Kriia moved through the motions with practiced ease, though the dull pressure behind her eyes made it harder to focus than she wanted to admit. By the time the tent was fully upright, she exhaled through her nose, testing how it felt—

And frowned when the breath came out just the tiniest bit uneven.

No. She wasn’t doing this. Not today.

"Alright," she said, brushing her hands off on her jeans. "Firewood next."

Rexar shot her a sidelong glance. "You sure you don’t wanna take a break first?"

Kriia scoffed, already turning toward the trees. "What, you think I can’t carry a few sticks?"

"I think," Rexar mused, watching her go, "that you’re gonna push through this just long enough to regret it later."

But he let her go.

For now.

The forest was quiet aside from the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of birds hidden high in the canopy. Kriia let herself sink into the sounds as she stepped carefully over an uneven patch of ground, scanning for dry firewood.

It was a simple task, something she’d done a hundred times before. And yet, the farther she walked, the heavier her limbs felt. Not enough to make her stop, but just enough to be annoying.

She straightened from picking up a decent-sized branch, rolling her shoulders as a dull ache settled between them as well. Probably from the drive, she told herself. Hours in a car weren’t exactly great for posture.

"You good over there?"

Rexar’s voice came from somewhere behind her, relaxed but way too observant.

Kriia sniffed and rubbed at her nose before answering. "Mhm. Why?"

"'Cause you’ve been pickin’ up twigs while I’m over here carrying half a damn tree," he teased.

Kriia glanced over her shoulder, only to find him standing a few feet away, arms full of thick branches that definitely put her small handful of sticks to shame.

She scoffed. "Yeah, well, some of us don’t need to show off to feel good about ourselves."

Rexar smirked. "Nah, see, this ain’t showin’ off. This is efficiency." He gave a slight tilt of his head toward her pile. "You plannin’ on starting a fire or just makin’ a tiny little babygirl-sized campfire for one?"

Kriia opened her mouth to retort—but her breath snagged before she could get a word out.

The irritation had been creeping in slowly, a faint tickle at the back of her sinuses, teasing, lingering. Now, without warning, it flared to life, sharp and insistent.

Her breath hitched.

"Hhh—hh’ktschh! Hh’nGXT!—hHhih’ktchhh!—hh’gTShh!!"

The sneezes hit her fast, snapping her forward with barely enough time to turn away. She stayed hunched for a second afterward, breath still unsteady, one hand hovering loosely in front of her face like her body wasn’t quite finished punishing her.

When she straightened, her ears were warm.

Rexar just looked at her, head tilted slightly, expression unreadable except for the tiny hint of amusement in his eyes.

Kriia cleared her throat, giving another firm sniff before shaking her hair out of her face. "Don’t."

"I didn’t even say anything," Rexar said, grinning.

"You thought it."

Rexar snorted but didn’t argue. Instead, he nodded toward the pile in her arms. "You done? Or you plannin’ on powerin’ through a few more of your cute little sneezes first?"

Kriia shot him a look but did glance down at what she’d gathered. It was fine. Not a huge haul, but enough to get them started.

"...Yeah, let’s head back," she muttered.

They walked in easy silence, Kriia keeping her pace steady even as the pressure in her sinuses pulsed with every step. The dull ache behind her eyes was more persistent now, pressing heavier against her skull. She could ignore it—but that didn’t mean Rexar couldn’t see it.

By the time they reached camp, she barely had a second to set the wood down before Rexar was nudging her toward the cooler.

"Alright, you’re taggin’ out for a minute," he said, patting one of the logs they’d dragged over to use as seats. "I’ll start lunch."

Kriia frowned. "I never said I—"

"Baby girl," Rexar cut in smoothly, planting his hands on his hips, smoke curling lazily from his nose as he grinned down at her. "I know you think you’re bein’ sneaky, but you are literally moving slower by the second. So. Sit."

Kriia huffed, crossing her arms. "I was gonna help cook."

"You can," Rexar said easily, already crouching by the fire pit. "By sittin’ there and lookin’ cute while I do all the work."

Kriia scowled but, despite herself, let her legs fold beneath her as she settled onto the log.

Satisfied, Rexar busied himself with the fire, expertly arranging the wood before flicking his fingers toward it. A small whoosh of flame shot from his palm, catching instantly. He gave a pleased nod, then reached for the food.

"You know," he mused, tearing open a bag of trail mix, "I’m real glad we brought actual snacks instead of sticking to our genius plan of fishing for every meal. 'Cause I dunno about you, but I am not tryna wrestle a fish outta that lake on an empty stomach."

Kriia smirked despite herself. "You were the one who thought it would be ‘fun’ to live off the land for the weekend."

Rexar grinned. "Hey, I still think we should at least go catch somethin’ for dinner. But man, I needed food now." He tossed a handful of almonds into his mouth, shaking his head. "Could you imagine if we got here and the first thing we had to do was go hunt for lunch? I’d die. Just straight up drop dead."

Kriia let out a quiet chuckle, but as she watched him move—casual, effortlessly confident, the afternoon sun catching on the silver rings in his fingers—her body betrayed her.

A slow, deep-set exhaustion had started creeping in, curling around her limbs, pressing at the back of her skull. Her muscles felt heavier than they should’ve, her pulse dragging slightly off-beat in her ears. The congestion hadn’t fully settled yet, but she could feel it coming, a tightness in her sinuses, a faint burn beneath her cheekbones.

On the outside, she was still playing along, still smirking at Rexar’s dramatics, still nodding at the idea of fishing later.

But Rexar?

Rexar saw through her.

She wasn’t gonna say it. Not yet. But the way her breathing had shifted, the way her shoulders curled ever so slightly forward, the way her hand lingered a second longer than necessary when she rubbed at the side of her nose—he caught all of it.

And he knew where this was going.

So he just smiled, chewing absently on a piece of dried fruit as he poked at the fire.

Yup. She was so gonna lose this battle by nightfall.

And damn if he wasn’t gonna be there to catch her when she did.

Rexar’s food was good. Of course it was. He could throw together a meal out of practically anything, and the fact that they were camping didn’t change that.

But Kriia wasn’t about to admit it.

Not when he’d been hovering over her the entire time, practically radiating smug I told you so energy.

So she ate in silence, her expression carefully neutral except for the tiniest, involuntary pout at the corners of her lips. Every few bites, she’d sniff sharply and press at her nose with the back of her wrist, subtly trying to clear the congestion that was sneaking in faster than she liked.

Rexar, to his credit, didn’t push.

On the surface, he looked like he’d backed off—keeping his attention on his own plate, cracking a joke here and there, acting like he totally wasn’t paying extra attention to every single sniffle and sluggish blink she tried to hide.

But oh, he was watching.

The way she curled into herself a little more with each passing minute, like she was trying to preserve her own warmth. The slow, rhythmic rubbing at her nose when she thought he wasn’t looking. The heavy-lidded blinks that lasted just a second too long.

Yup. He’d seen this play out before.

But he let her pretend.

For now.

After lunch, they worked on making the tent as cozy as possible—because if they were gonna be sleeping in the woods, they were going to do it right.

They packed the floor with layers of blankets, making it ridiculously plush from wall to wall. Extra pillows were stacked up at the back, and Rexar even made sure they had their ridiculously oversized sleeping bag unrolled, just in case they wanted to bundle up later.

And Kriia helped, dammit.

Even if the chill had started creeping into her bones, even if she might have wobbled once when she stood too fast, even if she had to pause for a second when a sudden, sharp tickle flared in her sinuses.

She barely had time to turn away before—

“Hh’ngXt!—hh’hhtschh! K’tchhh! Nkchhh!—hHh’tshhkt!!”

She meant to keep going afterward, but the way her breath kept hitching, the way her body wouldn’t let her go just yet—

“Ngshh! Hh’Gxtt! Hhh… hHhhih’gnNXT!!”

God, that took something out of her.

She sniffled hard, rubbing fiercely at her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie as she blinked away the lingering dizziness.

When her vision cleared, she caught Rexar looking at her.

She scowled. "Don’t."

His lips twitched—like he was fighting a smirk. "Baby girl, I haven’t even said anything yet."

"You thought it."

Rexar held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. No thoughts. Just vibes."

Kriia narrowed her eyes but didn’t push it. Instead, she sniffed again—quieter this time—and straightened.

"Fishing," she declared. "We said we were gonna fish for dinner."

Rexar exhaled slowly, another thin curl of smoke drifting from his nose as he studied her.

Fishing meant walking down to the lake. Meant standing still in the evening chill, near the water, for however long it took to catch something worth eating.

He could see the way she was holding herself together, how she was already bundling deeper into her hoodie without realizing it.

But she was stubborn.

And he knew that if he didn’t let her at least try, she’d just get more defensive.

So he just nodded. "Alright, I’ll grab the rods and gear from the truck. You, uh—" He waved vaguely at her. "Layer up or somethin’."

Kriia rolled her eyes but did push herself up from where she’d been kneeling, rubbing absently at her arms.

Rexar hesitated, watching the way she swayed slightly before she steadied herself.

"...Be right back," he said after a beat, before turning toward the trail leading back to the truck.

The whole thing should have taken, at most, five minutes.

But of course the damn worms had to go missing.

Rexar cursed under his breath as he fumbled under the seat, stretching his fingers blindly into the dark crevice beneath it. He knew he’d packed them. Knew they had to be here somewhere.

By the time he finally got his hands on the stupid bait container, a solid fifteen minutes had passed.

He shook his head, laughing to himself as he slammed the truck door shut. "Goddamn worms," he muttered, adjusting the rods under one arm before making his way back to camp.

When he reached the tent, he expected Kriia to be waiting, maybe rolling her eyes at how long he took.

Instead—

She was sprawled out on the blankets, completely out cold.

Rexar stopped in the doorway, fishing gear still in hand, and just looked at her.

Her hoodie sleeves had slipped down over her hands, and her crimson hair was a messy halo around her head. The slight part of her lips gave way to congested, uneven breaths, the tiniest, high-pitched snores escaping with each exhale.

She must’ve just laid down for one second.

And this was what happened.

Rexar sighed, shaking his head, but there was no exasperation in it.

Just fondness.

Because, dammit, this was cute.

Didn’t matter if she was fever-flushed or stuffy or stubborn as hell—he’d always find her adorable.

Especially when she got all snappy in the denial phase, only to get extra soft the second exhaustion won.

And the sneezes?

God, he loved those.

She always got so tiny and breathless toward the end of her colds, all shivery and pink-nosed, curled up in a blanket while she mumbled sleepily about how miserable she was.

And, well.

That was definitely coming.

But for now, he just crouched by the entrance, resting his arms on his knees as he admired her for a moment longer.

Then, with a small smile, he leaned in, brushing the backs of his fingers gently across her temple.

Her skin was warm. Not burning up yet, but definitely warmer than it had been.

Yup. She was so going down.

Still, he let her rest.

Fishing could wait.

Because this?

This was the part where she finally started letting him take care of her.

And Rexar lived for that part.

He sighed softly, shaking his head with a smirk as he looked down at Kriia, still curled up and out cold on the tent floor.

She hadn’t moved an inch. Her hoodie sleeves were bunched around her hands, her crimson hair a messy sprawl across the blankets. The faintest crease of exhaustion was etched between her brows, her lips parted just enough to let out a soft, congested breath, her tiny snores barely audible over the crackle of the fire outside.

He could watch her like this for hours.

But he did have to get dinner.

With careful hands, he reached for one of the spare blankets they’d packed and draped it over her, tucking the edges in gently so she’d stay warm. Then, after a beat of consideration, he pulled his phone from his pocket, opened FaceTime, and hit her contact.

A soft vibration buzzed against the blankets where her phone was tucked, and the screen lit up. She didn’t stir.

Perfect.

He gently swiped her phone and propped it up at an angle near her head, making sure he had a clear view of her before grabbing his fishing gear and heading toward the lake.

If she so much as twitched while he was gone, he’d know.

Fishing was easy.

Almost too easy.

Rexar had barely been at the lake an hour and a half before he had four huge fish lined up on the shore beside him. His stomach growled as he eyed them, knowing for a fact he could put away two on his own without a second thought. If Kriia only wanted one, hell—he’d eat three.

The only problem?

He kept getting distracted.

His phone sat propped up on the tackle box beside him, and more than once, he caught himself staring at it instead of watching his line. He was supposed to be paying attention to the water, to the actual fish—but his eyes kept drifting to Kriia, still asleep in the tent, bundled up in the warm layers he’d left her in.

She was so tiny when she slept. The usual sharpness in her expression was gone, replaced by something soft, something peaceful, her lashes resting against her flushed skin as she breathed steadily, little murmurs slipping from her lips every so often.

Rexar grinned, warmth curling in his chest.

A sudden tug on his line snapped him out of his trance, and he cursed, jerking his rod just in time to miss the bite.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. Focus, dumbass."

Still. He stole one last glance at his phone before casting his line again.

Triumphant, Rexar made his way back to camp with his prize, his hands still slick from gutting and cleaning the fish at the water’s edge.

As soon as he got to the fire pit, he tied a bandana around his mouth and nose. The last thing he needed was a face full of smoke setting him off into one of his sneezing fits—because if he started, it was over.

He worked quickly, expertly seasoning the fish before setting them over the fire, adding a pan of veggies on the side. The scent alone was unreal, rich and smoky, the kind of meal that would’ve cost stupid money at a fancy restaurant.

With a satisfied grin, he pulled out his phone, snapped a quick picture, and tossed it onto his story. Chef Fang back at it again. We eatin’ good tonight.

He plated everything up, setting the fish and veggies onto the sturdy plastic plates they’d brought, then grabbed both before making his way to the tent.

Carefully, he unzipped the flap, peeking inside to find Kriia still curled up in the same exact spot.

She hadn’t even stirred.

Shaking his head with a fond smile, he slid inside, setting their food off to the side before shifting to sit next to her.

She looked so damn peaceful.

Too bad he was about to wake her up.

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, then another to her cheek.

“Babyyyy girrlll,” he murmured against her skin, his voice gentle, coaxing. Another kiss to the tip of her nose, another to the corner of her lips. “C’mon, pretty girl, wakey wakey.”

Kriia let out a slow, sleepy exhale, her lashes fluttering. She shifted slightly, burrowing deeper into the blankets before finally, finally blinking up at him, her purple eyes bleary with sleep.

She sniffled thickly, confusion flickering across her face as she tried to process where she was. "Hhhnnh…?" Her voice was raspy, heavier with congestion than before.

Rexar chuckled, stroking a few stray strands of hair from her face. "There she is."

Kriia blinked sluggishly at him. "Wh—" She sniffled again, rubbing at her nose. "Wha’ time is it…?"

"Almost seven," Rexar answered, rubbing slow circles into her back. "You were out for a while, baby girl. So I went fishin’ for us—made some bomb ass food. Caught four huge ones. You gotta come eat with me."

That seemed to wake her up a little.

Kriia sat up fast, rubbing at her eyes. "Wait, what? I—shit, I’b so sorry, I didd’t bead to crash like thad," she rasped, shaking her head. "You had to go alode—?"

"Shhh," Rexar hushed, leaning in to press another kiss to her forehead—this time, lingering for just a second longer.

Warm.

Not burning up yet, but definitely getting there.

He pulled back, eyes full of quiet amusement. "Babe. It’s fine. I’m a grown-ass man—I can handle a fishing pole by myself for an hour."

Kriia opened her mouth to argue—only to immediately snap forward instead.

"Hh’tchhh! K’tchh!—hihh’ngXt! Hh’gschh!—"

She barely had time to angle them away from him, breath hitching erratically, lips parting as she hovered for just a second—

"Hhhih’ktshh!—ngshh! N’gtxhh! Hh’NGt’chhh!!"

She sniffled miserably, blinking dazedly as she pressed her wrist under her nose.

Rexar smirked, shaking his head as he reached for her plate. "Bless you, baby girl," he murmured, holding the food out for her. "Now c’mon, eat up."

Kriia sniffled again, rubbing at her nose as she took the plate. She didn’t even argue.

Because honestly?

She was starving.

And she’d never admit it, but the food smelled really damn good.

The food was amazing.

Kriia knew that. She knew Rexar had a talent for making something incredible out of the simplest ingredients. But right now?

Right now, it was just texture.

Warm, flaky fish. Perfectly seared vegetables. Soft grains. But no matter how much she wanted to taste it, her sinuses had her completely blocked off from any enjoyment beyond the heat of the food itself.

And worse—every time she tried to eat, her body fought her.

The congestion had thickened, settling deep in her sinuses, clinging to every inhale like a weight she couldn’t shake. Even sitting in the warmth of the tent, away from the breeze, she still felt the cold creeping in, making her shiver despite the hoodie she’d layered over herself.

But the worst part? The part that had her jaw clenching, her nose twitching every other breath?

The damn smoke.

The fire outside was at least fifty feet from where she sat, but it didn’t matter. The way the wind shifted occasionally sent the faintest hint of campfire into the tent, mingling with the crisp scent of pine and the lingering freshness of the lake. It wasn’t overwhelming. Not even close.

But to her poor, irritated nose?

It was too much.

Every few bites, her breath would hitch, her expression going slack, eyes fluttering shut against her will as the sneezes tore through her with no warning.

"Hhh'Ktschh! Nnch! K'tchhhkt! Hh’gschh!—hhHhihh! Hh’NGXt!—hHh’ktSCHh! K’tchhh!!"

The fit snapped her forward, her fork slipping from her fingers onto the plate as she barely managed to turn her head away from Rexar. Her body shivered slightly with the sheer force of them, a miserable little whimper escaping as she sniffled thickly, her breath still caught somewhere between relief and not done yet.

Rexar barely reacted—except to reach for the tissue box beside them, plucking one out with a lazy ease before holding it up for her.

Like he’d been expecting it.

Like he had all the time in the world.

And Kriia, thoroughly exhausted and so over it, just groaned, taking it with a halfhearted glare before pressing it to her nose.

“You love this, don’t you,” she mumbled, her voice thick and wrecked with congestion.

Rexar grinned. "Can’t lie, baby girl. It’s kinda adorable."

She shot him a tired, unimpressed look before blowing her nose, the sound completely miserable, wet, and utterly ineffective.

Rexar, still grinning, handed her another tissue.

By the fourth or fifth fit, Kriia slumped back against the pillows, frustration evident in every sluggish movement as she tossed the crumpled tissue aside and groaned.

"Uggghhh, I’b godda sdeeze by whole soul out before this trip is over."

Rexar chuckled, shifting so he could rub slow, soothing circles into her back. "Oh, no, baby girl," he murmured, his voice suddenly too serious for what he was about to say. "You can’t go losin’ your soul out here. That’s my job."

Kriia sniffled, blinking up at him blearily. "Whah…?"

"If you do sneeze your soul out, I will track it down," he continued, nodding sagely. "Wrestle it back into your body. Maybe give it a stern little talk while I’m at it."

Kriia squinted at him, groggy and suspicious. "Wha—"

"You know I would," he said, completely straight-faced. "I’d chase it all over this damn forest. Tackle it into submission. ‘Listen here, Kriia’s soul, you get your ass back in there—she’s got things to do.’”

Despite herself, a tiny, exhausted laugh puffed out of her, quickly overtaken by another sniffle. "You’re so stup—hhHhihh—n’GTXhh!! Hh’tshhkt!! Hh‘gschh! k’gnsh! N’gxt!—Hh’GZschhh!"

He ignored her.

"—it’s gotta be the little gasps right before you go off," he continued, voice warm with amusement. "That tiny little hhihh—" He did a truly terrible impression of her desperate, pre-sneeze inhale. "And then boom. Game over."

Kriia let out a tiny, miserable whimper, burying her face deeper into his chest, her fingers curling weakly into the fabric of his hoodie. "Shut uuubbb…"

"Nahhh," Rexar teased, brushing his fingers through her hair. "You get all pink-nosed, your little eyelashes flutter, and then—" He snapped his fingers. "Explosion."

Kriia groaned again, but he could feel the way her body melted into him, completely boneless and pliant despite her frustration.

He loved this part.

The way she got so grumpy and stubborn at first, only to turn into an absolute puddle the second exhaustion took over.

"You gonna live, baby girl?" he murmured against her hair, pressing another kiss to her fever-warm forehead.

Kriia sniffled, exhaling a slow, heavy sigh as she burrowed impossibly closer. "As long as you stop talkigg about by sdeezes…"

Rexar smirked. "Babe, if you keep sneezin’ like that, I can’t stop."

"You’re the worst," she grumbled sleepily.

He just chuckled, squeezing her tighter, letting her sink fully into him, safe and warm in his arms. "And yet," he murmured against her skin, "you love me."

Kriia let out a congested little huff, but she didn’t argue.

Because, yeah.

She really, really did.

By the time they finished eating, Kriia’s energy had taken a nosedive.

The food had helped a little, warming her from the inside out, but it did nothing to fight the deep, creeping exhaustion that was pressing in from all sides. She sniffled miserably, rubbing at her nose before exhaling a slow, heavy sigh.

Rexar, who had just finished cleaning up their plates, immediately looked up at her.

"That sounded dramatic," Rexar teased, his voice warm with amusement—but beneath it, there was something softer, something gentle.

Kriia slumped further into her hoodie, sniffling as she pulled the thick fabric up over her hands. "I thigk I’b sick," she admitted finally, her voice thick with congestion, vowels drawn out in that irresistibly stuffy way that made Rexar’s heart squeeze. "I feel like crap."

Rexar’s smirk faded just a little, concern flickering behind his lazy grin. "Awwh, beautiful," he murmured, rubbing slow, absentminded circles into her back. "I’m sorry, that’s rough."

Kriia let out a heavy sigh, tilting her head toward the entrance of the tent, where the fabric still glowed faintly with the last light of the day.

"It’s so gorgeous out here," she murmured, rubbing absently at her arms. "I was so excited to look at the stars, but dow I’b too biserable to eved leave the tedt…"

Rexar tilted his head, watching her carefully.

And then.

An idea sparked.

His lips curled into a slow, thoughtful smile.

"Wait here, baby girl," he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head.

Kriia groaned, already curling deeper into the blankets, the congestion weighing her down like an anchor. "Dod’t thigk that’s godda be a probleb…"

Rexar chuckled, then slipped out of the tent.

The air outside was crisp and clean, the sky above them a stunning, endless stretch of black and indigo. The stars were scattered like tiny diamonds across the darkness, and the moon hung high, casting a soft, silver glow over the treetops. The lake shimmered under its reflection, the water smooth and still.

And Kriia was about to miss it.

Not on his watch.

Without hesitation, Rexar set to work.

He pulled extra blankets from the truck, along with the thickest comforter they’d packed. He arranged them outside the tent, close enough to the fire for warmth but far enough that the smoke wouldn’t bother her. He made sure of that—no way was he about to let her be trapped in another sneezing fit just because of some wayward campfire smoke.

And speaking of sneezes—

A sudden, breathy little gasp from the tent caught his attention, followed by—

"Hh'tschhh! Hh'ktschhh!—hHhh’NGXt! Hhhihh’tchhkt! K’tchhhkt!"

Rexar turned, peeking in through the tent flap just in time to see Kriia absolutely dissolve into another fit. She barely had time to drag in a breath before another round overtook her—

"Hh’gschh! k’gnshh! N’gxt! Hh—hhIH’gTSHHh!"

She whimpered softly at the end, sniffling into the sleeve of her hoodie, clearly so over it.

And Rexar?

God, help him.

He just stood there, watching with the dumbest, softest smile, utterly gone over how cute she was.

"Bless you, baby girl," he cooed, stepping back into the tent just long enough to press another kiss into her hair.

Kriia sniffled miserably, her lashes fluttering as she blinked up at him through fevered, half-lidded eyes. "Hhhh-hate this…"

Rexar grinned. "I know."

"Dod’t… look at be like that…*" she muttered, rubbing at her nose with her sleeve.

"Like what?" Rexar teased, his voice thick with amusement.

"Like I’b cute or sobethigg," she grumbled, sniffling.

Rexar snorted. "Baby girl, you are cute." He smirked, reaching out to tuck a few stray strands of crimson hair behind her ear. "Especially when you get all stuffy like this. You just kinda… crumple.”

Kriia groaned, rolling her head back against the pillow. "Why are you like this…"

"Listen, babe," Rexar murmured, tipping her chin back up so she had no choice but to look at him. "You sneeze like some tiny-ass fairy getting startled outta the air. You cannot expect me to not find that cute."

"I’b dot that bad," she mumbled, congested and halfhearted.

"Kriia. Kriia. Baby girl." Rexar shook his head, his voice thick with fond amusement. "I love you, but you just sneezed fourteen times in a row. You are that bad."

Kriia huffed, groggy and thoroughly defeated, burrowing deeper into the blankets with a congested little grumble. "This trip is cursed…"

Rexar laughed, low and warm, before leaning in to press a lingering kiss to the tip of her flushed, pink nose. "Nah, baby girl," he murmured, his lips curling into a lazy grin. "It’s perfect."

Kriia let out a tired sniffle, mumbling something too quiet, too sleepy, too her against his chest.

And Rexar just smiled.

Because sick or not, stubborn or not, sneezy or so ridiculously cute he was actually in pain—

She was his.

He let her rest for a moment longer, fingers trailing absently through her hair, before he nudged her gently.

"Hey, baby girl," he murmured. "C’mon, I got somethin’ for you."

Kriia stirred with a sniffle, her lashes fluttering open as she blinked up at him, still groggy, still miserable. "Whuh…?"

Rexar grinned. "You said you wanted to see the stars, right?"

She blinked slowly, confusion flickering across her fevered expression. "Yeah…?"

"Well," he murmured, effortlessly slipping his arms beneath her, "problem solved."

And before she could argue, before she could even process what was happening, he scooped her up and carried her straight outside—

Right into the softest, warmest little blanket nest she’d ever seen.

The second she looked up, her breath hitched.

Not from a sneeze.

Just from the sheer beauty of it.

"Ohhh," she breathed, her tired eyes widening slightly.

Rexar chuckled, settling down beside her and pulling the thickest comforter around them both. "Yeah," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Figured you deserved a front-row seat."

Kriia blinked up at him, sniffling—but this time, there was something soft in her expression.

Something warm.

"...Thagk you," she murmured, curling into him.

Rexar just smirked, rubbing slow circles into her back. "Anytime, baby girl."

A blanket nest under the stars, away from all the city lights. Just the two of them, wrapped in warmth, breathing in the crisp night air with nothing but the crackling of the fire and the distant hum of the forest around them.

It should have been effortless.

But Kriia’s sinuses had other plans.

Every time she tilted her head back to admire the view, her breath hitched—sharp and sudden, her body seizing as she cringed against Rex’s chest.

"Hhh’ktschhh! N’gxt! Hh’nGKschh!—hhhihh’TCHHHh!"

She barely had time to recover before the next fit overtook her, a helpless little gasp catching in her throat as she buried her face further into the soft fabric of his hoodie.

"Hh’tchhkt! Hh‘gschh! k’gnsh!—n’gtxhh! Hh’NGt’chhh!*"

Rexar winced in sympathy (and, okay, a little arousal) as the sneezes sent her jolting against him. "Damn, baby girl," he chuckled, brushing a stray piece of crimson hair from her face. "The stars hittin’ you that hard?"

Kriia groaned, sniffling into a tissue, her body tangled across his. Between the thick blankets and the insane amount of heat radiating off of him, the whole setup was ridiculously cozy—if she could actually enjoy it.

"Ughhh," she whined, rubbing at her nose. "I just wadt to be robadtic for ode seco’d."

Rexar grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to her temple before pulling her tighter against his chest. "Babe, you’re already romantic. Nothin’ says love like sneezing directly into my hoodie."

Kriia scoffed weakly, swatting his chest. "Shut ub…"

"No, really," he continued, smirking. "I can’t exactly say I haven’t been melting into a puddle every time your adorable little nose twitches. I can die a happy man after tonight, easy."

That earned him a quiet, congested laugh, muffled against his hoodie. "You’re so stupid."

"And yet, you love me."

"Unfortudately," she sighed dramatically, but the small smile tugging at her lips gave her away.

The longer they lay there, the heavier Kriia’s limbs became, exhaustion sinking deep into her bones as the fever took its toll.

And with that exhaustion came the affectionate stage.

Rexar lived for the affectionate stage.

"Hhhngh," Kriia mumbled sleepily, barely coherent as she nuzzled deeper into his chest. "You’re so w-warm…"

Rexar grinned. "I am a walking furnace, babe."

"You smell good," she continued, her voice soft and drowsy. "Like… firewood ‘nd home."

Oh, he was thriving.

"Yeah?" he murmured, tugging the blankets tighter around them.

"Mhmm…" Her words were barely above a whisper now, her fingers curling loosely into the fabric of his hoodie. "'Nd your voice… s'good…"

Rexar chuckled, sneaking a bottle of water from the side of the blanket nest and pressing it to her lips before she fully slipped under. "Gotta keep you hydrated, baby girl."

She blinked sluggishly up at him, confused for a second, then obediently took a sip before mumbling something incoherent and burrowing back into his warmth.

Rexar smiled, brushing a few strands of crimson hair from her flushed forehead, his fingers moving slowly, gently, like she was something fragile and precious in his hands. She barely stirred at his touch, her fevered skin warm beneath his fingertips, her breathing slow and steady, every quiet exhale puffing against his chest.

She was so soft like this.

She never let herself be soft.

Not fully. Not often.

But when she did—when she let herself sink into him like this, all curled up and trusting, like she knew he’d never let anything happen to her—

God, he could live in this moment forever.

He let out a slow breath, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head, letting his lips linger there, warm against her hair as he murmured into it.

"God, I fucking love you."

Not teasing. Not playful. Just real.

Kriia made a tiny, sleepy sound in response, shifting slightly, curling deeper into his chest.

"I mean it," Rexar continued, one hand rubbing slow, lazy circles into her back, the other keeping her tucked right where she belonged. "Like, actually, stupidly, can’t-live-without-you fucking love you."

Kriia let out a breathy little chuckle against his hoodie, her voice hoarse with sleep and congestion. "I dow, Rex…"

His chest ached at that—at the way she knew, at the way she didn’t even have to question it.

But he kept going.

"You drive me crazy, baby girl. You challenge me. You call me on my bullshit. You keep me from doin’ stupid shit, even though I know it’s exhausting as hell for you sometimes."

She made a small, tired sound that was definitely agreement, and he grinned.

"You make me better," he said softly, pressing another kiss into her hair. "You always have. Even when you don’t mean to. Even when you don’t realize it. And I swear, Kriia, I’m never gonna stop lovin’ you. Not even for a second. Not even when you’re an absolute pain in the ass."

Kriia chuckled, weak and drowsy, her nose nuzzling against his chest. "I'b dot that bad…"

Rexar huffed out a quiet laugh, tilting his head down to look at her. "Babe." He nudged her playfully. "You threw a whole ass boot at me the first time I told you I liked you."

She let out a congested little groan. "You were beig annoying!"

"I was bein’ right," he corrected smugly, pulling the blanket tighter around her. "Which, let’s be real, you just hate admitting."

Kriia huffed weakly against him, her body completely melted into his now, her limbs tangled with his beneath the layers of warmth.

"Still love you, though," she muttered sleepily.

Rexar melted.

"Damn right you do," he murmured, pressing a slow, warm kiss to her temple, his voice softer now. "And I love you too, baby girl. Always."

Kriia made a tiny, sleepy noise—something between a sigh and a hum of agreement—but her breathing was already slowing, her body growing heavier against his.

Rexar chuckled.

"Mm. Figures."

Another kiss to her forehead, another squeeze around her waist.

"Hell of a time to fall asleep, baby girl."

But he wasn’t mad.

Not even a little.

Instead, he carefully tucked the blankets around her, adjusting her just enough so she’d stay warm without overheating, then rested his cheek against the top of her head.

And as her soft, congested little snores filled the quiet night air, Rexar melted completely, holding her just a little tighter—

Right where she belonged.

The end 🖤

38 notes · View notes

aller-geez · 2 months ago

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Haven’t drawn any of Rexar’s fire snz recently so I figured I’d give my mans some love 🖤

Hellboys (well 2/3s of the hellboys) will have a new fic since I finally finished the draeko fluffy sickfic req, and it’ll be posted once I finish the cover~ 😈

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aller-geez · 2 months ago

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Oxygen

Written & illustrated by: allergeez 🖤

Hey! Remember back in August how I teased a Svelex fic set for Elex’s birthday? NWELL, I FINALLY FINISHED IT 6 MONTHS LATER ✨

Just under 8k words, CW: Illness & Injury (fever, pneumonia, difficulty breathing, passing out) Medical Settings (hospital/ER scenes, oxygen use, discussions of health conditions), Mild Alcohol Use (social drinking, light references), Themes of Self-Neglect (pushing past physical limits, refusing to ask for help)

Though Oxygen explores themes of stubbornness, friendship, and vulnerability, at its heart, it’s a story about learning when to let go—and knowing when someone cares enough to catch you.

Summary: S7en has never been great at self-preservation, but for Elex’s birthday, he’s determined to pull off the perfect surprise. Weeks of planning, secret coordination, and late-night prep have all led to this—one flawless night where everything goes exactly as planned.— There’s just one problem. S7en is sick. Really sick. And he’s been hiding it.

With the weight of the day pressing down on him, the only thing keeping him going is sheer stubbornness and the desperate hope that he can hold out just a little longer. But as the night unfolds, his body has other plans, and no amount of willpower can fight the inevitable.

As reality comes crashing down, S7en is forced to confront a truth he’s spent his entire life ignoring—he’s not invincible. And sometimes, pretending to be okay only makes things worse.

Prologue:

S7en had never worked so hard on something in his life.

For weeks, he had been obsessively planning Elex’s birthday party—late nights spent hunched over sketches, paint drying on his fingers as he designed the perfect decorations, hours scouring online shops for the exact shade of green streamers that wouldn’t make Elex groan about “clashing aesthetics.” He’d snuck around behind his back to pull together the guest list, bribe people into secrecy, and track down the most obnoxiously over-the-top cake he could find. It had to be perfect.

Elex deserved perfect.

And, as always, Elex had no clue.

Which, honestly, wasn’t surprising. The man could smell a lie from a mile away, sniff out bullshit like a bloodhound, but when it came to anything about himself, he was painfully oblivious. S7en could have probably told him, straight-up, “Hey, I’m planning a surprise party for you,” and Elex still would have just grunted, shrugged, and gone back to chewing on whatever plastic thing he’d picked up that day.

The same way he had completely failed to notice that S7en was getting sicker by the hour.

It had started as a scratch in his throat, nothing major—just the kind of raw, dry feeling he chalked up to too many sleepless nights and the absolute joke that was his hydration levels. He ignored it, popped a cough drop, kept going. He had too much to do to slow down now.

But then it got worse.

The scratch deepened into a constant ache, turning into that burning, sandpaper sensation that made every swallow a chore. His voice had started rasping sometime around day three, but he played it off, clearing his throat and mumbling that it was just from talking too much.

Then came the congestion.

Thick. Unshakable. A slow-building pressure behind his nose and eyes that made his head feel too heavy, too tight. He kept sniffling between sentences, breath hitching every time he tried to take a full inhale, but he was damn good at keeping it subtle.

Elex never noticed.

When he felt a sneeze creeping up, he’d duck into another room, press the back of his wrist hard against his nose, and wait it out. If he got caught off guard, he’d twist away, stifling into his sleeve so violently it left him dizzy. It left his chest tight, his head pounding, but it was better than Elex hearing and asking questions.

There was too much to do.

If he let himself sneeze once, it would turn into five. Maybe ten. And if that happened, he’d never get through his never-ending to-do list.

So he fought it. Again and again.

S7en had become a professional at dodging suspicion. He had to be—Elex might have been oblivious about some things, but he wasn’t stupid. If S7en so much as sniffled too obviously, the badger would latch onto it like a feral dog with a bone.

So S7en adapted. He learned how to mask it, how to time it, how to slip away just before his body betrayed him.

But sometimes… it got close.

The first time was late—way too late.

S7en had been running on a handful of energy drinks and sheer force of will, hunched over his desk, hand-painting decorations that no one but him would care about. The apartment was silent, save for the soft glow of his desk lamp and the occasional sound of Elex shifting in his sleep.

Which was a problem.

Because that meant every single noise S7en made was way too obvious.

He had been trying—really trying—to keep himself together, but his nose was done playing nice. The burning deep in his sinuses was unbearable, and no matter how much he bit his lip or rubbed furiously at the underside of his nose, it wasn’t stopping.

The tickle teased mercilessly, rising, falling, rising again.

Don’t. Don’t. Not now.

His breath hitched.

He jerked forward, smothering the sound into his hoodie sleeve as hard as he could.

“Hhh’NGXT!—h'KXT’chh!"

He held still, heart hammering in his chest.

The silence stretched.

Then—

A sleepy mumble from the bed.

“...Why you sneezing like a bitch over there…?”

S7en froze.

Shit.

He hadn’t even realized Elex had woken up. The badger’s voice was thick with sleep, slurred and lazy, but there was just enough suspicion in it to make S7en’s stomach drop.

Think. Think.

“Fucking… dust?..,” he muttered quickly, sniffling once for effect. “The paper’s covered in it.”

A long pause.

Then—

A heavy sigh, followed by the sound of Elex flopping onto his other side.

“Go to bed, dumbass,” he mumbled.

S7en stayed still until he was sure Elex had drifted off again.

Then, finally, he slumped forward, burying his face in his arms.

Too close.

The second time was worse.

They were sitting on the couch, half-watching some dumb action movie, Elex’s feet propped up on the coffee table as he mindlessly chewed on the plastic cap of a water bottle. He was in a good mood, talking non-stop about how he "just had a feeling something cool was gonna happen" on his birthday.

Which would have been hilarious if S7en wasn’t actively trying not to sneeze on him.

His nose had been itching relentlessly for the last five minutes. That awful, creeping burn was rising up again, and no matter how much he rubbed at his nose discreetly, it wasn’t enough.

Bad timing. Really bad timing.

His breath hitched—barely enough to make a sound.

Too close.

He needed to get out of there.

Stretching his arms in an exaggerated yawn, he forced his muscles to stay loose and casual as he pushed himself off the couch.

“Gonna grab a drink,” he muttered, already heading toward the kitchen.

“Get me one,” Elex called after him, not even looking away from the screen.

S7en didn’t answer.

Because the second he was out of sight, he barely made it to the sink in time before a violent—

"Hh—! HHAHH—! HAHDT’tchhiew!! Hh—! AHHDT’tchhiiuhh!"

—ripped through him, bending him forward with the force of it.

His hands gripped the edge of the counter, breath shuddering as another chest-deep cough tore out of him immediately after. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to get it together before—

“You good in there?”

S7en nearly jumped out of his own damn skin.

Elex’s voice was casual, distracted, but S7en knew him too well.

The badger had noticed something.

Shit.

He barely had time to smother another cough into his sleeve before he forced his voice to sound normal.

“Yeah. Just—fucking—dropped something.”

A pause.

Then, mercifully, Elex just grunted, attention snapping back to the movie.

S7en exhaled slowly, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples.

Too close. Again.

By the end of the week, he knew.

This wasn’t just a cold.

The signs had been there for days, creeping up on him like a slow, inevitable landslide. At first, it had been subtle—a scratch in his throat, a little extra weight in his chest. But now? Now, every breath ached, every inhale felt like dragging air through soaked fabric.

His lungs weren’t just tight anymore. They were drowning.

And when he coughed—because, at this point, there was no fighting it anymore—it wasn’t some weak, dry little thing he could brush off. No, it was deep, raw, rattling, the kind of cough that came from somewhere low and dangerous, scraping the bottom of his lungs like a dull blade.

It hurt.

And Elex still didn’t notice.

Because S7en made sure of it.

He had perfected the art of hiding it.

Whenever Elex was around, S7en played it off like nothing was wrong. He timed his coughing fits so they happened when Elex was in the shower, when he was digging through the fridge, when he was too distracted ranting about something to notice the way S7en had to brace himself against the counter just to stay upright.

If a sneeze hit, he bit back against it with everything he had, muffling it into his hoodie sleeve until his head pounded. If he couldn’t stop it, he’d make sure to stifle it into near silence, no matter how much the pressure made his already aching sinuses throb.

His voice was going hoarse, his breathing was labored, but he pushed through, kept talking like nothing had changed.

When his hands started shaking, he simply curled his fingers tighter around whatever he was holding—a drink, his paintbrush, the edge of the counter—until they stopped trembling long enough to keep up the act.

His eyes were red-rimmed, glassy, but if Elex glanced at him for too long, he’d just mutter something about being exhausted and wave him off.

Everything needed to be done.

And he wasn’t about to let a little cold ruin it.

Even as it got harder to stand without swaying. Even as his lungs tightened like a vice with every breath. Even as his body screamed at him to just stop.

He pushed forward.

Forward. Forward. Forward.

August 10th:

The morning of Elex’s birthday should have been easy.

After all, S7en had spent weeks planning every last detail. The decorations were set up, the cake was waiting in the fridge, and their friends were in on the plan, all waiting for the big reveal later that night.

All he had to do was get through the day.

And yet, when Elex jolted awake that morning—cocky, buzzing with birthday energy, already texting half his contact list like he was about to throw himself the most legendary party of all time—S7en could barely sit up without his vision blurring at the edges.

The second he lifted his head, a fresh pulse of pain slammed through his skull, a migraine so sharp it felt like his brain was trying to escape through his eye sockets. He swallowed against the nausea, trying to ignore the way his throat burned, raw and swollen, while his chest tightened with every inhale.

Bad. Really bad.

But he didn’t have time for bad.

So, S7en forced a grin, let Elex’s nonsense birthday rambling wash over him, and powered through.

“S7en, I swear to God, my birthday instincts are going crazy today,” Elex announced, cracking open an energy drink before he was even fully sitting up.

S7en barely managed to hold back a pained wince at the sound of the can popping. Too loud.

“Oh yeah?” he croaked, then immediately regretted speaking. His voice was wrecked, rougher than usual, like he’d spent the entire night screaming into a pillow.

Not ideal.

But if Elex noticed, he didn’t say anything—too busy stretching with an exaggerated groan before flopping onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. His mismatched eyes gleamed, that lazy smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yeah. It’s like—I dunno, a sixth sense,” Elex went on, taking a sip of his drink. “Like, I just know when something big’s about to happen.”

S7en hummed, noncommittal. “Birthday instincts,” he repeated flatly.

“Exactly.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you might need a refund, dude.”

Elex snorted, waving him off. “Nah, nah, it’s real. Watch—by the end of the day, something sick is gonna go down, and I’m gonna be totally right.”

S7en bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, because if Elex had even the slightest clue about the party, he would not be this calm. But the badger, for all his cocky bravado, was utterly, hilariously clueless.

Good. That meant S7en’s work wasn’t for nothing.

But as he pushed himself up, the room lurched sideways, and his stomach twisted violently.

Shit.

He froze, pressing his hands into the mattress to steady himself, willing the dizziness to pass. But his lungs ached when he took a breath, and his ribs felt like they were wrapped in tight, unrelenting bands.

Breathe. Breathe through it.

Elex, of course, was too busy hyping himself up to notice.

“Bet something sick happens before noon,” he said, checking his phone. “Maybe I’ll win some crazy giveaway. Or, like, get free food somewhere.”

S7en forced out a breathy laugh, ignoring the sharp, rattling sensation in his chest.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Something like that.”

Because at the rate he was going?

Something was gonna happen before noon.

Just not the kind of surprise Elex was expecting.

S7en just had to get through the morning.

Then the afternoon.

Then the party.

Simple.

Except nothing about this was simple when his entire body was actively trying to betray him.

He had barely been upright for two minutes before the pressure in his sinuses flared up again, an unbearable, burning tickle crawling its way deeper. His breath caught just once—a sharp, involuntary inhale—before he forced it down, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to sting.

Not now. Not in front of Elex.

Elex, still riding his birthday ego trip, had zero idea what was going on, stretching like he had all the time in the world. Completely unaware of the absolute war S7en was fighting just two feet away.

"Alright," Elex announced, cracking his neck. "I’m thinking pancakes."

S7en barely heard him. His focus was on not sneezing.

The burning sensation spiked, his nose twitching, his breath threatening to hitch again. He clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly through his mouth, willing the tickle to settle.

No luck.

It was coming, fast.

Shit. Move.

Before Elex could glance his way, S7en swung his legs over the bed and pushed himself up, heading straight for the bathroom. Too fast. His vision swam, dizziness crashing into him all at once, but he barely managed to keep himself upright, gripping the doorframe for balance.

He shoved the door shut behind him, barely able to hold back the gasping inhale before—

"Hh—! Hhh! HAHPT’tschiew!! HAH! AHHDT’shiiiiew!!"

Fuck.

He doubled over against the counter, pressing the heel of his hand against his nose, his breath still stuttering from the sheer force of it. The moment he tried to straighten, another thick, chest-deep cough forced its way up, scraping like sandpaper in his throat.

His lungs felt wrecked. His head was pounding.

And he had approximately five seconds before Elex came looking for him.

Swallowing hard, S7en quickly turned on the sink, splashing cold water onto his face, trying to erase the obvious flush creeping into his cheeks. A second later, he heard Elex’s footsteps outside the door.

“You dying in there?”

S7en cleared his throat, ignoring the sharp pain it sent through his ribs. Make it sound normal.

“Chill,” he called back, voice rough but controlled. “Didn’t know I had to schedule my pisses around your breakfast plans.”

Elex snorted. “I mean, you do. But I’ll allow it, since it’s my birthday.”

S7en exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the sink.

Too close. Again.

By the time S7en forced himself back into the kitchen, Elex had already trashed his pancake idea in favor of raiding the fridge for anything edible. He stood with the door wide open, shoving a piece of cold pizza into his mouth like he wasn’t the absolute most unhinged person alive.

S7en could barely look at food without feeling his stomach twist unpleasantly.

"You good?" Elex asked around a mouthful, finally giving him a passing glance.

S7en shrugged, keeping his movements casual, despite the way his body screamed at him to sit the hell down.

"Tired," he muttered, heading for the cabinet where they kept their mugs. If he had something in his hands, it’d be easier to look normal.

Elex didn’t press, which was both a relief and kind of funny, considering if their situations were reversed, S7en would have had him in a chokehold demanding answers. But Elex just yawned, stretching again.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Big day. You should nap or something."

The irony almost made S7en laugh.

Yeah. Sure. Great idea. He’d get right on that.

As soon as he survived the next fourteen hours.

But as he reached for a mug, the telltale prickling started up again. His breath hitched before he could stop it.

Shit. No. Not here. Not now.

Keeping his back firmly to Elex, he pressed his wrist hard against his nose, willing it to stop. His shoulders tensed as the itch flared up, teasing mercilessly.

Hold it. Hold it. Hold it.

Elex, blissfully unaware, just kept rambling, his voice distant, drowned out by the relentless burning in S7en’s sinuses.

It was winning.

S7en had no choice.

With as much control as he could manage, he ducked his head into the crook of his arm, forcing the sneezes silent.

"Hh'NGXt! Ktchhh!—h’NNgch!"

The pressure was brutal, his skull throbbing with the effort of holding them back. His lungs seized painfully, a cough clawing its way up, but he swallowed it down, knuckles tightening around the counter.

He waited.

Nothing.

Elex hadn't noticed.

Slowly, carefully, S7en straightened, schooling his expression before turning back around.

Elex was still halfway through his pizza, scrolling through his phone with zero clue about the absolute disaster happening right in front of him.

S7en let out a shaky breath, grabbing his mug with slightly unsteady fingers.

He just had to get through the day.

That was the mantra he kept repeating in his head, over and over, like a scratched CD skipping on the same damn track. Just a few more hours. Then the party. Then the moment when Elex would finally see the absolute masterpiece S7en had spent weeks putting together. Then—maybe—he could breathe.

If his lungs still worked by then.

It was getting harder to ignore. Everything.

The aches had settled deep into his bones, like he was dragging concrete around his limbs. His head pounded relentlessly, his chest felt like it was wrapped in steel wire, and his breath was turning shallow, forced, unnatural.

And Elex?

Still didn’t notice.

Somehow.

It was actually impressive, in a way that was borderline offensive.

Because anyone with a working pair of eyes could tell that S7en was not okay.

His skin was pale, fever-glazed, dark shadows lingering beneath his eyes. His voice had gone from a little hoarse in the morning to full-blown wreckage, scraping and raw like he’d been swallowing glass shards for fun.

And yet.

Nothing.

Elex was still living in his own little birthday world, sending obnoxious texts to his friends, hyping up his own damn existence, and loudly debating whether he should get a new tattoo or a pet snake to mark the occasion.

S7en was dying in real time, and Elex was googling exotic pet names.

Ridiculous.

By the time they left the apartment, the sun was too bright, the air too sharp, and S7en was too damn tired.

He had planned to stay inside, get through some last-minute details, maybe even steal a moment to sit down and pretend his body wasn’t actively staging a rebellion.

But Elex, in all his unmatched, chaotic glory, had insisted on going out.

“It’s my birthday,” he had said, flashing a grin that should be illegal. “You’re legally required to follow me around and do dumb shit all day.”

S7en had just barely held back a groan.

The first stop was some hole-in-the-wall shop Elex swore had the best snacks on the planet. S7en, running on sheer force of will and the lingering effects of a third energy drink, followed him in, head pounding, lungs on fire.

He was so focused on staying upright that he didn’t notice the way his sinuses had been slowly tightening, congestion pressing like a vice behind his eyes.

Then, as he shifted his weight, something shifted with it.

A sudden, sharp readjustment deep in his sinuses sent a blinding tickle straight through his nose, pressure tipping over into something unstoppable.

Oh, fuck.

His breath hitched dangerously, his nostrils twitching, the overwhelming sensation building too fast for him to fight.

Not here. Not now.

He turned sharply on his heel, heading toward the corner of the store, hand clamped over his nose.

The moment he was out of sight, he braced against the shelf, burying his face into his sleeve as his body gave up.

“Hh—HhAH’DTschhh! Hh! HHhih—! HAHDT’tchhhiiew! Hhh! AHHDT’tsschueh!!!”

His ribs screamed in protest, his vision swimming from the sheer force of it. His breath hitched again, another wracking cough tearing out of him immediately after, leaving him shaking, dizzy, breathless.

Too much. Way too much.

He forced himself upright, swallowing against the rawness in his throat, fingers digging into the shelf for balance. He needed to move before—

“Sven?”

Shit.

He barely had time to school his face into something remotely normal before Elex appeared around the corner, holding a pack of sour candy and a soda, looking infuriatingly relaxed.

“You find something?” Elex asked, popping open the drink like nothing was wrong.

S7en cleared his throat, biting back the unbearable urge to cough again. “Nah. Just looking.”

Elex blinked at him, then tilted his head slightly.

For half a second, S7en thought—hoped, really—that maybe Elex was finally putting two and two together. That he’d look at him and actually see what was happening.

But then the badger just shrugged.

“Cool. Let’s hit the gas station. I wanna see if they have those weird energy drinks from Japan.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

S7en swallowed back another cough, another wave of exhaustion, and nodded.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice scraping at the sides. “Sure.”

And without much more, he followed Elex back out into the sun, lungs screaming, heart pounding, the warmth of the afternoon too sharp, too heavy against his feverish skin.

The heat pressed down on him like a weight, making the air feel thicker, harder to breathe, and for a moment, as they stepped onto the sidewalk, the world tilted dangerously beneath his feet. He forced himself forward, keeping his stride even, controlled, ignoring the way his vision blurred at the edges.

The party was just a few hours away.

He just had to last a little longer.

But his body? His body was done.

The fever that had been simmering beneath his skin all morning had finally boiled over, turning into a suffocating, all-encompassing heat that made the world feel distant and unreal. He felt like he was walking through a fog, slow and sluggish, barely tethered to his own movements.

His hoodie, usually something soft, comforting, familiar, now felt like a weight pressing down on his overheated body. The fabric clung to his skin like insulation, trapping the fever in, suffocating him from the inside out.

It was getting harder to think.

Harder to breathe.

Every inhale was tight, shallow, unsatisfying, as if the air itself had thickened, turning into something too dense to pull into his lungs. He knew he should have eaten something, but the mere thought of food made his stomach twist violently, nausea crawling up his throat.

But none of it mattered.

None of it could matter.

Because Elex was still completely oblivious.

So when the badger shoved his phone into his pocket and announced they were going to the arcade, S7en nodded.

When Elex cracked another joke about his “birthday instincts,” S7en forced out a laugh, even though his ribs ached from the effort.

And when a sneeze built out of nowhere, sharp and relentless, he bit down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to sting, forcing it back, forcing his breath to even out before it could betray him.

It was fine.

He could do this.

And then—

Elex threw an arm around his shoulders, dragging him closer, leaning some of his weight into him in that effortless, careless way he always did.

S7en felt his legs nearly give out beneath him.

It was only for a second. A brief, involuntary dip in his balance that he corrected just in time, locking his muscles in place before he could actually collapse.

Elex didn’t notice.

Because of course he didn’t.

He just kept talking, laughing, existing, completely unaware that the world around S7en had started to tilt dangerously again.

That the sounds of the arcade were beginning to blur into a low, distant hum.

That every inhale was tighter, shallower, harder to take in.

That S7en, for the first time all day, wasn’t sure if he could keep this up.

A single thought forced its way through the haze.

You’re not gonna make it to the party.

The arcade was a neon-lit blur, the pounding music and overlapping voices slamming into his skull like a hammer to glass. His fever had reached new, unbearable heights, making the room feel hot and cold all at once, the flashing lights too bright, the noise too much.

And still—he kept moving.

Elex was having the time of his life, completely in his element, button-mashing through some fighting game like it was a life-or-death battle. S7en barely processed what was happening, just stood there, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, rocking slightly on his heels to keep himself upright.

The floor tilted beneath him again, nausea coiling tight in his stomach.

Just a little longer.

Just a little—

“Dude, you’re terrible at this,” Elex announced, nudging him toward the machine. “Come on, you gotta play at least once. Birthday rules.”

S7en knew if he sat down, he wasn’t getting back up.

But Elex was staring at him now, actually looking at him, and S7en had to move, had to do something, had to make sure Elex didn’t catch on.

So he shrugged, smirked through the absolute exhaustion dragging at his limbs, and picked up the controller.

The match was a disaster.

His hands were too shaky, his reflexes too slow, but somehow—somehow—he made it through without drawing too much attention.

By the time they left the arcade, the sun had begun to set, and the cool air should have felt refreshing. Instead, it only made his fever chills worse.

S7en barely made it through the door before he was shrugging off his hoodie, the fabric sticking to his overheated skin. His t-shirt underneath was just as bad, suffocating, but Elex was already grabbing beers from the fridge, completely unaware of the absolute train wreck standing behind him.

Elex tossed one over without looking.

“Happy birthday to me,” he announced, cracking his open. “Now drink, coward.”

S7en caught the can out of reflex, but the thought of alcohol sent an immediate wave of nausea rolling through him. He hesitated, fingers tightening around the cold metal, trying to psych himself up.

If he refused, Elex would notice.

So he lifted it, took a sip—

And nearly gagged.

The second the liquid hit his throat, his stomach flipped violently, his body rejecting it on instinct. He swallowed it down, forcing his expression to stay neutral, relaxed, normal, but the warmth rising in his throat told a different story.

Fuck.

The carbonation burned going down, only agitating his raw, sore throat further. He barely contained a cough, throat clenching as he forced himself to lower the can casually, like nothing was wrong.

Mercifully, Elex had already turned away, completely distracted by his phone buzzing on the counter.

“Rex?” he muttered, before picking up.

S7en exhaled silently, relief cutting through the fever haze.

“Yo, what’s up?” Elex answered, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder as he grabbed his keys.

S7en barely processed the conversation, his focus slipping in and out as Elex and Rexar started talking about car problems, something about the transmission, something about a weird noise.

Then, finally—finally—Elex headed for the door.

“I’m gonna check my car while I talk him through this,” he said, already halfway outside. “Don’t drink all my beer while I’m gone.”

S7en barely managed a smirk, lifting the can in mock cheers as the door swung shut.

The second the lock clicked, his whole body gave up.

The first cough was immediate, tearing through his chest with enough force to make him double over against the counter. The sound crashed through the empty kitchen, harsh and unrestrained, his body finally allowed to react after an entire day of suppression.

Then another. And another.

It was unstoppable now, his body making up for all the times he’d held it back, a brutal mix of hacking, gasping coughs and desperate, shuddering sneezes.

"Hh—hhAHH’Tschh! Hhh—! HhhAHH—! HAHDT’tchhhiew!! Hhh! AHHDT’tschhhiu!!"

His body jerked forward with each one, raw, painful, messy—his breath barely catching before another slammed into him. His hand scrambled blindly for his phone, barely able to see through fever-glazed eyes as he pulled up his contact list.

The party. The guests. He needed to check the plans.

He hit the first name.

Freya.

Her face appeared on screen, and the second the call connected, she took one look at him and frowned.

"Geezus, S7en. You look like death.”

S7en sniffled hard, rubbing at his nose with his wrist, attempting to smirk, but it came out more like a grimace.

“Damn, angel, don’t hold back,” he rasped.

Freya narrowed her eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Are you seriously still running this party?"

"Obviously."

"You can barely hold your damn phone up."

S7en rolled his eyes, regretted it immediately when the movement made his head swim. "I’m good."

Freya looked like she wanted to reach through the screen and shake him, but before she could argue, another rapid-fire sneezing fit tore through him, leaving him breathless and hunched forward over the counter.

"Hhh! HAH—hhAHDT'shhiiew!! hHh—! HhHPTT’tchhiEW!! hh—! HAHHDT’tchhIEEW!!”

Freya just stared.

Then—flatly: “Uh-huh. Sure. You sound great.”

S7en groaned, sniffling thickly as he waved her off.

"Look, just—are we still good for eight? I don’t have time for a lecture.”

She sighed, clearly not thrilled, but nodded. "Yeah. Everything’s set."

"Good. See you then."

And with that, he ended the call before she could press him further.

Next.

Kriia picked up on the second ring.

And just like Freya, she took one look at him and immediately frowned.

"Yo. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Evening to you, too," he muttered, sniffling into his sleeve.

"You look like you lost a fight. With, like. A bus."

S7en snorted, regretted it instantly as another cough tore through his chest, sending a sharp, tearing pain through his ribs.

Kriia’s expression shifted, concern settling in. "Dude. Are you sure you should be doing this?"

S7en waved her off before she could start, ignoring the way his vision blurred at the edges.

"It’s Elex’s birthday. I’m not ruining it.”

Kriia exhaled slowly, like she was debating whether to fight him on this. But in the end, she just muttered, "Your funeral, man," before confirming the plans.

S7en ended the call and dropped his phone onto the counter, fingers digging into the surface as another wave of dizziness hit.

The door clicked open again.

Shit.

His body snapped upright on instinct, throat still burning, lungs still raw, but Elex was already stepping inside, phone tucked away, beer still in hand.

"Apparently Rex’s transmission’s fucked," he muttered, completely unaware of what had just happened.

S7en forced a half-smirk, voice barely above a whisper.

"Tough break."

Elex flopped onto the couch.

"Whatever. Commute’s gonna be shit, though."

S7en swallowed hard, ignoring the fire in his chest.

"Yeah," he murmured.

Everything was too hot, too loud, too sharp at the edges. His body was dragging, fever weighing him down like cement blocks strapped to his limbs, but the worst part was his head. It was pounding relentlessly, a deep, throbbing ache that had settled right behind his eyes, making his vision swim every time he moved too fast.

And yet—he still almost forgot the damn restaurant reservations.

It wasn’t until Elex, now two beers deep, kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and stretched like he had no plans to move for the rest of the night that it finally hit him.

Shit.

"Alright, get up," S7en said, standing way too fast. The floor tilted. He gritted his teeth, planted his feet, forced himself to stay upright. "We got dinner reservations."

Elex blinked at him, caught mid-yawn. "Wait—what?"

S7en sighed, rolling his eyes like his head wasn’t spinning in slow, miserable circles. "You really thought I wasn’t taking you out for dinner? What kind of boyfriend would I be?"

That earned him a grin, lazy and smug. "Damn. I really am the best."

S7en snorted. "Uh-huh. Now get your shoes on."

And just like that, the plan was back on track.

As long as S7en didn’t pass out before they got there.

The drive was a blur.

S7en shouldn’t have been driving. He knew that.

His vision swam every time he shifted lanes, his hands felt unsteady on the wheel, and every time he blinked, his fever-hazed brain took just a little too long to process what was in front of him.

But if he let Elex drive, that meant questions. That meant attention. That meant a risk he couldn’t afford to take.

So he forced his fingers to grip the wheel tighter, focused on the road like his life depended on it.

Which, honestly, it probably did.

By the time they pulled into the restaurant parking lot, his knuckles were white from how hard he’d been holding on.

Just a little longer.

Except—when they got inside, it all went to hell.

S7en barely processed what the hostess was saying at first, his fever-glazed brain lagging behind reality.

“…I’m really sorry about the mix-up, but unfortunately, we don’t have a reservation under that name.”

S7en blinked. "…What?"

The hostess winced. "It looks like there was an error in our system, and we’re completely booked for the night."

Elex frowned, looking at S7en. "Didn’t you book this, like, a week ago?"

"Yeah," S7en rasped, throat raw, jaw tightening. He turned back to the hostess, forcing himself to stay calm. "So… what’s the wait time?"

She gave an awkward smile.

"About two hours."

S7en nearly laughed out of sheer exhaustion.

Elex sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Welp. Guess we’re going home, then."

And for the first time all day, luck was on S7en’s side.

Because that was exactly what he needed to happen.

He gave the hostess a half-hearted nod before turning back toward the door, shoulders tense, every muscle aching.

Fine. Home it was.

S7en still should not have been driving.

His head was swimming, the world tilting at the edges, but he was too stubborn, too deep into the lie to stop now.

Elex, meanwhile, was perfectly content, reclining in the passenger seat like he hadn’t a single care in the world. "Honestly, I wasn’t that hungry anyway," he mused. "Good call, though. The universe clearly wants me to have homemade pizza instead."

S7en made a noise that might have been agreement, though it came out more like a weak exhale.

His grip on the wheel was tight, too tight, but he didn’t trust himself to loosen his fingers without them shaking.

Then—a problem.

The congestion that had been building behind his eyes all day shifted suddenly, sending a sharp, burning tickle straight through his sinuses.

His breath hitched violently, the urge to sneeze crashing into him like a tidal wave.

No. Not now. Not while driving.

He swallowed hard, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, clenching his jaw so tightly it hurt. His fingers flexed against the wheel, breath quivering, trying desperately to force it back down.

It wasn’t working.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

His vision blurred, breath stuttering, but just as his body jerked forward involuntarily, he lunged for the volume knob on the radio, cranking it up just in time.

"Hh’NGXT! K’tshhh!—h’NNgch!"

The pressure made his ears ring, his head throb twice as hard, but Elex didn’t even flinch.

"Okay, why the hell is the music so loud now?"

S7en sniffled subtly, shifting in his seat. "Needed to wake myself up."

Elex huffed a laugh. "Damn. Didn’t know dinner cancellation trauma hit you that hard."

S7en forced a smirk, even as his sinuses screamed in protest. "Devastating."

And then, thankfully, mercifully, they pulled into the apartment lot.

The second the car was in park, S7en let go of the wheel like it had burned him. His fingers were stiff, locked from how tightly he’d been gripping it the whole drive.

Elex stretched, groaning dramatically. "Man, what a weird-ass birthday. Hopefully, the universe has one more surprise left for me."

Yeah.

You have no idea.

S7en forced himself to stand, lungs protesting, vision blurring dangerously for just a moment.

Almost there.

He just had to get inside.

Just a few more steps.

Just a little—

His breath hitched again, and he clenched his jaw, swallowing it down.

Not yet.

Not until he was alone.

S7en barely made it through the door before chaos erupted.

“SURPRISE!”

The apartment exploded with noise—cheering, shouting, laughter—all blending into one deafening wall of sound.

Elex’s reaction was instantaneous.

His fists shot up, body twisting instinctively, already halfway through swinging on whoever had dared to startle him.

For a split second, S7en had a horrifying vision of Freya or Kriia getting decked in the face, but just as Elex’s arm tensed, realization hit.

His narrowed eyes scanned the room, taking in the decorations, the crowd of friends, the drinks already in waiting hands.

Then—he turned to S7en.

That stupid, crooked grin stretched across his face, all sharp teeth and amusement, his previous fight mode already forgotten.

“You little shit,” he muttered, clapping a heavy hand on S7en’s shoulder, shaking him a little. “You actually got me.”

S7en barely held back a grimace at the sudden contact, his body thrumming with exhaustion, but he forced himself to grin through it.

“Told you your birthday instincts were trash,” he rasped, barely audible over the noise.

Elex laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah—okay, you win.”

The moment should have felt like victory.

And in a way, it did.

S7en had done it. The party had come together exactly how he planned, every detail falling into place just as he had imagined.

He had made it.

But as the music turned up, as drinks started passing between hands, as people settled into the celebration, S7en realized—

He still had to survive the rest of the night...

By the time everyone had arrived, the apartment was a perfect mix of chaos and celebration.

Music blasted. Drinks flowed. Elex was in his element, soaking up the attention, grinning like an idiot as his friends hyped him up.

S7en stayed near the edges, tucked into the background, letting the night move around him.

Everything felt far away, like he was watching the party from the other side of a glass wall. The fever had dragged him into a dreamlike haze, every noise muffled, every movement just slightly out of sync.

Still, he could see Elex—laughing, teasing, play-fighting with Rexar over some inside joke about "Toad Biscuit" merch.

The night blurred around him—colors bleeding together, laughter twisting into an indistinct hum, the weight of the room pressing down too heavy, too hot, too much.

S7en had spent the entire day pushing forward, ignoring the way his body was crumbling beneath him.

This was the last thing.

Just one more step.

One more task.

Someone called for cake.

The words barely registered, muffled beneath the fever’s grip, but his body moved on instinct.

S7en stepped toward the table, striking a match with trembling fingers.

The tiny flicker of fire blurred before his eyes, swaying unnaturally, and it took him a second too long to realize—it wasn’t the flame that was moving.

It was him.

The floor lurched beneath him like the ground had been ripped out from under his feet.

His chest tightened—seized—refused to expand.

A sharp, deafening ringing filled his ears.

His vision tilted violently, everything twisting into a warped, spinning mess of distorted colors and movement.

Far away—too far away—he could hear Elex’s voice, lighthearted, distracted, still caught up in the conversation, still completely unaware.

S7en tried to step forward—to finish what he started, to keep going, to keep standing—

But his knees buckled.

His breath stuttered dangerously, shallow and weak, his body losing the battle he had forced it to fight all day.

And then—

Elex’s voice sharpened, cut through the fog.

Something in his tone shifted—not joking anymore, not distracted anymore.

Alarm.

Realization.

“Wait—Sven!?”

Elex saw it happening.

But he was too far.

He was on the other side of the room, still surrounded by people, still grinning one second ago, still completely oblivious to just how wrong things were.

Then he turned.

And his stomach dropped.

He saw it—the way S7en swayed violently, the way his fingers slipped, the way his breath hitched in a way that had nothing to do with laughter.

His body was giving out.

Too fast.

Too soon.

Elex moved instantly, shoving through the crowd, but he was too late.

S7en’s body tilted forward, his orange eyes rolling back slightly.

The match slipped from his fingers, flame snuffing out before it even hit the ground.

His legs crumpled.

And before Elex could reach him—before anyone could react—

S7en hit the floor.

S7en drifted somewhere between consciousness and nothingness, floating in the thick, fevered haze of half-awareness. His body felt heavy, his limbs like lead, his chest wrapped in tight, suffocating bands that wouldn’t let him breathe fully.

He could hear voices.

Familiar, but distant—like sound carried through waterlogged fabric, muffled and uneven.

Then, one voice cut through the haze, clear and sharp.

“His blood oxygen was at eighty-one percent when they brought him in.”

That was bad. Even he knew that was bad.

A sigh—low, exasperated, but not surprised.

Elex.

“Geezus fuck,” he muttered, voice strained with something tired, frustrated, guilty.

The other voice—a woman’s—continued speaking, firm but calm, the kind of voice used to dealing with stubborn, repeat offenders.

“He has pretty severe pneumonia," she said, matter-of-fact. "You’re lucky he passed out when he did. If he’d stayed upright much longer, he probably would’ve just stopped breathing entirely.”

S7en didn’t have to see Elex’s face to know exactly what expression he was making.

Jaw clenched.

Hand rubbing over his face.

That rare moment when Elex wasn’t just annoyed, but genuinely upset.

And not at anyone else.

At himself.

S7en could practically hear the weight settle in his voice when he muttered, “…I should’ve noticed.”

The woman—whose voice was familiar in a way that took too much effort to place—sighed through her nose, not unkind, but firm.

"Yeah," she agreed bluntly. "You should have."

A pause.

Then—paper rustling, the sound of something being shifted from one hand to another.

“These are his prescriptions,” she continued. “Antibiotics, steroids, inhalers—we’re trying these this time. Make sure he actually takes them.”

That voice.

The realization hit sluggishly.

ER nurse.

He knew her.

She had been there every time he’d landed himself in this exact same situation.

Enough times to know him by name.

God, that was embarrassing.

Elex sighed again, and S7en could hear the distinct crinkle of the paper bag as he took it from her.

His voice was quieter this time. Tired. Guilty.

“I got it,” he murmured.

Another pause.

Then—her voice softened just slightly.

“Just… be more observant next time, yeah?”

No sharpness now, just gentle warning.

“Could be worse, next time.”

No argument. No defensive retort.

Just the quiet sound of Elex nodding.

S7en wanted to laugh.

If only he had the breath for it.

After a moment, a long, heavy sigh broke through the silence.

Then—the soft creak of a chair being dragged across the tile.

S7en felt more than heard Elex drop into the seat next to his hospital bed, elbows resting on his knees, the weight of exhaustion settling into his frame.

Then came the sound of both hands dragging down his face, a quiet but telling frustration behind it.

S7en almost would’ve gotten away with pretending to still be asleep.

Almost.

Except—his damn ear twitched.

Elex caught it immediately.

"I know you’re awake, dumbass," he muttered, voice low and uncharacteristically gentle.

S7en hesitated.

Then, slowly, he cracked his eyes open, squinting against the harsh fluorescent light overhead. The world swam for a moment before settling, and when his vision finally focused, the first thing he saw was Elex watching him.

Worried. Tired. Like he’d just come back from a war he hadn’t even realized he was fighting.

S7en’s ears flattened instinctively in embarrassment, a quiet flicker of shame settling in his chest.

The room was small, sterile, impersonal—the same goddamn hospital he had spent far too much time in over the years.

And the weight of his failure hit him all at once.

This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.

A shift in his nose made him suddenly aware of the cannula, delivering pure oxygen to his wasted lungs.

His fingers twitched, reaching up to pull it off, but Elex’s hand was there first—firm but gentle, gripping his forearm.

"Don’t," Elex said softly.

S7en stilled, swallowing hard, ears pinning further against his head.

A beat of silence.

Then, in the same quiet, unusually careful voice, Elex asked,

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

S7en hated how much that question hurt.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Elex. Instead, he dropped his gaze to his lap, claws absently picking at the thin hospital blanket.

"I—" He stopped, voice raw, barely above a whisper. He swallowed, trying again.

"I didn’t want to be the reason your birthday sucked…"

Elex stiffened slightly.

S7en continued, ears still pressed flat, tail curling closer to himself.

"I worked so hard to make it perfect," he muttered, barely breathing the words. "And after everything, we’re still here. Another—" his voice wavered, thick with frustration, "another claustrophobic, shitty little hospital room."

Silence.

S7en braced himself for Elex to be pissed. For the usual snark, sarcasm, maybe even an exasperated rant.

But instead—

Elex sighed, slow and deep, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer than S7en had ever heard it.

"Dude. I don’t give a shit about some stupid party."

S7en blinked, glancing up at him hesitantly.

Elex ran a hand through his messy, dark green hair, shaking his head. "You really think I care about that more than you literally—collapsing in front of me?" His voice wavered slightly, jaw clenching before he forced it back down.

S7en didn't know what to say.

Elex exhaled sharply, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees.

"I should’ve noticed." The words came out quiet, guilty. "I mean, fuck, you looked awful all day. I just—I was too caught up in my own bullshit to pay attention."

S7en shook his head weakly, ears twitching. "Not your fault."

"Not entirely," Elex agreed, mouth quirking slightly. Then, more serious, "But you’ve gotta stop doing this, man."

S7en swallowed, feeling suddenly very small.

"You don’t have to—I don’t know—carry everything yourself," Elex continued, voice softer now, tired but firm. "It’s okay to tap out sometimes. Party or not."

S7en hesitated.

Then—finally—he met Elex’s gaze.

And what he saw there wasn’t annoyance, or frustration, or the usual bullshit banter.

It was genuine concern.

That made something tighten in his chest in a way that had nothing to do with pneumonia.

The corner of Elex’s mouth twitched into something softer, and after a pause, he added,

"By the way, next time you try to fake being fine, maybe don’t fucking pass out in the middle of a party. Kinda ruins the illusion."

Despite himself, despite everything, S7en huffed a weak, breathless laugh.

"Noted."

Elex rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it.

And for the first time all day, S7en finally let himself relax.

The end 🖤

36 notes · View notes

aller-geez · 19 days ago

Note

hey I don’t know if you are still taking Fic requests and if you aren’t totally get it but if you are may I request a sick and super sneezy Kriia fic? I don’t have a lot of specifics tbh she’s just one of my favorites and I wanted to request a fic of her 😅. Again if you aren’t taking any more I totally get it.

Hey there Nonny!

Wow I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to go through these fic requests! I’ve been working on my book so much it’s hard to find time to get to them all 🥲

Sorry that this got way too fluffy at the end, I can’t help it, they’re just my favorite right now 🥲

How to Have A Bad Day

Written & illustrated by: allergeez✨

Summary: In a snowbound city where glamour and grit coexist, Kriia, a determined but deeply under-the-weather performer, pushes through a punishing winter day to get what she’s earned. What begins as a simple trip to pick up her paycheck spirals into a fever-drenched journey of sheer willpower, resilience, and quiet vulnerability. Navigating freezing streets, social isolation, and her own deteriorating health, Kriia’s struggle is both poignant and painfully real. Amidst a swirl of sleet, neon lights, and relentless sneezes, her trek becomes a raw testament to the aching beauty of being cared for—just when you need it most. 3.9k words

Kriia wasn’t fit to be anywhere but in bed. Her head throbbed like a subwoofer at a rave, her nose was a faucet with a vendetta, and every inhale triggered a breathless tickle that built behind her sinuses like storm clouds ready to split wide open. Still, it was payday—and even if she was falling apart, her rent sure wasn’t. So she’d dragged herself out of her nest of blankets, throat raw, face flushed, and hoodie sleeves crusted with a thin layer of snot from her wiping her nose all night after its marathon on running, to stumble through the club doors like some kind of congested ghost.

The scent of perfume, sweat, and dollar bills hit her like a slap. The lights were low and hazy, throwing shimmery shadows over the main floor where the dancers were mid-set—goddesses in glitter and stilettos, lithe and electric as they arched and twisted around the pole. The bass thumped underfoot, rattling in her sinuses in the worst way.

“hh…H’Kxtchh!—h’Tschkkt! ngsh! H’NgXt! Hh‘gsch!”

Kriia stifled violently into the crook of her arm, jerking with each suppressed sneeze, the force leaving her blinking and dizzy. Her deep purple eyes streamed. Her nose was a miserable shade of red, and she sniffled harshly, her breath catching on another insistent tickle.

“hh’KNNxxgt—! Hh’Tsshhgnk!…k’gnsh! N’gxt! ….. Ughhh.”

The girls who usually danced alongside her glanced over with well-practiced disinterest—that is, until the sneezes started coming in thick, helpless fits. Then came the sidelong looks, the subtle recoils, the exaggerated scoots away. One girl pulled a silk robe tighter around her shoulders, muttering something under her breath about “airborne death.” Kriia didn’t blame them. She sounded contagious as hell.

Tissues crinkled in her hoodie pocket as she fished one out mid-step, pressing it to her nose for a desperate blow. Her breath hitched again—

“Nnch! Nkch! Ktch! Nkcht! Hh‘gsch!!!—”

She swayed in place, lightheaded, her voice a ragged whisper when she finally spoke: “Fff—fuck, okay. Jus’ get the check. Id add out. Easy…”

Easier said than done.

Chandra, her boss and the human embodiment of tight-laced grace under fire, was posted in the furthest booth, clipboard in hand and her gorgeously messy ringlet curls pinned perfectly behind her ears. She didn’t notice Kriia at first—not until the path cleared around her like a ripple effect, a single sickly elf girl trudging forward through a growing radius of avoidance. When Kriia locked eyes with her across the club, Chandra’s expression flickered. Panic. Thinly veiled horror. Then she composed herself like the seasoned pro she was.

Kriia barely made it a few feet from her before the tickle in her nose surged again with cruel, burning persistence.

“hh’tSCHtuhh!—hh’NGXshh!!—Hh-N’gxt! Heh’n’gtx! Huhhh.. n’gtx!!”

They tumbled from her in desperate, breathless bursts, head snapping forward each time, muffled only slightly by the now-damp tissue in her hand. Nearby patrons glanced over, recoiling in sync. One man full-on got up and moved tables.

“Don’t bi’d be,” she rasped, voice hoarse and breathy, waving vaguely as her next sneeze built in her throat. “Just fugki’g dyigg over here. Just—h’gTShhHh! hiIh’nG-kT—-!!”

When she finally reached Chandra, sniffling miserably, the woman pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed with enough weight to shift tectonic plates.

“Kriia,” she said, her voice flat, “I thought you called out sick.”

“I did,” Kriia croaked, nose twitching helplessly again. “But it’s payday, and I’b dot that sick—Nkcht! Hh‘gsch!! Nngch! H’tshhkt!! ngsh! H’NgXt! ”

“Jesus, you sound like a dying cat in a blender,” Chandra muttered, grimacing and holding the clipboard between them like a shield. “Give me five seconds to print your check. Do not sneeze on anything. Or anyone.”

“No prohh’GXNXshht!”—Kriia turned halfway, doubled over again into her sleeve. “…do probleb.”

At least, she thought as she blew her nose as discreetly as she could, she was already banned from touching the pole for a week. Small mercies.

By the time Kriia had her check folded and tucked into her hoodie pocket (between a packet of tissues and a crushed cough drop), her nose had given up entirely on the idea of functioning. It ran constantly, a drip that wouldn’t stop, even as she sniffled hard enough to make her sinuses scream in protest.

Outside, the world had turned into a white, whispering blur.

“Rex, baby, pleaaaaaase,” she whined into her phone, her voice nearly unrecognizable. “I wouldd’t ask udless I really deeded it. I feel like shiiit.”

On the other end of the line, Rexar’s voice was warm but firm. “Babe, if I could get away from this family thing, I would be there. I swear. But they’ve got the doors locked, and I think Theren’s been crying for twenty minutes straight.”

Kriia let out a congested groan, fog misting from her lips in the frigid air. “Whad about Rebi?”

Rex sighed. “His truck broke down again yesterday, I’m sorry babygirl. I’ll be back soon though, okay?”

She hung up, pocketed her phone with a heavy sniffle, and braced herself against the wind. The city street was a slushy mess, snow coming down sideways, stinging against her flushed cheeks. The walk home wasn’t long—maybe twenty minutes—but in her condition, it felt like a cursed pilgrimage.

Kriia buried her hands in the sleeves of her hoodie, shoulders hunched. Every breath she took felt like inhaling ice needles, and her nose tickled constantly from the cold. Her body gave a betrayed warning shiver.

“hh’Hnngxtchh!—h’kTSHHt! Hehh… hhh’Gkchhnntt!”

She tried to muffle them into her scarf, but the wet fabric clung to her mouth and only made her feel more suffocated. Her eyes streamed as she stumbled down the sidewalk, boots splashing through slush puddles, lashes frosted over and trembling from another oncoming fit.

“Hhhuhhh’TSCHHHhuh! Hh—hh-Nnch! Nkch! Ktch!—fuhhh—Nkcht! Hh‘gsch!!!—!”

Her legs shook with the effort, the world tilting just slightly beneath her. A kind older woman passing by gave her a wide berth, wrinkling her nose and walking faster. Kriia didn’t blame her. She sounded like the harbinger of a new strain of plague.

Halfway home, she ducked under the overhang of a closed florist shop, coughing raggedly into her elbow, eyes fluttering shut. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed sandpaper, her sinuses packed so tight it was a miracle she could still breathe through her mouth.

She reached into her pocket, fumbling for tissues—already damp, half-shredded—and pressed one to her nose just in time for another rapid-fire fit:

“hh’NKTschhh! hihh-N’gxt! Heh’n’gtx! Huhhh.. n’gtx!!”

When the world stopped spinning, she stayed huddled there for a moment, steam rising off her in the icy dusk, trying to summon the willpower to keep going.

But she did.

Because the sooner she got home, the sooner she could curl into a nest of blankets and hopefully pass out with Rex’s hoodie over her head and a hot water bottle to her chest.

She just had to survive ten more minutes.

And about thirty more sneezes.

The town of Vekin Hook glittered under a thick, ghostly veil of snow. Streetlights shimmered like frozen stars, casting hazy halos in the flurrying white. But none of that was beautiful to Kriia.

She could barely see it through the mess her body had become.

The wind howled mercilessly, tugging at her hood and sneaking through every gap in her clothes like it knew she was weak. Her crimson hair was soaked, sticking to her cheeks in icy strands. Her eyes—usually sharp and glowing with purpose—were glassy now, brimming with tears that refused to fall, blurred further by the unstoppable tickle deep in her sinuses.

“Nkcht! Hh‘gsch!! Nnnhg…. Hh—! Nngch! Hh-H’tshhkt!! ngsh! H’NgXt”

Her head snapped forward with every sneeze, making her stumble in the snowdrifts that lapped at her thighs. She hardly had time to recover between them. They came in desperate clusters, tearing through her like her own body was rebelling.

She gasped as another shiver rattled her bones. Her nose—red, sore, and leaking despite the pathetic wad of tissue she clung to—dripped relentlessly, leaving a damp trail down her philtrum and chin. Some of it had started to freeze along the edge of her scarf, stiffening in the bitter air. Her breath came in hiccuping, fogged bursts.

“h hh…H’Kxtchh!—h’Tschkkt! ngsh! H’NgXt! Hh‘gsch!”

She nearly tripped over her own boots as she staggered onto the last stretch of the walk. Rexar’s estate finally rose into view at the end of the street like a lighthouse through a snowstorm—massive, elegant, black stone walls crusted with snow and glowing faintly with firelight through the stained glass windows.

“F-Finally,” Kriia wheezed, voice sanded down to dust. “I’m… hhihh— h’gTShhHh! hiIh’nG-kT—-!!!—h-home.”

She half-sobbed as she made it to the door, snow crusting her knees and ankles, nose running like a faucet, body aching like she’d been thrown into a frozen river and left there to drown.

With shaking, blue-tinged fingers, she dug into her hoodie pocket. Crumpled tissues. Payday check. Another used tissue. No keys.

Her breath caught.

She patted her other pockets. Back ones. Coat lining.

Nothing.

A sick, quiet horror crept in.

“No. No, no, no, no—” she rasped, pressing her forehead to the door. “I had th’b-hh’CHhhkkt!—th’buhh—hhGNTchhh!—thehm this borning—hhhhuhhh…”

She turned slowly, like in a dream, and slumped down against the frozen front steps, arms wrapped around her knees.

Locked out.

It was almost funny.

Almost.

The tears came then, hot against frozen cheeks, streaking down a face already flushed with fever. Her nose dripped freely, breath coming in congested gasps. She didn’t even try to cover the next fit—there was no one around to see her anyway.

“Heh’n’gtx! Huhhh.. n’gtx! Hh‘gsch! Hh-hehh-k’gnsh! Ngt’chh! Hhptt’CH!!”

Her body curled forward each time, shoulders trembling, breath hitching with miserable inevitability.

And then… silence.

Just the soft whisper of snow falling around her, building up on her back, clinging to her lashes.

She didn’t have the strength to cry anymore.

But gods, she hoped someone would come home soon.

The cold had teeth.

Kriia sat hunched on the steps of the estate, snow blanketing her like she was just another piece of the scenery. Her hoodie was soaked through, sleeves stiff with half-frozen snot and tears. The small stack of tissues she'd once clung to had long since disintegrated in her hands, and she had nothing left to fight with but the crook of her elbow—and even that was damp, useless.

Her breath hitched again. She could feel it coming, like static crawling along her spine.

“hh-HHT’CHHh’uhhh! H’GSHHHt! hh’KTSHHhh-uhhh!”

She pitched forward with each one, crimson hair bouncing as the sneezes dragged her with them. They were relentless now—coming in waves that blurred together, leaving her dizzy and blinking at the swirling snow with glassy, purple eyes.

“hh’NKTschhh! hihh-N’gxt! Heh’n’gtx! Huhhh.. n’gtx!!”

Each one tore through her chest, wet and painful and loud. Her nose dripped with reckless abandon, a thin line running down her upper lip that she couldn’t stop, couldn’t hide, couldn’t do anything about except sob a little under her breath.

She sniffled thickly, but it did nothing—her sinuses were a wreck, raw and swollen and stuffed to the brim. The congestion had crept down into her chest, too, making every breath a struggle.

She wiped her face on her sleeve again with a whimper, blinking hard against the freezing burn in her eyes. “F-Fuggk,” she muttered weakly, voice shredded. “This is so... so stuhhh—hh’ihhH’TCHHHuhh!—stupid...”

She didn’t even hear the hummer pulling up over the wind.

But Rexar did.

And when his headlights lit up the front porch and caught a glimpse of the crumpled shape on the steps, his heart stuttered in his chest.

“Kriia?!”

The car was still running when he leapt out, slamming the door behind him, boots crunching across the snow. His entire frame was tense, ember-ringed eyes wide and horrified as he reached her.

“Babygirl—what the hell—” He dropped to his knees beside her, cupping her flushed, icy cheeks in his huge hands. “Why are you out here? Why didn’t you call me? You’re—shit, you’re burning up.”

Kriia tried to answer, but it dissolved instantly into another fit.

“Hh‘gsch!! Nnnhg…. Hh—! Nngch! Hh-H’tshhkt!! ngsh! H’NgXt”

Her whole body rocked, barely holding together, nose running freely now as she slumped forward again. “H-hihhh—hh’hhKNSHHt! I-I left by keys—hhuhhh—hh’TSSHHuhh!—didn’t wanna b-bother you if you were already cobi’g…” she croaked, shoulders trembling.

“Oh, princess...” Rexar’s voice cracked. “No. No, no—none of that. You can always bother me. Look at you, you're freezing.”

She didn’t protest when he slid off his coat and wrapped it around her, pulling her gently to her feet. Her legs buckled, but he caught her easily, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.

“Sshhh, I got you. I’m here now,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her damp forehead. “Let’s get you inside. We’re warming you up, and I’m not letting you lift a damn finger.”

Kriia didn’t argue. Didn’t pretend to be strong. She just sniffled thickly, curling into his chest, letting his warmth soak into her frozen bones.

“hh-hhh...hhT’chhhuhh! Hh’kxtnsschh!”

Rexar tucked her tighter against him, heart twisting. “That’s it, baby. Let it out. I’m here now.”

And this time, she really was home.

The warmth hit her in a rush the second Rexar shouldered open the front door—dry heat from the estate’s furnace flooding over her frozen skin, his coat still wrapped snug around her. He didn’t even pause at the threshold. Just carried her straight to the couch like she weighed nothing, whispering calming things into her tangled, overheated hair.

“Almost there, babygirl. Gonna get you all settled, okay?.”

Kriia let her head loll against his shoulder, eyelids fluttering with exhaustion. The harsh, freezing burn in her nose didn’t let up—not even indoors—and as he laid her gently onto the cushions, she barely had a second before she was pitching forward again.

“Hh’hhGkxtschhh!—HH’TCHsshhhuhh!—Hhuhh-KNSSHhhhk-uhhh!”

Rexar was already crouched beside her, cradling the back of her head, murmuring, “Bless you, princess. Easy now, I’ve got you.”

He reached for the box of tissues he’d brought over from the hall table, pulling a few free and holding one gently to her face. “Come on, blow. You’re all stuffed up.”

Kriia sniffled thickly, trying to shake her head in protest, but he didn’t give her the chance to retreat back into pride. Not tonight.

“Babygirl,” he said softly, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. “Let me help you.”

And just like that—just hearing that voice, that gentleness, that name—she caved. She closed her eyes and blew hard into the tissue he held for her, cheeks going red as the sound came out embarrassingly wet and congested.

Rexar didn’t flinch. Just wiped gently beneath her nose, kissing the crown of her head.

“There we go. Good girl.”

She whimpered something incoherent, sniffling still, nose twitching as another sneeze tried to crawl up her ruined sinuses. Her breath hitched, stuttered—and then stopped short, stuck painfully between buildup and release.

“Hhhuhh—hhh’Hhhuhhh… ughhh—R-Rexxx…”

“I got you,” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he shifted closer.

With a tenderness that sent shivers through her overworked frame, Rexar raised one hand and let the very tip of his nail trail delicately down the bridge of her nose. The contact was whisper-light, just enough to tease the building itch that had her breath catching. He traced the path with precision—slow and deliberate—until he reached the tip, then circled gently, coaxing the stubborn sneeze forward.

“Right here,” he whispered, using the edge of his nail to stroke carefully along the sensitive curve of her septum, back and forth in the faintest motion. “Let it go, princess.”

The sensation was maddening in the best way—soft and maddeningly exact, like a promise she couldn’t resist. Her breath hitched wildly, chest trembling against his side as her eyelids fluttered and her nose twitched helplessly.

Her breath hitched again, then again—until he leaned in close and whispered, just barely, “Bless you.”

It was enough.

“Hh’HHSCHHHuhh! Hh’GZCHHHhhk! Hhuhhh-KGT’SHHhh’uhh!”

The fit exploded from her, and she collapsed back into his chest, utterly destroyed. “I… I cad’t stob sdeezi’g…”

“I know, I know,” he whispered, wrapping her in the thickest blanket he could find. “You don’t have to. Just breathe. Just rest. I’m gonna take care of everything.”

Normally, she’d swat his hands away. Make some sarcastic quip. Puff herself back up and insist she was fine.

But not tonight.

Tonight she melted into him, curling her legs onto his lap, shivering and feverish and aching, and let herself be small in his arms. His hand was steady on her back, slow circles grounding her. His other hand held her own, thumb stroking the back of her knuckles.

She closed her eyes, breath ragged.

And for the first time all day, she felt safe enough to let go.

The bathroom was already warm by the time Rexar carried her in, steam curling like soft fingers around the wide marble tub. The overhead lights were dimmed to a golden glow, and the water—just shy of too hot—was laced with eucalyptus salts that kissed the air with a clean, bracing scent.

Kriia clung weakly to his shoulders, her nose a flushed mess of red and glistening misery against his collarbone. She was limp in his arms, too sick to protest, too exhausted to care about pride.

He knelt beside the tub, careful and patient, setting her down on the plush bath mat to undress her layer by layer. Her hoodie clung to her sweat-slick skin, and her hands trembled as she helped peel it off, only to fall into another breathless, hitching pre-sneeze spiral.

“Hhh—hh’ihhh-Hhhuhhh…!”

Rexar didn’t even pause, already holding the tissue up as her face crumpled.

“Let it out, babygirl.”

“hhh’nGNxxt! Ht’tchkt! Hihh’gxxxnt!! Hnngxgt!—snfhh…”

Each sneeze bent her in half, draining the little strength she had left. Her nose was raw, breath shallow, and her head throbbed with every release—but the sound of Rexar’s voice, calm and steady, wrapped around her like another blanket.

He kissed her hairline. “Let’s get you in.”

The second her body sank into the hot water, her shoulders slumped. Her eyes fluttered shut with relief, lashes damp, breath catching as the heat seeped into her aching bones.

“Better?” he asked, kneeling behind the tub and running his fingers gently through her tangled hair.

She could barely answer. Just nodded faintly, sniffling into her wrist.

Rexar gathered a handful of her crimson curls, massaging in lavender shampoo with a tenderness that made her chest ache. She tilted her head back, too weak to hold it steady on her own, and he supported her effortlessly, rinsing the suds out with a warm pour of water cupped in his hand.

She whimpered with the effort of another building sneeze, her breath hitching in a long, pitiful stutter. “Hhhuhhh-hhhuhh… R-Rexxx…”

He already had the tissue there.

“Go ahead, princess.”

“HhhGNTschhh!—hh’TSHHuhhkk!—Hhhuhhh… ughhhh…”

The sneezes knocked a soft cry out of her, and she reached blindly for his arm. He caught her hand, squeezing it in his.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. Just let it all out.”

He rinsed the soap from her skin next, dragging the warm water in smooth lines down her back and arms, cradling her like glass. She leaned fully into him as he washed the tension from her, lips parted with a shaky breath.

“Y-you dod’t have to d-do all this…” she whispered.

“I want to, Princess,” he said simply, cupping her cheek, his eyes heavy with nothing but love. “You’d do it for me.”

She didn’t answer that. Just blinked up at him, tears prickling from the strain of it all, and let herself believe that—for once—it was okay to not fight the comfort.

Rexar wrapped her in the fluffiest towel he could find, pressing her close to his chest as he carried her out of the bathroom. Her hair was damp and fragrant, skin flushed from the bath, and she was trembling more from exhaustion than chill now. Every few steps, her breath would stutter again, her nose twitching against his shirt as another round of helpless sneezes overtook her.

“Hhh’gnnxt! Hihh’tkshh! Hhh’Nxgshhh!”

She whimpered, curling tighter into him, and he didn’t flinch—just adjusted his grip and kept walking.

By the time they made it to the bedroom, she was more of a bundle than a person, bundled up in the towel and whatever strength she had left. Rexar laid her gently on the bed, the covers already turned down, the room warm from the central fireplace.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” he said softly, kneeling beside her.

Kriia blinked at him through bleary, purple-lashed eyes. Her nose was pink and puffy, her lips chapped, and her face slick with the aftermath of too many sneezes to count. Her voice cracked as she tried to laugh—“You’re so full of shit,” she rasped.

But Rexar was already unscrewing the jar of vapor rub, unfazed. “No, I’m not,” he murmured, scooping a bit with two fingers. “You’re sick as hell and still somehow the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he pressed the cool salve gently to her chest, rubbing in slow, steady circles. Her breath hitched again, but this time, she shivered for a different reason.

“Just breathe, babygirl,” he said, dotting a tiny amount under her poor, raw nose. “Let it work.”

She sighed, low and content, eyes finally drifting closed as he eased her back into the pillows. He climbed into bed behind her, slipping under the covers and gathering her into his arms. His body radiated heat like a furnace, his chest broad and solid beneath her as she nestled against him.

His fingers found her hair, still damp but soft, and he ran them through the strands slowly, soothingly.

“Hhh—n’gtx!… snfhh…” she sniffled, her final sneeze of the night quiet and tired.

“I got you,” he whispered into her hair. “Always.”

The tension drained from her all at once. Her body melted into his, soothed by his warmth and steady breathing, and with one last congested little sigh, a soft snore escaped her parted lips.

Rexar smiled, never stopping the gentle motion of his fingers, even as her breathing evened out. He stayed there all night, holding her close—his sick, sleepy, beautiful babygirl—until the morning light crept in, and she was safe and resting deeply in his arms.

The End ✨

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aller-geez · 2 months ago

Text

The Art Of Suffering

written and illustrated by: allergeez

Based off this prompt by @pupper-star ✨

Summary: Rexar Fang and Kriia are forced to attend a high-profile museum gala, an event that should be a formal, elegant affair—if not for one catastrophic problem: Rexar’s fire-laced sneezes. Already struggling in his restrictive suit and battling his natural aversion to behaving, Rexar finds himself in a nightmare of overwhelming perfumes, dust-coated artifacts, and high-society scrutiny. Meanwhile, Kriia, fully aware of the disaster waiting to unfold, is on high alert to prevent him from accidentally setting priceless exhibits on fire. As the night spirals into chaos, the two must navigate awkward social encounters, family scrutiny, and an ever-growing threat of public humiliation—all while Rexar desperately tries (and fails) to hold back a sneeze that could go down in history. 5.5k words

No content warnings.

Rexar Fang had been through hell before—physically, emotionally, spiritually. But nothing—nothing—compared to the torment of wearing a suit.

"Kriia. Babygirl. Love of my life." His voice, already drenched in suffering, echoed from their shared bedroom as he tugged at the stiff collar strangling his throat. "I'm gonna die tonight."

Kriia, applying the final touches to her makeup at their massive vanity, let out a long, patient sigh. "You’re not gonna die, Rex."

"You don't know that," he rasped, aggressively yanking at his tie as if wrestling a live snake. "The Fangs could’ve had me assassinated years ago and just waited until now to activate the slow, agonizing death of ‘formal attire.’ This is a long con. A masterpiece of revenge. I’m being suffocated by design."

"You're being dramatic by design," Kriia countered, flicking a glance at him through the mirror. "And stop pulling at the tie, you’ll wrinkle it."

"Then it’s fighting back." He growled, glowering at his reflection before attempting another half-hearted, miserable attempt at adjusting it. "I look like a banker, Kriia. A senator. A disgraced senator."

Kriia, completely unfazed by his nonsense, turned in her chair and gave him a once-over. And—okay. Yes. The suit was a crime against his entire personality, but that didn’t mean he didn’t look stupidly good in it.

The sharp black fabric framed his broad shoulders in a way that was almost unfair, the deep red of his dress shirt making the crimson freckles splashed across his nose and cheekbones stand out more than usual. His red bridge piercings caught the light as he scowled, nostrils flaring slightly as he sniffled—likely from his ongoing war with the cologne she made him wear.

God, he was ridiculous.

Kriia barely held back a smirk. "You clean up nice, senator."

Rexar groaned, dragging both hands down his face. "Kill me."

"Not before we get there," she said, standing up and smoothing out the front of her sleek black dress. "And definitely not before your mom gets to see how handsome you look."

At this, Rexar’s entire body visibly seized.

"You—Kriia, you—" He pointed at her, scandalized. "You would use my own mother against me?"

"Zeraphine will be thrilled," she hummed, adjusting her earrings, fully enjoying his suffering.

Rexar’s voice dropped to a near-whisper, like a man who had just witnessed a betrayal of biblical proportions. "You evil woman."

Kriia simply shrugged.

Rexar let out a defeated sigh, reaching for the coat draped across the bed before pausing mid-motion—his expression shifting.

She caught it instantly.

"Rex—"

"HhHh—Hihh’EXTSH’ue! hH’EiSCH’iiew!!! Hhih—! hihh’ESHHH’uhhh!!"

The violent, fire-tinged sneezes tore through him, snapping him forward hard enough that he had to brace a hand on the bedframe. A few stray embers skittered onto the bedsheets before flickering out harmlessly.

Kriia flinched, already flashing back to every flammable surface at the gala.

"Bless you—oh my god, we’re gonna get kicked out."

Rexar sniffled sluggishly, rubbing a knuckle under his nose with absolutely zero concern for the situation at hand.

"Kicked out?" he grinned, congested but cocky. "Babygirl, we’re gonna set a new record for fastest public humiliation."

Kriia groaned, already regretting every decision that led them here.

"You are not allowed to sneeze in there, Rexar."

"You think I can just not sneeze?"

"Yes."

"You think I can just hold it in?"

"Yes."

Rexar let out a sharp, incredulous laugh before shaking his head. "Babygirl, you’re asking the impossible. You saw what just happened. That was before we even left the house."

Kriia pinched the bridge of her nose. "Rex, this is not the place to let loose a firestorm. It's a museum gala. Full of art. And rich people. And highly flammable bullshit that costs more than our house."

"Technically, the fam’s house," Rexar muttered. "We just live here and mooch off their generosity."

"Not the point!" she snapped.

Rexar exhaled dramatically, rubbing at his nose with a grumble before stepping closer. "Okay, fine. Fiiine. I promise to try not to sneeze."

"Try?"

"Try," he repeated, grinning wickedly.

Kriia sighed, dragging a hand down her face. "I’m gonna lose my mind tonight."

Rexar wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her into his warmth. "Better me than some dusty old painting, princess."

Kriia glared at him. "I'm gonna kill you."

He kissed her forehead, entirely unbothered.

"Not before we get there."

As soon as they arrived at the Ravelle Grand Museum, Kriia knew—deep in her soul—that this was going to be a disaster.

The museum was massive, with towering marble columns and high vaulted ceilings that made the acoustics perfect for amplifying every single sound. Every rustle of fabric, every clink of a champagne glass, every whisper of a conversation… and, if things went sideways, every single one of Rexar’s fire-laced sneezes.

The gala was already in full swing. Hundreds of high-profile guests milled about in their finest attire, sipping expensive wine and admiring priceless artwork. Among them, the Fangs stood out effortlessly, their presence demanding attention even in a room full of Hiraeth’s elite.

Kriia, nerves already stretched to their limit, stole a glance at Rexar.

He was too calm. Too confident.

And, worst of all, he was smirking.

"Stop looking at me like that," she muttered under her breath, looping her arm through his as they strolled past an elaborate ice sculpture of a dragon.

"Like what?" Rexar murmured, voice rough with congestion but still entirely too smug.

"Like you know something I don’t."

"Babydoll," he sniffled, bringing a lazy hand up to rub at his nose, "I always know something you don’t."

Kriia wanted to scream.

They hadn’t even made it to the main exhibit yet. They hadn’t even gotten past the champagne table. And already, he was sniffling.

Her worst nightmare was manifesting in real-time.

The floral, citrusy perfume of the guests, the fine layer of dust on the older artifacts, the overpowering scent of wax and polish from the freshly cleaned floors—it was all a landmine waiting to trigger his inevitable doom.

And judging by the way his nostrils were already twitching, that doom was imminent.

Kriia tightened her grip on his arm, lowering her voice into something between a plea and a threat.

"Rex. I swear to all the gods, if you sneeze anywhere near these historically significant, irreplaceable works of art, I will personally lock you in the basement for a month."

Rexar sniffled hard, clearly struggling, but still had the audacity to grin down at her. "You’re kinda hot when you’re threatening me."

"I am not joking."

"No, but you’re cute when you’re panicking."

"Rexar!"

He let out a choked laugh before pressing a finger firmly under his nose, eyes fluttering for half a second before he managed to force it back down.

Kriia exhaled slowly.

One crisis averted. For now.

They pressed further into the museum, passing through a grand archway that led into the evening’s main attraction—

The Crowned Flames Exhibit.

Kriia had read about it before they arrived. It was a once-in-a-lifetime display of ancient artifacts and paintings dating back over a thousand years. Every piece was centered around the theme of fire—its use in history, its symbolism, its destructive beauty.

And every single thing in the room was soaked in preservatives, varnishes, and delicate aged pigments that would go up in flames faster than Rexar could say "uh-oh."

Kriia could feel the blood draining from her face.

Rexar, of course, noticed immediately.

"Aww, babygirl," he cooed, pressing a hand to his chest. "You look like you’re gonna pass out. You okay?"

Kriia’s fingers dug into his arm.

"Rexar."

"Yeah, princess?"

"If you even think about sneezing in this room—"

"Yeah?" He smirked, red-grey eyes glinting with pure mischief.

She took a deep, measured breath.

"—I will tell your entire family that you cried during a kitten video last week."

Rexar gasped. Audibly.

"You wouldn’t."

"Try me."

For the first time that evening, he actually looked nervous.

Kriia felt victorious.

For about five seconds.

Then—

Rexar’s breath hitched.

Oh, hell no.

Kriia whipped around just in time to see his nostrils flaring sharply, his head tilting back slightly, his breath catching—

"Hhh… hhHh—!"

Panic. Full-blown panic.

Kriia’s brain short-circuited.

There was only one option left.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

She lunged.

And—without thinking—clamped both hands firmly over his mouth and nose.

Rexar jerked in surprise, eyes flying open, completely caught off guard.

The ticklish, burning sensation fought back viciously under her grip, his chest rising sharply, his breath still desperate to escape—

But—

Somehow—

Miraculously—

It stopped.

The sneeze, trapped under pressure, dissolved into nothing but a ragged exhale.

Rexar blinked.

Kriia blinked.

The museum remained mercifully un-scorched.

"...Holy shit," Rexar rasped, muffled against her palms.

Kriia let out a shaky breath, only realizing now that she had practically launched herself into his chest in her effort to contain his chaos.

Slowly—very slowly— she peeled her hands away.

A few frazzled-looking guests were staring at them.

A museum curator, several feet away, clutched his clipboard like it was a life raft.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Kriia’s entire face burned.

And Rexar—because he had zero shame, zero dignity, zero concern for their reputations—

Grinned.

"Babygirl," he said, voice still wrecked from congestion, but dripping with amusement. "That was so hot."

Kriia made a noise.

A strangled, completely incomprehensible noise.

And then—without another word—

She turned on her heel and walked directly out of the exhibit.

Rexar, sniffling and still grinning like a lunatic, followed after her, laughing the entire way.

Inside the museum, the air was thick with candle smoke, floral perfume, and the distant clinking of champagne glasses. The gala was a spectacle—elegant figures glided through the grand exhibition hall, admiring priceless artifacts that spanned centuries. The cool marble floors reflected the glow of extravagant chandeliers, and the hum of polite conversation created a refined backdrop to the event.

None of that mattered.

Because Rexar was dying.

Not in the dramatic, gasping-for-air way he might have claimed when fishing for sympathy, but in the slow, torturous build of a sneeze that refused to break.

Kriia could feel it—literally feel it—as they stood side by side near a delicate glass sculpture, his arm looped through hers like some ridiculous gentleman escorting his lady for an evening stroll. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate motions.

And then there was his nose.

Twitching. Flaring. Desperate.

Kriia didn’t dare look at him. She already knew what she’d see—his crimson-freckled face slightly slack, his nostrils fluttering, his expression frozen in that miserable limbo between suffering and release.

Oh, hell.

She tilted her head slightly, whispering through gritted teeth.

"Do. Not. Sneeze."

Rexar sniffled sharply, nostrils twitching under the strain.

"Ihh—don’t—wanna—" his breath hitched dangerously, voice a mess of congestion and impending doom.

Fuck.

She had to do something.

Acting purely on instinct, Kriia’s hand shot up and pinched his nose shut between her thumb and forefinger, pressing firmly against the irritated, pink flesh.

Rexar made a strangled noise.

His entire body jolted.

She felt it.

The way his nostrils flared desperately beneath her grip. The way his chest heaved against her side, ribs expanding, his breath catching in one sharp, gasping pull—

And then—

Nothing.

A trembling exhale. A slow, defeated sag against her shoulder.

Oh.

Oh, hell.

She hadn’t thought this through.

Heat crawled up her spine. His nose, warm and slightly damp from congestion, twitched once beneath her fingers before finally going still.

"Holy fuck," Rexar exhaled, voice hoarse, as if she’d just saved his life.

Kriia released his nose like it had burned her.

And immediately regretted it.

The second she let go, his nostrils flared wide again, breath shuddering—

"hhHh—!—"

Oh, for fuck's sake—

She lunged forward, gripping his wrist and dragging him behind the nearest pillar.

Rexar stumbled after her, half-dazed, still visibly on the edge of disaster.

She slammed her back against the cool marble, trying not to panic.

"Hold it," she hissed.

"Hh’ihh—!!"

"Hold. It."

His fingers curled into fists. His red-grey eyes squeezed shut.

He was losing.

Thinking fast, Kriia’s hands shot up again—one pressing against the bridge of his nose, the other curling under his jaw, tilting his head back slightly.

His breath shuddered violently.

His nostrils fluttered beneath her grip, desperate to give in.

"Don’t you dare," she whispered.

"Ih’hhHhh—!!"

Oh, he was suffering.

His chest expanded again, his whole body trembling with the effort to fight against the inevitable. The moment stretched impossibly thin, Rexar barely holding onto control—

And then—

A long, slow exhale.

His muscles unclenched, his shoulders slumping heavily against her.

Kriia let go.

Rexar sagged against the pillar, rubbing at his nose sluggishly.

"Okay," he rasped, "we are in so much fucking trouble."

Kriia closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Why did we come here?" she muttered.

Rexar gave a weak, congested chuckle.

"Because I look hot in a suit."

She opened her eyes just to glare at him.

"Rexar."

He sniffled, rubbing furiously at his still twitching nose.

"Because the fam made us?"

Kriia stared at him.

Then—very slowly—she looked toward the massive, irreplaceable fabric tapestries hanging from the ceiling.

And then back at him.

Back at his fire hazard of a nose.

Back at the legacy of Hiraeth’s most treasured artifacts displayed under glass.

She inhaled deeply.

"We are leaving."

Rexar groaned, dragging a tired hand down his face.

"Yeah, babygirl, I’d love that for us, but uh—" He gestured miserably toward the thick crowd of patrons still blocking every possible exit.

Kriia’s stomach sank.

There was no way out.

They were trapped.

And Rexar wasn’t done sneezing.

This was going to be a disaster.

Kriia’s pulse hammered as she scanned the room, desperate for a way out. But the crowd of high-profile guests had only thickened, bodies pressed together in a sea of silk and satin, sipping champagne and murmuring about "the history of art" like they weren’t unknowingly standing in the splash zone— err, burn zone? of a full-blown Fang sneeze catastrophe.

And right next to her—Rexar was hanging on by a thread.

His breath kept hitching.

His nostrils kept flaring.

Kriia could feel the way his chest expanded and contracted erratically, his lungs betraying him, struggling against an itch that refused to fade.

They were so screwed.

"Okay," Rexar rasped, voice thick with congestion and impending doom. He sniffled sharply and scrubbed the back of his wrist under his nose, blinking at her with red-rimmed, glassy eyes. "New plan."

"New plan?" Kriia hissed. "What the hell was the first plan?"

"To, uh…" He sniffled again, scrunching his nose furiously as if it would somehow fight off the inevitable. "…Not burn the museum down?"

Kriia clapped a hand over her mouth, staring at him.

That was it.

That was the whole plan.

They were going to die here.

Before she could unleash a rant about his lack of survival skills, Rexar's breath hitched again—sharp, desperate.

"hhHhh’ihh—!!"

No. No, no, no.

Kriia lunged forward with pure, desperate instinct—her hands shooting up to clamp around his nose again, pinching it shut like a vice.

Rexar let out a strangled noise.

His whole body jerked violently.

She felt it.

The heat in his chest. The tremor in his muscles. The way his nostrils quivered beneath her grip, fighting so hard to release.

And—oh fuck—he was really trying to hold it in. His entire body was trembling.

His nose was betraying him.

"Don’t you dare."

Rexar whimpered.

Whimpered.

Oh, hell.

Kriia’s heart slammed against her ribs.

This wasn’t working.

He was going to blow.

They had seconds.

Frantic, she grabbed his arm, yanking him away from the main hall, weaving them both through the crowd in a desperate, fevered escape attempt.

"Where are we going?" Rexar sniffled miserably, stumbling after her, his voice so thick with congestion he could barely get the words out.

"Anywhere that isn’t next to six billion dollars worth of art, Rexar."

She didn’t stop moving until they burst through a side door and into a dimly lit storage hallway, the noise from the gala immediately muffling behind them.

Rexar staggered, blinking at her blearily.

"Babygirl, I can’t hold it much longer—"

"Then don’t! Just—" Kriia yanked him further into the hall, slamming the door shut behind them before shoving him against the cold stone wall.

And right there in the dimly lit corridor—away from the priceless artifacts, away from the prying eyes of the gala—

She finally let him go.

And Rexar broke.

"hIH’IKTSHhh’uuh! Hhihh! et’CHXIEW!! hih’ESCH’iew! "

He snapped forward violently, each sneeze tearing through him, sending flames flickering against the air with every release.

Kriia winced, watching as embers scattered across the stone floor, sizzling harmlessly against the cool, unburnable surface.

Rexar barely had time to breathe.

"hahh’ESSHH’IUE!!— hhh’HXSHHh'uhh!!—"

More fire. More embers. Less control.

"HHH—hhIH'TSCHhh'uuUHHH!!"

A particularly strong sneeze rocked him forward, nearly doubling him over at the waist.

Kriia swore the temperature in the hallway rose five degrees.

When it was finally over, Rexar sagged against the wall, dazed, chest heaving, red-grey eyes half-lidded and bleary.

"Holy fuck," he rasped, swiping a shaky hand beneath his nose.

Kriia exhaled sharply, pressing a palm against her forehead.

"Never again."

Rexar sniffled, grinning weakly.

"…I dunno, babe. I kinda like the whole sneaking-away-to-makeout vibe."

"Rexar."

"Kidding. Unless."

She groaned, grabbing his arm and hauling him back toward the main hall.

This night was far from over.

Kriia didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

Rexar—somehow still cocky and smug despite nearly burning down an entire museum—stumbled beside her as she dragged him back toward the gala, his weight a furnace of exhaustion against her side.

“Princess” he rasped, still sniffling wetly, “I feel like that was… probably the worst place to take me.”

Kriia whipped her head toward him so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash.

"Oh? The fire hazard hallway where you could safely sneeze your lungs out without committing unintentional arson was a bad choice?"

Rexar grinned, entirely unrepentant. “I mean. The acoustics were insane.”

Kriia let out a long, slow exhale.

She was going to kill him. He was going to die.

Or—more realistically—he was going to die when they got back inside and everyone realized they had vanished for an extended period of time.

Because sure enough—the moment they pushed open the door and slipped back into the gala—

They walked straight into Zeraphine Fang.

Kriia barely swallowed down a strangled noise of horror.

Zeraphine, draped in deep crimson silk, looked every inch the powerful matriarch she was. Her white curls cascaded over one shoulder, and her ever-present air of refinement made the very concept of disobedience seem laughable. She was speaking with a cluster of important-looking people, but the moment her sharp, red-grey gaze flickered over them—

She stopped mid-sentence.

Rexar froze beside Kriia. Visibly.

Kriia fought the urge to grip his sleeve like a drowning woman. He was still a wreck—his face pink and freckled, his nose far too twitchy, his hair slightly disheveled from where she’d yanked him into a hallway for emergency sneezing.

They had exactly two seconds before she asked questions.

Kriia, thinking fast, did the only thing she could.

She elbowed Rexar, hard.

Rexar jolted, barely suppressing a grunt of pain, before blinking up at his mother with the fakest fucking grin she had ever seen in her life.

"Mom!" he rasped, congested and dangerously unconvincing. "You—uh—you look fantastic tonight."

Kriia bit the inside of her cheek so hard she nearly drew blood. Goddamn it, Rexar.

Zeraphine arched an elegant brow. "I should hope so," she mused, voice smooth. "Though I must say, I don’t believe I’ve seen either of you for quite some time. Were you… enjoying yourselves?"

Kriia stiffened.

Oh, no.

Rexar, completely oblivious to the veiled threat in her tone, grinned wider, rubbing at his nose with an infuriating lack of urgency. "Oh, yeah, we were—uh—just admiring the architecture. Right, Princess?"

Kriia could have strangled him with his own tie.

Zeraphine inhaled slowly. "Ah. The architecture."

Her gaze dropped pointedly to Rexar’s slightly rumpled suit jacket.

And Kriia knew. She knew.

Zeraphine had clocked everything.

The disheveled appearance. The vanishing act. The scent of smoke still clinging to her son like a death wish.

Her crimson lips curled into something unreadable. "Well," she said at last, adjusting the delicate silk glove on her wrist. "I was just telling the Elwards how I wish my son would dress like this more often."

Rexar visibly recoiled. "Mom—please, no."

Zeraphine tilted her head, thoroughly enjoying herself now. "What? You look wonderful, darling. So handsome. So dignified."

Rexar squirmed.

Kriia could have kissed her.

"Oh, come now," Zeraphine continued, her voice a purr. "I’ll have to tell your father how dashing you looked tonight. Perhaps you’ll dress like this more often—"

"Okay, we’re leaving," Rexar blurted, already grabbing Kriia’s hand and retreating like a man fleeing the scene of a crime.

Zeraphine chuckled, utterly victorious, as they escaped past the nearest set of doors.

The second they were in the clear, Kriia collapsed against a column, pressing a hand to her forehead.

"Rexar," she exhaled, "I am going to pass away. Right here. On this floor."

Rexar, still sniffling, rubbed a hand down his face. "Babygirl, same."

Kriia slowly turned to him.

And for the first time that night—

She saw genuine horror in his expression.

Not because he had nearly burned the gala down. Not because he had been seconds away from disgracing his entire bloodline.

But because his mother had threatened him with more formalwear.

Kriia choked out a weak laugh.

Rexar groaned. "This is my nightmare."

Kriia patted his arm. "Let’s go home, senator."

He muttered something about diving into the nearest volcano, but let her pull him away anyway.

Kriia was seconds away from dragging Rexar to the car and getting the hell out of here—

But of course.

Because the universe was actively conspiring against her, she barely made it three steps toward the exit before she heard—

"Oh my God—Rexar?!"

Kriia’s soul left her body.

Rexar, exhausted, sniffling, and barely holding his shit together, blinked blearily in the direction of the voice.

A young woman—probably in her early twenties, dressed in a sleek, glittering black gown—stood near one of the doors to the courtyard, staring at him like she had just met God.

"Oh shit," she gasped, clutching her drink like it was the only thing keeping her upright. "Oh my—holy fuck—it's actually you!"

Kriia internally screamed.

Not now.

Rexar, still slightly delirious, rubbed at his nose sluggishly before offering her a lopsided grin.

"Uh," he rasped, voice shredded, "hey, babe."

The girl made a sound that was not human.

"Okay, no way—" she slapped her friend’s arm, who up until now had been just as stunned, but was quickly recovering. "Oh my god, do you have any idea how much I love Toad Biscuit?!"

"She literally dragged me here just in case there’d be famous people," the friend confirmed, still looking starstruck.

Rexar let out a rough, exhausted laugh, sniffling hard and running a hand through his already disheveled hair.

"Well, damn," he mused, still congested, "guess your manifestation powers are on point, huh?"

The girl looked like she was about to combust.

"Okay, okay, okay—" she fumbled for her clutch, immediately pulling out her phone. "Can I get a photo? Please? Oh my god, I won’t take up too much of your time, I just—"

Kriia forced a smile so tight her face might split open.

"Of course," she said sweetly—too sweetly—while her grip on Rexar’s wrist tightened just slightly.

Because she could feel it.

Oh no.

No, no, no.

Rexar’s breathing had just changed.

Kriia stole a glance at him—and immediately regretted it.

Fuck.

His nostrils were flaring. His red-grey eyes were fluttering half-lidded, brows pinching as his breath hitched, sharp and shallow.

He was going to sneeze.

On this girl.

Oh my GOD.

Kriia had .03 seconds to act.

So—she did the only thing she could think of.

Just as the girl stepped closer—just as Rexar’s entire body tensed, breath catching violently—

Kriia fucking pinched his nose shut.

Rexar jerked.

His whole body jolted in her grip, muscles seizing, his chest expanding sharply—but the sneeze was trapped, caught just under the surface with no escape.

Rexar let out a ragged, strangled wheeze.

Kriia did not let go.

"Smile, babe," she hissed through gritted teeth, keeping her grip firm.

Rexar made a noise.

Something between a whimper and a laugh.

And then—with absolute, superhuman effort—

He forced out a grin.

The girl snapped the photo, beaming.

"Thank you so much—oh my god, I’m framing this," she gushed, immediately turning to show her friend.

Kriia did not wait for a second round.

She grabbed Rexar by the wrist and dragged him toward the exit.

Fast.

Rexar, still reeling, still dangerously on the edge of disaster, stumbled after her.

The moment they were out of earshot, Kriia whipped toward him.

"You almost sneezed on her."

Rexar, eyes still fluttering, nostrils still quivering, congested as hell, let out a rough, dazed laugh.

"That—" he sniffled, "was almost so bad."

Kriia exhaled sharply, dragging a furious hand down her face.

"We are leaving."

Rexar—still barely holding his shit together—grinned like a man seconds from death.

"Yeah, babygirl," he croaked, "I think that's for the best."

She grabbed Rexar’s sleeve, ready to drag him out of there by force if necessary— but then—

A sharp gasp rang out from somewhere in the crowd.

Kriia barely had time to register the sound before a horrified voice followed it—

"Fire!"

Oh. Oh, no.

Her stomach plummeted.

She turned—heart in her throat—only to realize—

There was no actual fire.

Just a very dramatic, very over-dressed noblewoman clutching at her pearls like she’d witnessed a public execution.

Her wide, terrified eyes were locked directly on Rexar.

Or more specifically—

The faint wisp of smoke curling lazily from his nose.

Shit.

Kriia forced out a high-pitched, probably-not-reassuring laugh. "Oh, no, no, no—there’s no fire, he just—"

"He’s smoldering!" The woman shrieked, stumbling back into an equally horrified man, who immediately yanked his cape away from Rexar like he was about to spontaneously combust.

Someone else screamed.

Someone else threw their drink.

Rexar yelped as an entire flute of champagne splashed over his chest.

Kriia had to physically fight the urge to throttle him where he stood.

And because Rexar Fang was the most insufferable person alive—

He blinked down at the wet stain on his shirt, then slowly tilted his head toward the culprit, voice utterly wrecked with congestion—

"Damn, babe. If you wanted to get me wet, you coulda just asked."

Kriia nearly ascended.

The woman let out a noise so scandalized she nearly dropped dead on the spot.

Kriia grabbed Rexar’s wrist and ran.

Not walked.

Not briskly exited.

Fucking ran.

Rexar, still sniffling and half-dazed from holding back a sneeze for nearly thirty straight minutes, stumbled after her like a man barely clinging to life.

Kriia did not stop moving until they burst through the grand entrance doors, the cool night air finally hitting them as they staggered into the courtyard.

Not until she reached the stone railing, bracing her hands against the surface, inhaling deeply, trying to collect herself.

Behind her—

She could hear Rexar approaching—his footsteps slow, deliberate, way too smug for someone who had nearly committed accidental arson in a room full of irreplaceable historical artifacts.

"You mad, princess?"

Kriia’s grip tightened on the railing.

"I’m," she exhaled sharply, "processing."

Rexar sniffled.

"Y’know," he drawled, "that was kinda the sexiest thing you’ve ever done."

Kriia groaned into her hands.

"Rex—"

"No, no, I mean it," he continued, utterly unrepentant. He stepped up beside her, resting his forearms on the railing, grinning. "The way you just lunged at me, all intense and determined, ready to fight God and destiny to keep me from setting the museum on fire—?" He let out a low whistle. "Babygirl, I think you could take me in a fight."

"I will take you in a fight," she muttered, still refusing to look at him.

Rexar laughed—hoarse and stuffy, still thick with congestion, but stupidly fond.

Kriia finally risked a glance at him—and immediately regretted it.

He was too damn pretty for his own good. His red-grey eyes were still slightly allergy-bright, his crimson freckles standing out even more starkly against his irritated, pink-tinged nose. The deep red piercings at the bridge of his nose glinted under the soft glow of the courtyard lanterns, and—

Nope.

She was not doing this. Not now.

She turned away sharply, exhaling through her nose.

"Are we done here?" she muttered. "Can I go home and pretend none of this ever happened?"

Rexar sniffled, rubbing his knuckles beneath his nose.

"I mean," Rexar tilted his head lazily, "we could go home…"

Kriia narrowed her eyes. "But?"

"But," he grinned, reaching into his jacket pocket, "we deserve a drink."

Before Kriia could question him further, he pulled out two stolen champagne glasses— and a small silver flask.

Kriia stared.

"You cannot be serious."

Rexar just winked.

"Princess," he purred, unscrewing the flask with a practiced flick of his wrist, "I don’t half-ass celebrations."

With zero hesitation, he tipped the flask over both glasses, pouring a stronger, much more illegal liquid into the champagne glasses.

Kriia squinted at the suspiciously clear alcohol swirling in the flutes. "What the hell is that?"

"Moonshine," Rexar rasped, voice still thick with congestion. "Nyx makes it in her basement. It’s, like, 90% alcohol and might actually be a war crime."

Kriia sighed deeply. "Of course it is."

"Hey, after tonight? We need it."

Kriia stared at him for a long, long moment.

Then—with a slow, exhausted sigh—she took the glass from his hand.

They clinked their glasses together.

Kriia took a cautious sip. It burned like hellfire all the way down.

Rexar, as always, went in way too hard and took a deep gulp.

And then—

His breath hitched.

Oh, for the love of—

Kriia barely had time to process the shift before Rexar snapped forward.

"hhHHRSHhh’uehh!! hH’EISCH’iiew!! hhAH’ESSHH’IUE!!"

The flames that erupted from his mouth were instantaneous.

But not just flames.

Huge, roaring, triple-the-size, someone-call-the-fire-department flames.

The entire courtyard illuminated in a sudden, blinding burst of gold and orange, the flickering fire stretching nearly ten feet in front of them before it finally dissipated into the night.

Kriia felt the heat lick at her face.

A startled gasp rippled through the other gala guests still mingling in the courtyard.

Someone let out a choked yelp.

Another audibly muttered, "Oh, for fuck’s sake."

Rexar sniffled, swiping a lazy knuckle under his streaming nose, then cleared his throat—completely ignoring the entire crowd of rich people staring at them like they'd just witnessed an actual dragon appear in the courtyard.

"Okay," he croaked, still raspy, voice even rougher than before. He smacked his lips. "So… might've been a bad idea to drink homemade napalm before that."

Kriia, still gripping both champagne glasses like a woman who had seen her life flash before her eyes, slowly turned to him, expression unreadable.

Rexar blinked.

And then—

"Oh, babydoll, don’t—"

WHAP.

She smacked him right in the chest.

Not hard enough to hurt—but definitely hard enough to make a point.

Rexar wheezed out a laugh, doubling over slightly. "Ow—babe—"

"Do you have a death wish?!"

"Okay, but to be fair—" he coughed, still laughing, "that one was kinda your fault."

"MY fault?!?"

"You flustered me," he sniffled, rubbing at his nose with zero shame.

Kriia’s eye twitched.

"Okay. I’m leaving."

"Babe, no—"

"Yes."

"Wait, c’mon, I—"

Kriia turned on her heel and stormed toward the exit.

Rexar—still laughing, still congested, still absolutely insufferable—jogged after her.

"At least admit it was hot!" he called.

Kriia ignored him.

"Babygirl, wait—"

"Rexar Fang, I swear to GOD."

His laughter rang through the courtyard.

It was going to be a long ride home.

The End ✨

37 notes · View notes

aller-geez · 4 months ago

Text

I’ll Be Home For Christmas

What’s this? Geezie actually has a CHRISTMAS FIC written ON CHRISTMAS? This is unheard of 🤓

A little more than 4k words, Ofc it’s more Remi torture, based on this prompt~

***side note, the place mentioned that Remi is going back home to, (Anseyn), is part of the universe that I’ve been building for the past few months called Hiraeth, and I’ll eventually get around to posting more about it, but for now, that’s all you get 😬 pls enjoy, and happy Honda days 🖤🖤🖤

The call came on a dreary evening, the sky outside dim and gray as snowflakes drifted lazily to the ground. Remi was propped up in a too-small hotel bed, his long legs stretched awkwardly over the edge, and his head tilted against the lumpy pillow. His radioactively green eyes, normally sharp and bright, were dulled by exhaustion and fever. The tissues scattered around him, damp and crumpled, told the full story of his misery.

Levi’s concerned voice came through the phone. “Remi, I’m serious. You sound awful. Just stay there and rest, okay? I don’t want you making yourself worse trying to get back for Christmas.”

Remi sniffled thickly, his nose so clogged it made breathing a chore. His voice, hoarse and painfully congested, broke as he tried to argue. “I’b fide,” he croaked, though he clearly wasn’t. “I cad bake id. Id’s Christbas, Levi. I bissed you.”

“You don’t sound fine, Remi,” Levi said gently. “It’s a nine-hour flight. Then a layover. Then another four-hour flight. Then three hours of driving. Please, just—”

“I’m cobig,” Remi interrupted stubbornly, coughing harshly into the crook of his arm. It was a wet, rattling sound that made even him wince. “Dod’t try to talk be out of id. I’ll be hobe by Christmas.”

Levi sighed on the other end of the line. “Alright,” he relented, though his tone was laden with worry. “But promise me you’ll be careful. I’ll have everything ready for you when you get here.”

That night was restless.

Remi tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed, trying desperately to find a position where his head didn’t throb and his sinuses didn’t feel like they were filled with cement. Every time he managed to drift off, his stuffy nose betrayed him, forcing out a loud snort or whistle that woke him with a start. His fever left him both shivering under the blankets and drenched in sweat, unable to get comfortable for more than a few minutes.

By the time his alarm blared at 4:30 a.m., signaling the start of his long journey home, Remi was already wide awake—if "awake" could describe his feverish, half-lucid state.

The airport was a blur of noise and fluorescent lights. Remi’s black shaggy hair was damp with sweat as he lugged his carry-on through security, his broad shoulders hunched as he fought the chills wracking his frame. His nose was an unrelenting source of misery, dripping constantly despite the tissues he clutched in one hand. He’d blown through half the box already and hadn’t even boarded his flight yet.

“Boarding for Flight 4287 to Anseyn,” the loudspeaker announced.

Remi shuffled toward the gate, ignoring the curious looks from other passengers as he sniffled and coughed his way onto the plane.

---

The first flight was unbearable.

Wedged into an economy-class seat with barely enough legroom for his tall frame, Remi could feel the pressure building in his sinuses almost as soon as the plane took off. His ears popped painfully, making his already aching head feel like it might explode.

He tried to sleep, leaning his head against the cold plastic of the window, but the cabin air was so dry that every inhale burned his throat. Whenever he did manage to doze off, he’d wake himself with stuffy snorts and gurgles, his congestion making his breathing impossibly loud.

“Hhh… Hdt’ISHHhh! hh—IhhTSSCHhh’iew! Hhh’TSSSHhhhuuuh!”

The sneezes came out of nowhere, loud and uncontrollable, and he barely managed to muffle them into his sleeve. He caught the wary glances of the passengers around him but was too miserable to care.

By the time they landed, nine hours later, Remi felt like he’d been hit by a truck. His chest had grown tight, a wet, rattling cough settling in, and the chills were worse than ever. He stumbled into the airport, his legs weak beneath him, and made his way to his connecting flight during a bleary, hour-long layover.

---

The second flight wasn’t much better.

Remi’s lap was overflowing with used tissues, his nose so stuffed and runny that it felt like a lost cause to try keeping up. The takeoff and landing made his sinuses throb, the pressure sending shooting pains through his head and ears.

“Hhh… hhh’IISHHhh! hh'IETSH’UE! HI’DTSCHIEW! Hh—IITSCHHH’iew!”

His sneezes were so wet and obvious that the passengers nearest him did their best to lean away, but Remi was too miserable to care about the judgment. He sniffled thickly, his glowing green eyes half-lidded and glassy as he tried, unsuccessfully, to fall asleep.

When the plane finally landed, Remi staggered into the terminal, his entire body aching. The dark winter sky outside mirrored how he felt inside: exhausted, freezing, and utterly drained.

---

The drive home was a nightmare.

The wind howled across the frozen parking lot, biting into Remi’s fevered skin as he shuffled toward his car. Each step felt heavy, his limbs aching as if he were wading through snowdrifts instead of walking across slick asphalt. His breath puffed visibly in the freezing air, mingling with the occasional wet, rattling cough that erupted from his chest. Each cough sent a sharp pain lancing through his ribs, making him wince and hunch forward.

By the time he reached the car, his nose was dripping uncontrollably, and his hands were trembling from the cold and his fever. He fumbled with his keys, nearly dropping them twice before managing to unlock the door and collapse into the driver’s seat. The cold leather sent a shiver racing up his spine, and he groaned as he adjusted his long legs awkwardly to fit into the cramped space.

Then, the tickle in his nose surged. His nostrils flared, his glowing green eyes fluttering shut as his breath hitched uncontrollably.

“Hhh… hh—IISSHhh! Hhh—IhhTSSCHhh’uhhh!”

The sneezes burst out of him with no time to reach for a tissue, spraying the steering wheel. He groaned hoarsely, grabbing a crumpled tissue from his coat pocket to mop up the mess. “This was a bad idea,” he muttered, his voice thick and congested, barely audible. His glowing eyes were dim and glassy, his entire body screaming at him to rest. But Christmas was waiting, and so was Levi.

---

The snowstorm made the roads a treacherous, winding labyrinth of ice and slush. The wind whipped against the car, rattling the windows and obscuring the already poor visibility. Remi gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white against the leather as he squinted through the flurry of snowflakes.

Every few minutes, his breath would hitch again, and he’d fumble for a tissue to catch another forceful sneeze.

“Hhh—IISSHhh’iew! Hhh’TSSCHhhhuuh!”

Each one made his head throb and his chest ache, leaving him gasping for air and sniffling miserably.

His body was so worn down that it took all his focus to stay awake. The heater blew weakly, barely cutting through the chill that seemed to seep into his very bones, and every cough rattled in his chest like loose gravel. His muscles ached, his hands shook, and the dull pounding behind his eyes made it hard to concentrate on the road ahead.

Remi’s exhaustion grew heavier with every mile. By the time he reached the halfway point, he knew he couldn’t keep going without stopping for a break. He spotted a small roadside diner up ahead and pulled into the empty parking lot, the tires skidding slightly on the icy pavement.

The moment he stepped out of the car, the bitter cold hit him like a slap to the face. His chest tightened immediately, and he doubled over with a harsh coughing fit, his breath coming in wheezing gasps.

“Hhh...hh—Hh'IISHH! -hd’ISCHhh!! -h’dtTISHh! snffhh! Hhh—IISSCHhh’uhhh!” Another sneeze fit ripped through him as he stumbled toward the diner, barely catching it in the crook of his arm. His nose was running nonstop, and his entire body shivered violently, the fever and cold conspiring to sap what little strength he had left.

Inside, the diner was dim and nearly empty, save for a single bored-looking waitress wiping down the counter. Remi ordered a large coffee, his voice so hoarse that the waitress leaned closer to hear him.

“Rough night, huh?” she said sympathetically as she handed him his cup.

“Somethidg like thad,” Remi muttered, his glowing green eyes narrowing as he tried to ignore the tickle building in his nose again. He shuffled to a corner booth, blowing his nose loudly into a fresh tissue before collapsing into the seat.

The coffee was hot and bitter, and while it didn’t do much for his sinuses or the throbbing in his head, it gave him enough energy to keep moving. After a few minutes, he dragged himself back to the car, his shivers worsening as the freezing air clung to his damp clothes.

---

The second half of the drive was even worse.

The snow had picked up, falling in heavy sheets that made it almost impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The car heater was working overtime, blasting lukewarm air that left Remi feeling alternately sweaty and chilled to the bone.

“Hhh… hh—Hihh’ISSHh! ihH’ktdSHhh!!! hhEhh-! HhEHh’IITShh’IIEW! hiiih’ISHHHh—uhH!! HAHH’IKKTsh—uhh!”

Remi’s sneezes grew wetter and harsher, his tissues quickly piling up in the passenger seat. He could barely keep his glowing green eyes open, the exhaustion dragging at him like a physical weight. The coffee he’d had earlier was wearing off, and his head lolled forward a few times before he snapped upright, shaking his head in an attempt to clear the fog.

“I cad do this,” he muttered to himself, his voice little more than a hoarse rasp. “Jusd a little… snnnRRFKKK!... a little farther.”

But as the miles dragged on, the storm grew worse, and so did Remi’s symptoms. His chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, each breath rattling ominously. The chills that wracked his body made it hard to keep his hands steady on the wheel, and the constant sneezing fits forced him to pull over twice more, each stop adding precious minutes to the already grueling trip.

---

By the time he finally pulled into Levi’s driveway, five hours after leaving the airport, Remi was a wreck. His head throbbed with every heartbeat, his nose was so red and raw that even the tissues felt like sandpaper, and his entire body ached as if he’d been dragged through the snowstorm himself.

He slumped against the steering wheel for a moment, too drained to move. But then the front door flew open, and Levi came rushing out into the snow, his freckled face alight with concern.

“Remi!”

The sight of Levi gave him just enough strength to sit up, though his voice was little more than a croak. “Dodd ged doo glose,” he warned weakly, fumbling for another tissue. “Budd… berry grisdbas. I bissed you so budge.”

And as Levi wrapped his arms around him, ignoring his protests, Remi let out a shaky breath of relief. He was home.

“You idiot,” he murmured, his ice-blue eyes scanning his mate’s flushed, miserable face. “Come inside. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

---

Inside, Levi wasted no time.

The moment Remi shuffled through the door, his towering frame hunched and shivering, Levi was already moving. “Bathroom. Shower. Now,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Remi groaned softly, the sound thick with exhaustion and congestion. “I’b fide—”

“You’re not fine,” Levi interrupted, slipping an arm around Remi’s waist to steady him as he swayed on his feet. “Shower. You’re freezing, and you need to get that fever down.”

With Levi’s help, Remi made it to the bathroom, his glowing green eyes glassy and distant. The warm air in the small room was a stark contrast to the bitter chill outside, and the moment Levi turned on the shower, steam began to rise, filling the space with a comforting heat.

“Clothes off,” Levi said gently, stepping out to give Remi a moment of privacy.

Remi moved slowly, his fingers trembling as he fumbled with his jacket and shirt. Each movement felt like a monumental effort, his limbs heavy and uncooperative. By the time he managed to strip off his damp clothes, his feverish skin was already slick with sweat. He stepped into the shower, the steaming water cascading over his broad shoulders, and let out a low, guttural sigh of relief.

The heat eased his shivers almost instantly, and for the first time in hours, his chest didn’t feel like it was constricted in a block of ice. The steam worked its way into his clogged sinuses, loosening the congestion just enough to allow for a few deep, shuddering breaths.

But he was so tired.

His head lolled forward, his forehead pressing lightly against the tiled shower wall as the water poured over him. His glowing green eyes fluttered shut, the flickering light dim and weak. He felt himself drifting, the haze of fever and exhaustion pulling him under, but a sudden, wet sneeze jolted him back to reality.

“Hhh… hh’IISHHhhuhh! Hh—IISSCHhh’iew!”

The sneezes bent him forward, his hands bracing against the wall for balance as the force wracked through his already-aching body. He groaned softly, his hoarse voice barely audible over the sound of the water.

Levi’s voice came from the other side of the door, gentle but insistent. “Remi? You okay in there?”

“Y-yeah,” Remi rasped, though his voice cracked under the strain.

Levi pushed the door open a crack, his freckled face peeking in. “Don’t fall asleep in the shower, okay? You’re scaring me...”

“Not sleepig,” Remi muttered, though his drooping eyelids said otherwise. He reached for the shampoo with shaky hands, managing to lather his hair before the motion left him winded.

Levi sighed softly, stepping fully into the room now and grabbing a towel. “Alright, big guy. That’s enough. Time to get you into bed.”

---

By the time Remi stumbled out of the bathroom, his black hair damp and dripping, Levi had transformed the bedroom into a cozy haven. The humidifier was running on high, filling the room with a soothing mist of eucalyptus-scented steam. On the nightstand sat a glass of water, a dose of cold medicine, and a fresh box of tissues.

“Here,” Levi said softly, guiding Remi to sit on the edge of the bed. He handed him the medicine, his freckled brow furrowing as he watched the wolf struggle to open the blister pack. “Let me.”

Remi surrendered the package without a fight, sniffling thickly as Levi popped out two pills and handed them over. He swallowed them with a sip of water, his broad shoulders slumping as he crawled under the blankets.

“By dose bages gross doises whedd I sleeb righd dow,” he warned weakly, his voice thick with congestion. His glowing green eyes were dim, barely visible beneath his heavy eyelids.

Levi smiled softly, brushing a hand through Remi’s damp hair. “I don’t care what you sound like,” he murmured. “I just want you to rest.”

Remi let out a faint hum of acknowledgment, already sinking into the pillows Levi had propped up to help him breathe.

The medicine and humidifier worked wonders.

Within minutes, Remi’s body relaxed, his breathing slowing into a rhythm of congested snores. His broad chest rose and fell unevenly, each inhale punctuated by soft whistles and gurgling sounds from his overworked nose. Occasionally, a wet, rattling cough would break through, his body shuddering with the effort before settling back into sleep.

Levi sat beside him, his hand moving gently through his mate’s hair in slow, soothing strokes. He didn’t mind the noises—if anything, the sound of Remi’s breathing was a comfort. He was finally resting, his body beginning to catch up on the sleep it had been so desperately craving.

“You’re home now,” Levi murmured softly, pressing a kiss to Remi’s temple. “Just rest, Acushla.”

He stayed by his side until his own icey-blue eyes grew heavy, his fingers still tangled in Remi’s hair as the room filled with the gentle hum of the humidifier and the soft, labored sounds of Remi’s breathing.

---

At 6 a.m., however, the peace was broken.

Levi stirred awake when he felt the heat radiating off Remi even through the layers of blankets. He shifted, blinking against the early morning light filtering through the curtains, and frowned turned toward their mate. Remi was pale, his shaggy black hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his glowing green eyes barely cracked open at the sound of Levi’s voice.

“Hey,” Levi murmured softly, shaking him gently by the shoulder. “Remi, wake up.” His freckled brow furrowed in concern as he pressed a hand to his forehead. The heat there was almost alarming.

Remi groaned weakly, his voice rough and nearly incomprehensible. “Wha’…?”

“You’re burning up,” Levi said, his voice tight with worry as he reached for the thermometer on the nightstand. He slipped it under Remi’s tongue, brushing a damp strand of hair away from his flushed face as he waited for the result.

When the thermometer beeped, Levi glanced down at the reading and frowned deeply. “106,” he muttered, shaking their head. “You’re not going anywhere today. No arguments.”

Remi shifted weakly against the pillows, his brow furrowing in faint protest. “B-buhh… I dod’t—”

“No,” Levi interrupted firmly, cutting him off with a soft kiss to his fever-warm temple. “You’re spending Christmas in bed, big guy. Biziil, Connie, and Meeko will understand. I know you wanted to be there, but right now, the only thing that matters is you getting better.”

Remi let out a soft, defeated sigh, his glowing green eyes fluttering shut. “I’b sorry,” he mumbled hoarsely.

“Don’t be,” Levi murmured, smoothing a hand through his damp hair. “I’m just glad you’re here, Rem. Get some rest, Acushla. I’ll be back soon.”

---

When Levi returned later that morning, the house was quiet except for the gentle hum of the humidifier and the soft, labored sounds of Remi’s breathing.

Levi set down the bags of groceries they’d picked up after their brief visit to family and crept into the bedroom, their heart sinking at the sight of their mate. Remi was sprawled awkwardly against the pillows, his massive frame practically melting into the bed. His breathing was loud and uneven, each inhale a wet, congested whistle followed by a rattling exhale. A crumpled tissue was pressed to his face, and more were scattered across the blanket, evidence of his ongoing struggle with his cold.

Levi sighed softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Oh, Rem,” they murmured, brushing a hand through his messy hair. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Remi didn’t stir, too deeply entrenched in his feverish sleep to notice. His brow was furrowed slightly, as if even in rest he couldn’t escape his discomfort. Levi gently adjusted the blankets around him, tucking him in more securely before slipping into bed beside him.

The warmth radiating off Remi was immediate and startling, his fever like a furnace beneath the covers. It sent a pang of guilt through Levi’s chest, knowing his mate had pushed himself so hard just to get home. But despite that, they couldn’t stop themselves from wrapping their arms around him, pulling his sweaty, shivering frame close.

Remi stirred faintly at the touch, letting out a soft snort as his glowing green eyes cracked open just a sliver. “Nnnnn… l-Levi?” he mumbled, his voice barely more than a croak.

“Yeah, I’m here, Rem,” Levi said softly, stroking his hair. “I got you.”

The tension in Remi’s body eased at their words, his head lolling weakly onto Levi’s shoulder. His breath came in loud, wheezy gasps, each exhale rattling painfully in his chest. “I’b sorry… he croaked, his voice breaking as he sighed in defeat. “That this is how you have to spedd adother grissbas…”

Levi shook his head, his freckled nose scrunching slightly as he placed a gentle kiss to Remi’s damp temple. “Hey, shut up,” He murmured affectionately. “I’ll spend every Christmas like this if it means spending it with you, Acushla. Just get better, okay? We can worry about the other stuff later.”

Remi nodded weakly, his eyelids fluttering closed again as he relaxed into Levi’s embrace.

“Merry Christmas, Acushla,” Levi whispered after a second, his voice heavy with love and worry.

“Hhh… b-behhh- hehhh- Hd’IZTSsHHhhh’ih!”

Remi barely had time to bury his face in the blanket before another harsh sneeze tore through him, his whole body shuddering with the force. He sniffled wetly, wiping at his nose with the corner of the blanket before collapsing back against the pillows with a heavy sigh.

“Berry Gristbas, kitted,” he mumbled weakly, his voice nasally and clipped with congestion.

Levi smiled softly, his hand still stroking through his hair as he whispered, “Bless you, Rem. Rest now. I’ve got you.”

And as the humidifier hummed quietly in the background, Levi stayed by his side, determined to nurse him through this miserable Christmas—and every one after.

46 notes · View notes

aller-geez · 1 month ago

Note

If you're still looking for fic reqs could we maybe see either Remi hiding a horrible cold from Levi who is mad at him because he feels like he deserves it because he knows he's fucked up, or sick Elex in that scenario?

Hey there Nonny!

Here’s your fic with sick Remi hiding his cold from a pissed off Levi! ( @thekinkyleopard owns 🖤)

Hopefully this is what you were looking for, but I very much could have misinterpreted your request at the end, and if so I’m sorry 😭😭

Cold Shoulder

Written & illustrated by: allergeez ✨

Summary: Remi and Levi's relationship is tested after a heated argument leaves them emotionally distant and struggling to communicate. As Levi asks for space, Remi silently battles feelings of regret, isolation, and an increasingly severe illness that he hides from Levi. The tension between them grows deeper, characterized by silence and unspoken longing. Eventually, both must confront their fears and insecurities to bridge the emotional gap and rediscover the meaning of support and affection in their relationship. 5.4k words

Content Warnings:

Emotional conflict and interpersonal tension

Depictions of illness (fever, congestion, intense sneezing, coughing)

Themes of self-isolation and emotional neglect

References to anxiety, guilt, and depressive episodes

Explicit descriptions of sneezing and illness-related symptoms

“You never talk to me, Remi!” Levi’s voice cracked mid-sentence, part from anger, part from something far more fragile underneath.

Remi stood stiff in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight. His shaggy black hair hung in his eyes, glowing green and dim—like low coals barely containing their heat. “I do talk to you, Levi. Just not in the way you want.”

“That’s not fair and you know it.” Levi’s hands trembled at his sides, fingers curled tight, like he was physically holding himself back from throwing something. “I ask you if something’s wrong and you brush me off. I try to check in, and you disappear into yourself until you think I’ll stop asking. You can’t keep shutting me out every time you get in your own head.”

Remi looked away, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “It’s better than dumping all my shit on you.”

“Oh, so now I’m just a liability? Thanks.”

“No, that’s not—” Remi ran a hand over his face, voice strained. “That’s not what I meant. I just… I didn’t want to make it worse. You’ve been stressed, and I didn’t want to add to it.”

Levi laughed, sharp and humorless. “You didn’t want to burden me? God, Remi, do you even hear how that sounds?”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full—of everything neither of them was saying. The tension pressed against the walls, brittle and cold.

“I just need some space,” Levi said finally, softer now, but no less final. “Just for a while.”

Remi didn’t fight it.

He just nodded once, stiff and quiet, and stepped back out of the kitchen. The sound of his boots retreating down the hall was too loud in the silence that followed.

Levi stayed rooted to the tile, arms wrapped tightly around himself, already wondering if he was going to regret asking for that space.

Neither of them noticed the faint, stifled snfkk! Remi muffled into his sleeve as he disappeared into the dark.

The sun barely filtered through the heavy drapes of the living room, casting a pale, gray-tinted light across the floor. The space was quiet—too quiet—and far colder than it usually felt.

Remi stirred from the couch with a low groan, one arm draped over his eyes. He hadn't even bothered changing out of yesterday’s clothes. The hoodie clung to him, the collar damp with sweat, but even still, he couldn’t stop shivering.

His head throbbed, each pulse of pressure behind his eyes syncing up with the distant ringing in his ears. His throat felt scraped raw, and every breath through his nose came with a wet, reluctant snffkk.

He sniffled again, louder this time, and winced as the congestion refused to budge. He wiped his nose roughly on the sleeve of his hoodie and sat up slowly, the pounding in his skull intensifying the second he moved.

He blinked blearily at the empty space in front of him. Levi wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t.

The echo of last night’s argument hovered at the edge of his thoughts, clearer now than it had been in the heat of the moment.

You never talk to me. You shut me out. You didn’t want to burden me?

Each word hit harder than the last. And now—on top of everything—his body had decided to fall apart too.

“Hhhuhh—hiiih’ISHHHh—uhH!! Snnffhh!”

The sneeze exploded from him with no time to catch it. He turned his head just barely, spraying into the open air with a helpless sniffle afterward.

His nose dripped instantly, and he scrambled for the tissue box on the coffee table, only to find it empty. He cursed softly under his breath, grabbing a wrinkled napkin from last night’s leftover takeout bag instead and blowing his nose into it with a miserable, wet honk.

He should tell Levi. He should say something.

But Remi just leaned back on the couch, eyes half-lidded and burning, and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Levi needed space. That’s what he’d asked for. And Remi wasn’t about to crawl back into their shared room coughing and sneezing like a kicked dog just for sympathy.

He already felt like a walking pile of regret. He could handle a little head cold.

Probably.

His stomach turned. His head pulsed. His sinuses burned. And his throat ached with every shallow swallow.

Totally fine.

“Hhhuhh—hehh… hh'IETSH’UE!! snfffffffhh— hhuhhhhh— HI’DTSCHIEW!”

The next two sneezes snapped him forward with force, and he slumped sideways, panting through his mouth, wiping his nose uselessly on the napkin again.

The space between him and Levi had never felt so wide.

Remi lay half-slumped against the arm of the couch, legs stretched out haphazardly, one arm draped over his aching stomach. The other hung limply at his side, fingers still clutched weakly around the crumpled napkin he’d already destroyed with half a dozen nose blows. He needed to get up—needed more tissues, water, anything—but he couldn’t make his body move.

His sinuses throbbed with a swollen, pressurized ache that refused to let him breathe properly. Every inhale through his nose whistled and gurgled, a disgusting symphony of congestion and rawness, but his mouth was too dry to keep doing all the work.

And worst of all… the sneezing. Or rather—the lack of sneezing.

That maddening tickle had nested deep inside his sinuses, clawing its way through every nerve ending, teasing and prickling at the edge of relief like a cruel joke. His nostrils twitched endlessly, his breath hitching in shallow, helpless gasps as the sensation threatened to crest again and again.

“Hhhuhh… hhihhh… hhh-hh’ihhh… snffkk!”

His head tilted back, eyelids fluttering, mouth parting with a soft, pre-sneeze whimper—only for the feeling to vanish at the last moment, like smoke slipping through his grasp.

He sniffled hard, the wet sound miserable and ineffective. “F-fuck’s sake,” he rasped, rubbing at his nose with the cuff of his hoodie, only for the tickle to flare again, sharp and urgent.

“Huhhh-hhhEHh’t—hhihhh!… hh-HHhuhh—snffhh… ughhhh…”

He hung there, trapped in a purgatory of near-release, his whole body tense and expectant, every breath shaky and unsatisfying. The prickling itch climbed back into place, crawling along the bridge of his nose and curling up beneath his sinuses like it knew what it was doing.

Then finally—finally—one slipped free.

“hhEhh-! HhEHh’iiTShh’iiEW! Snngkkt!!”

It was harsh, messy, uncontained. The force bent him forward at the waist, leaving a damp shimmer across the front of his hoodie and a ringing in his ears. It didn’t help. It didn’t clear anything.

Another swelled in its wake almost immediately. His breath hitched again, harder this time, chest rising sharply, muscles locking tight in anticipation.

“HhhUHhh... hhuhhh-HHhhuh—hh’IEHHHt’SHHHhhkk!! Hhuhhh-Hnkt'KNXTuhh!…snnrkkk…”

This one he tried to stifle, purely out of reflex—but the pressure in his head exploded behind his eyes like a hammer, and the stifle only made his skull throb harder.

He groaned aloud, dragging both hands up to cradle his forehead. His skin burned with fever, clammy and tight. Every nerve behind his sinuses pulsed like his body was punishing him for the build-up. And still... he could feel more hovering, teasing just out of reach.

His glowing green eyes were bleary now, dulled with exhaustion and thick tears he couldn’t wipe away fast enough. He swiped at his face with his sleeve again, damp and useless, but the tickle refused to stop. It lingered, wicked and insistent, burning just high enough to taunt but never low enough to let go.

“Snfhh… huhhh... h-hhuhhhHh… oh god—just—f-fucking sneeze already—hh’kKTSSCHhh!!”

He coughed afterward, deep and chesty, curling into himself with a moan. His hoodie clung to his overheated skin, his body trembling with the sheer exhaustion of fighting against every sneeze, every breath, every aching limb.

But still, he didn’t move.

He just sniffled again, throat dry and raw, and closed his eyes as he let his head fall back against the cushion.

Somewhere far away, he thought he heard the creak of the hallway floorboards. But it was probably just his own heartbeat pounding through his ears.

Remi had never been good at apologizing. Not with words, at least.

He wanted to say something. To fix the raw look that had been on Levi’s face the night of the fight. But every time he imagined walking into the room to try, all that came out was a rasped-up, barely intelligible grunt—and the bitter knowledge that Levi probably didn’t want to see him anyway.

So he gave Levi the space he’d asked for.

And if that space just so happened to involve Remi getting steamrolled by a brutal head cold, well... that was his own damn fault, wasn’t it?

He slept on the couch, curled into a ball far too small for his broad frame, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like a kid trying to disappear. The blanket was too thin, the cushions too stiff, but he didn’t dare venture back to their shared bed. Not when he was this gross. Not when Levi still hadn’t looked him in the eyes since the fight.

The sneezes never came in ones. They dragged through him in doubles and triples, clawing up from deep in his sinuses, tearing through his chest, leaving him gasping and sniffling and soaked with fever sweat.

But Levi never heard them. Not once.

Remi made sure of that.

He’d press his face into a balled-up towel, practically biting down on it as the sneezes tore through him. When he needed to cough—which was often, wet and painful and rattling—he turned on the shower and let the water run, trying to time each fit between bursts of steam.

He flushed the toilet when he blew his nose. Opened the window in the kitchen when he heated soup, so the smell wouldn’t carry. Not that he could taste anything. His sense of smell had packed up and left two days ago.

Tissues were never left out in the open. He kept a stash rolled into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, pulling them out discreetly and stuffing the used ones deep down in the trash so Levi wouldn’t see.

When Levi passed him in the hallway—which was rare—Remi straightened up, cleared his throat, and offered a lazy “Hey.” Short. Normal. Cool.

Levi would nod, maybe say something neutral in return, then disappear into another room.

Good.

Better this way.

He didn’t need Levi worrying about him, not while he was still mad. He didn’t need pity. He didn’t want to force sympathy. He could take care of himself until Levi forgave him—or decided he wasn’t worth forgiving.

The hardest part wasn’t the sneezing, or the aching, or the fevers that left his skin clammy and his limbs too heavy to move. It wasn’t even the bone-deep fatigue that made walking down the hall feel like a hike through molasses.

It was the silence. The space. The absence of Levi’s voice in his day, of Levi’s fingers raking through his hair while they watched something dumb, of his laughter filling the corners of the house like sunlight.

He curled tighter on the couch and pressed his face into a cold pillow. His chest rattled with a breath he tried to keep quiet. His nose ran. His throat burned.

But still, he didn’t go to Levi.

He’d made his mess. Now he’d lay in it—and sneeze in it—until Levi was ready.

At first, the silence felt justified.

Levi had needed space—no, demanded it. And Remi, for once, hadn’t argued. He’d just backed off, cool and quiet, like he always did when the conversations got too deep or the feelings got too big.

At first, Levi told himself it was fine. He needed time to cool down, to think. To stop hearing Remi’s voice in his head with that infuriating mix of logic and avoidance.

But after a day, the silence didn’t feel empowering anymore. It felt empty.

He noticed it when he went to grab tea from the cabinet and realized Remi hadn’t touched the coffee in over 24 hours. Not once. Not even for a dramatic, sleepy entrance into the kitchen followed by his usual lazy grumbling about mornings.

He noticed it when he passed the bathroom and saw the light was on—but the door was closed, locked, and the sound of the shower running had been going for too long. Too quiet in between.

He noticed it when the couch cushions remained uneven, the blanket in the living room stayed rumpled for three days, and the familiar, low murmur of Remi’s favorite music didn’t echo through the floorboards.

And worst of all, he noticed it in Remi’s absence.

Not the physical kind—Remi was clearly here, somewhere. But emotionally? Remi had vanished.

He wasn’t showing up in Levi’s space. Wasn’t peeking into the kitchen with a smirk. Wasn’t making a half-hearted joke to break the tension, or pretending nothing had happened to coax a reaction out of him.

Remi was quiet.

And Remi was never quiet like this.

Levi curled his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie as he stood in the hallway, staring at the closed guest room door. His chest ached with something he didn’t want to name.

Had he pushed too hard? Said something too far?

He was angry—still angry—but now the silence didn’t feel like a boundary. It felt like punishment.

And it wasn’t Remi who was doing the punishing. It was himself.

Levi wiped his sleeve across his nose—dry, irritated—and exhaled shakily. His throat burned, but not from a cold.

He missed Remi. He missed his stupid, stubborn smirks and the way he curled his hand behind Levi’s neck when no one was looking. He missed his glow-in-the-dark eyes blinking sleepily over the lip of a coffee mug. He missed having someone there—even if they weren’t saying the right things. Even if they weren’t saying anything at all.

His eyes burned.

“God,” he whispered, swallowing hard. “What if I asked for space when he really needed me?”

The thought hit him like a stone to the chest.

Remi had a way of making himself invisible when he thought he was a problem. He’d done it before—physically there, emotionally tucked out of reach, like he was hiding behind a wall no one could climb.

It started with a sound.

A subtle one, muffled, easy to miss if he hadn’t been walking down the hall at just the right moment.

“Shhffhh—snrrkkk... snfffhh.”

Levi paused mid-step, brows drawing together. He turned his head slightly toward the bathroom door. It was closed—but not locked. The fan wasn’t on, and the sink wasn’t running.

He waited. Listened.

“Snfhhk.”

Another thick sniffle, like someone was trying to clear a nose too congested to budge. Then… silence.

Levi’s eyes narrowed.

He almost knocked. Almost called out.

But something held him back. He straightened, turned on his heel, and walked away instead, jaw tight. Guilt sulking, he told himself. He probably wants attention. Probably trying to make it look like he’s suffering just enough for sympathy, but not enough to be obvious. Classic Remi.

And yet...

Later that afternoon, while grabbing clean towels from the laundry room, he saw it: a single, crumpled tissue sitting on top of the washing machine. Not a paper towel. Not one of their backup napkins. A tissue.

Levi stared at it for a long moment.

He picked it up with two fingers, tossed it in the trash, and tried not to let it gnaw at him.

He passed Remi in the hall the next morning.

They hadn’t been making eye contact much—just awkward nods and brief, one-word exchanges—but Levi noticed, this time, that Remi’s hoodie sleeves were pulled down lower than usual. His shoulders were more hunched. His steps were slow, dragging like every movement took effort.

And just as Levi opened his mouth to say something—anything—Remi turned his head sharply to the side.

“Hhh’IISSHhh!… hHh’tSSCHuhh!”

Two violent, congested sneezes bent him at the waist before he could stop them. He stumbled, one hand bracing against the wall, the other pressed into the crook of his arm, shaking from the effort.

Levi froze.

Remi didn’t even look at him.

He just sniffled—wet and low—and muttered a broken, “S’cuse me,” before practically vanishing into the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him, locked this time.

Levi stood there, heart pounding, throat dry.

That hadn’t been a man sulking.

That was someone sick. Really sick.

And he had let Remi suffer like that.

It started with a sound Levi couldn’t ignore.

He was halfway down the hallway, balancing a mug of tea in one hand, when he heard it—sharp, muffled, desperate.

“Hhh’IISSHHHhh’uhhh!!”

The force of it seemed to echo through the closed bathroom door, followed by a gasping inhale and another violent, stifled attempt at control that utterly failed.

“HHRR’tSCHHHuhhh—!!”

Levi froze, his brow furrowing, heart instantly kicking up a notch.

That wasn’t the quiet kind of sniffle he’d overheard earlier in the week. That was full-body, raw sneezing—unrestrained and pained.

He stepped closer to the door, listening.

“Snnkkggfffhh—huhh… Huh’GDSHHhh’ihh! hhuhhh-hhuh Hd’IZTSsHHhhh’-uhh!!”

Each one slammed through Remi with increasing desperation. There was no space between them—just breathless recovery before the next hit, as if holding back for so long had finally snapped something open.

Levi’s stomach turned.

The muffled, wet rustling of tissues came next. A groan. The scrape of something heavy against tile—maybe Remi slumping down to sit against the wall.

Then:

“hhuhhh’uhhHHH—hh’HGDSCHhh!! … hhuhh’DZSCHhhh!

—f-fuuhhck— hhuhh-hhehh’HhETSCHhhhuh!!”

Levi stepped up to the door and pressed his free hand against it gently.

“Rem?” he said, voice careful. Steady. “You okay in there?”

A long pause.

Then a croaked, soaked voice from the other side: “’M fine.”

It was laughable. He sounded like he was gargling gravel, breath catching, sinuses completely shot.

Levi’s throat tightened.

“You don’t sound fine,” he said softly. “Remi, open the door.”

There was a shuffling noise, followed by a congested, miserable cough and the telltale flutter of a tissue being torn from the box. Then another thick blow.

“I—snfkkk—didn’t wadda... y-you were mbad,” came Remi’s hoarse, barely audible voice. “Didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Levi closed his eyes, pressing his palm harder to the door. “You’ve been hiding this for days?” he whispered, not trusting his voice to stay even.

“I was trying not to bother you,” Remi said again, but his breath was already hitching helplessly.

“hhHhh’IEHH’TSSCHHhh!—ehh’GKTSSHHhhue! huhhh-uhhh—hhNTSCH’uhh!”

The rhythm of the fit stole any chance at conversation. It was pure reflex now, violent and constant, and Levi could hear the misery radiating from the other side of the wood.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Okay,” he murmured, stepping back. “That’s enough.”

He gave the door a gentle knock. “I’m going to get the humidifier, some meds, and a fresh box of tissues,” he said, voice warm but insistent. “When I come back, I’m sitting on the other side of this door until you open it. You don’t have to say anything. Just let me in when you’re ready.”

There was a pause. Another congested breath. A small sniffle. And then—so quietly Levi almost missed it:

“…Kay.”

Levi exhaled shakily and turned, moving down the hall with purpose—but his heart ached with every step.

Remi hadn’t just been sick.

He’d been hiding.

And Levi had missed every single sign.

Remi sagged against the cold tile wall, the sleeves of his hoodie soaked at the cuffs, his breath coming in hot, shallow pants. The tissue in his hand had completely disintegrated at this point—too many sneezes, too wet to be of any use—and the trash can beside him was overflowing with a nest of damp, crumpled extras.

He hadn’t meant for Levi to hear him.

Hadn’t meant to lose it like that, trapped in the bathroom, no longer able to muffle the sneezes that kept tearing out of him like they were trying to drag his ribs out with them.

“hhuh- -hd’ISCHhh!! -h’dtTISHh! hhh’ISCHih! !! Snrkkkkff— hhuhh’TSSCHHh-uhh!”

The last one doubled him over, nearly knocked his head against the sink. He braced one arm against the counter, the other shielding his nose as another sneeze clawed up fast behind it.

“HhhiIHH— HI’DTSCHIEW!!! Huhh- hhuhhh… hHAHH’IKKTsh—uhh!!!”

His head swam. Each sneeze left him reeling, gasping, the congestion in his sinuses thick and relentless—like every blow should’ve cleared it, but none ever did.

His nose burned. His eyes watered constantly, not from tears but from sheer overstimulation. And his throat—god, his throat—felt like it had been scraped raw with sandpaper.

He sniffled hard, a sharp, wet sound that only half-worked, and hissed softly as it made the pressure behind his eyes throb. He wiped under his nose with the heel of his palm, vaguely aware of how gross he probably looked, but too tired to care. He caught his reflection in the mirror and winced.

His hair clung to his face in damp strands, cheeks flushed dark red against pale skin. His nostrils were pink and chapped from friction. Even his eyes looked dim, the usual radioactive glow dulled to a tired glimmer beneath heavy lids.

He was a mess. A stupid, stubborn, sneezy mess.

And Levi had heard it now. All of it.

Remi groaned, burying his face in the crook of his elbow as another fit clawed through his sinuses with ruthless precision.

“hhuhh—IHH’EKTSHHHhh!… hhuhhh… h-hh—hEhTXSSHhh’ih!!! snfhhk— hhuhh’ESSHHHuhhh!”

They just kept coming.

He couldn’t even finish a damn thought without another hitting him like a truck. Every word he might’ve said—“I’m sorry,” maybe, or “I didn’t mean to shut you out,” or “I missed you”—was swallowed in the sharp, helpless rhythm of his own body breaking down.

He slumped to the floor again, hoodie pulled tighter around him, body still quivering with post-sneeze tremors.

Remi’s hand trembled as he reached for the lock.

His body ached. His sinuses were an active warzone, and the effort of just getting upright again had left him winded. But through the misery fogging his thoughts—through the congestion, the heat, the rawness of his throat—he could still feel Levi’s presence just outside the door.

Quiet. Patient. Still there.

He leaned against the cool wood for a second, forehead pressing gently against it, and let out a slow, ragged breath through his mouth. Then, with a soft click, he turned the knob.

The door creaked open.

Levi was seated right there in the hallway, back against the wall, legs crossed, a glass of water in one hand and a box of tissues balanced on his lap. He looked up immediately—and whatever expression had been on his face softened into something unspoken the second he saw Remi.

Remi didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His voice was shredded, and the lump in his throat wasn’t all from the cold.

Levi rose to his feet slowly, setting the water and tissues aside.

His eyes moved over Remi—taking in the sweat-dampened hair, the flushed cheeks, the hoodie sleeves bunched around trembling fists, the completely ruined look on his face—and his jaw tightened slightly.

Not with anger. With hurt.

“Remi…” he whispered, voice thick. “God, you look—” He stopped himself and stepped forward, hands open, not touching, not assuming. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Remi blinked slowly, eyelids heavy and aching. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a small, helpless sound as his breath hitched again—an apology derailed by another building sneeze.

“hhuhh-hhhHhh… ihH’ktdSHhh!!! ! hHI’DTSCHIEW!—snfffh!”

He managed to turn away just in time, half-catching it in his already-damp sleeve before groaning and sagging against the doorframe.

That did it.

Levi stepped in, wordlessly slipping an arm around Remi’s waist to steady him, the other coming up to cradle the back of his neck.

“Come on,” he said softly. “You’re burning up. Let’s get you to the couch.”

Remi didn’t argue. Couldn’t. He just let Levi guide him, leaning into his touch like gravity demanded it. His legs ached. His nose was still running. His chest felt like it had splintered from the inside out. And yet, for the first time in days, something inside him began to settle.

The guilt still burned. But Levi was here.

Helping him stand. Holding him up.

And somehow, that was enough to let the walls fall.

He sniffled again, thick and miserable, and croaked softly, “I’b sorry.”

Levi’s eyes were already shining when he turned to look at him.

“I know,” he whispered. “But you don’t have to hide when you’re hurting, Rem. Especially not from me.”

Levi eased Remi down onto the couch like he was handling something fragile.

Which, honestly… he was.

The wolf’s usual strong, confident frame looked so much smaller curled into the cushions—his hoodie swallowed his shoulders, his flushed face was slack with exhaustion, and his glow-dimmed green eyes barely stayed open.

Levi tucked a blanket over him, gently adjusting it to cover Remi’s legs and half his torso, then reached over to pluck the tissue box off the coffee table and set it within easy reach.

Remi groaned softly and shifted, letting his head loll against the armrest. He looked completely and utterly wrecked. His hair was sweat-damp and tangled, his cheeks were glowing red under pale skin, and his nose was raw and twitching, never quite calming for more than a few seconds.

Levi knelt beside the couch and ran a hand through Remi’s messy black hair, combing it back from his forehead, then pressed the backs of his fingers against his burning skin. “You’re so feverish Acushla,” he murmured, his voice full of gentle exasperation. “You poor thing.”

“Snffhhk—d-dod’t say it like that…” Remi croaked, attempting a smirk that collapsed halfway in.

Levi chuckled under his breath. “What? Like you’re not pitiful right now?”

Remi sighed miserably and gave a congested sniffle. “Feels like… there’s a drill press… behi’d by eyes…”

“Your sinuses?” Levi asked, already sitting down on the edge of the couch cushion near Remi’s chest. “Cheekbones feel tight?”

“Yeah…” Remi breathed, his voice fading to a whimper. “They’re… throbbi’g. And that damnb tickle—snrggkk—wod’t leave. Feels like I’b godda sdeeze every five seco’ds…”

Levi gave him a warm, knowing look and reached up with both hands, thumbs poised just under Remi’s cheekbones.

“May I?” he asked softly.

Remi blinked at him blearily, caught off guard by the offer. “You… wadda bassage by face?”

Levi smiled. “Light pressure helps relieve sinus pressure. I read about it when I had that awful spring cold, remember? Plus…” He tilted his head with a soft look. “Might take the edge off that stubborn tickle, yeah?”

Remi let out a groggy, congested snort that was half a laugh. “God, you’re a derd.”

“You love that I’m a nerd,” Levi said, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Remi’s burning temple before gently beginning to rub small, slow circles beneath his cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs.

Remi melted.

The sigh that left him was deep and shaky, like he’d finally been able to release some hidden tension. “That’s… hhhnnnh—snfffhh—really dice…”

Levi kept the motion slow, mindful. “Just breathe through it, okay?” he whispered, watching Remi’s eyelids flutter.

The wolf’s breath kept hitching, his poor nose trembling beneath Levi’s fingers. But with the gentle pressure, the sneezing urge began to fade, retreating just slightly from the edge. His brows unknotted. His shoulders sank.

“Better?” Levi murmured.

“…Yeah,” Remi breathed, voice raspy but sincere. “Still gross, but like… slightly less cursed.”

Levi laughed softly and leaned down to nuzzle into his hair. “You’re my gross,” he murmured. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Remi let his eyes close fully, sinking deeper into the couch as Levi continued the massage, his fingers warm, precise, and full of care.

For the first time in days, the ache behind Remi’s face finally eased.

And with Levi’s hands on his skin, whispering sweet nonsense under his breath, Remi didn’t feel sick and alone.

He just felt loved.

Remi’s face felt like it was made of steam and static and ache, but Levi’s touch… it was Magik.

The slow circles of his thumbs under Remi’s cheekbones were gentle but firm, chasing the pressure away little by little. And Levi knew exactly where to press—how to angle his thumbs to ease the throbbing behind his sinuses without making the lingering tickle in his nose worse again.

Remi didn’t even realize he was breathing through his nose for the first time in hours.

Levi didn’t stop the gentle pressure behind Remi’s cheekbones until he felt the other man’s body begin to truly relax. It wasn’t dramatic—just a gradual uncoiling of tension. The subtle slump of his shoulders. The slight parting of his lips as he began to breathe deeper, slower, the fight draining out of him like the fever had finally loosened its grip.

Remi’s lashes fluttered against the tops of his flushed cheeks, and a sleepy, hoarse sound escaped his throat—a noise halfway between a sigh and a congested hum.

Levi smiled faintly, brushing his thumb along the corner of Remi’s nose where it twitched slightly.

“Still itchy?” he whispered.

Remi didn’t answer. Not with words.

Just a faint sniffle, a slow blink, and the barely-there shake of his head before he tucked himself deeper under the blanket with a gravelly mutter of, “Jus’ keep touchin’ my face… s’nice…”

Levi chuckled under his breath and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of Remi’s jaw. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmured. “You’re lucky I’m a sucker for a sneezy disaster.”

A breathy huff of laughter escaped Remi—half-asleep now, barely there.

His body slackened into the couch. His lashes fluttered. His glowing green eyes, dulled by fever and exhaustion, finally closed.

He heard Levi's voice, soft and soothing and close, somewhere above him. “That’s it. Just rest. I got you, Acushla.”

Remi huffed a weak, stuffy breath that sounded like the ghost of a chuckle. “You always say that…”

“Because it’s always true,” Levi murmured, brushing a few stray strands of black hair from Remi’s damp forehead. He grabbed a tissue and gently wiped the edges of Remi’s nose with that same steady touch, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Remi didn’t even protest.

His pride was too tired.

His nose twitched again, and for a second, Levi thought he might be about to sneeze, but instead Remi just let out a soft, congested sigh, lips parting slightly as he finally allowed his body to give in to rest.

Levi tucked the blanket higher up around him and adjusted one of the throw pillows beneath Remi’s head. He watched the wolf’s breathing even out, slow and rhythmic, broken only by the occasional snuffly exhale or faint, unconscious sniffle.

The warm humidifier Levi had set up earlier hissed quietly in the corner, mist curling into the air like a lullaby.

Levi sat beside him on the couch, one arm gently draped along the top so his fingers could still trail through Remi’s shaggy hair. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

He just stayed.

Every now and then, Remi’s brow would crease in his sleep, and Levi would run a knuckle along his jaw until it smoothed out again. Every few minutes, Remi let out a hoarse little cough, and Levi would whisper, “It’s okay,” even if Remi couldn’t hear it.

He didn’t need to. He’d feel it.

The fight, the silence, the guilt—none of it mattered.

Levi reached for the cool glass of water he’d brought earlier and set it on the coffee table within reach. Then he tugged off his hoodie, draped it gently over Remi’s chest, and eased himself down onto the narrow space of the couch beside him.

It wasn’t graceful. Remi grumbled a little as Levi carefully maneuvered until his head found a place on Levi’s shoulder, tucked under his chin, arms still folded tight around the blankets.

Levi smoothed his fingers through the tangled, sweat-damp hair at the nape of Remi’s neck.

“Sleep, Rem,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And this time… Remi did.

His breathing evened out, still a little snuffly, still punctuated by the occasional congested snore, but peaceful. Content. Safe.

Levi stayed awake a while longer, one hand in Remi’s hair, the other resting lightly over his blanket-covered chest, feeling the slow, warm rhythm of his mate’s heartbeat beneath his palm.

Maybe he hadn’t been there right away.

But he was here now.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

The End ✨

21 notes · View notes

aller-geez · 2 months ago

Text

What Makes A Monster?

(A Fang Family Reunion part 2)

Written & Illustrated by: allergeez

Summary: Kriia finds herself fully immersed in the world of the Fang family as they celebrate a long-standing tradition. Despite battling a relentless cold, she pushes through the night, determined to prove herself among them. As the celebration unfolds, she gains a deeper understanding of the Fangs—not just as a powerful, fearsome bloodline, but as a family bound by fierce loyalty, love, and shared history.

At the heart of it all is Rexar—her reckless, endlessly chaotic, yet undeniably tender partner. Through stories told by his family, Kriia comes to realize just how capable and dangerous he truly is, a side of him he rarely shows. Yet, despite his skills, he is defined not by his lethality, but by his compassion—by his choice not to be the monster he was trained to be.

Amid laughter, nostalgia, and growing warmth, Kriia experiences something unexpected: acceptance. The Fangs welcome her into their traditions, their stories, and, ultimately, their family. But just as the night winds down and she finally allows herself to rest, an unexpected revelation turns everything on its head—one that promises to make the coming days even more chaotic than she could have imagined. 10.2k words

Content Warnings:

Violence & Gore: Graphic combat, assassinations, blood, and aftermath of fights.

Death & Murder: Mentions of executions, organized crime, and war criminals.

Illness & Medical Content: Severe cold/flu symptoms, fever, and caretaking scenes.

Family & Relationship Dynamics: Themes of familial pressure, belonging, and playful bullying.

Supernatural & Fantasy Elements: Vampiric/demonic traits, enhanced abilities, and fire-breathing sneezes.

Alcohol Use: Heavy drinking during a celebration.

Criminal Activity (Humor): Breaking into a café for tea, past crimes tied to family tradition.

The energy in the estate was electric.

Even through the thick walls of their room, Kriia could hear it—the roar of laughter, the clinking of glasses, the pounding of music and footsteps against the floorboards. The house was alive in a way that it hadn’t been before, pulsing with the high of indulgence, of satisfaction.

The Cullings were brutal, but to the Fang family, they were necessary. And now, having truly fed for the first time in a month, they celebrated.

Runa had barely made it out of the room before Rexar found himself sweeping Kriia into his arms, ignoring her tired groan of protest as he carried her across the room, cradling her against his chest like she weighed nothing.

“Babe—”

“Nope,” he interrupted smoothly, grinning as he dropped her onto the massive bed. The silk sheets were cool against her feverish skin, the sheer size of the mattress swallowing her whole.

Before she could even think of moving, Rexar flopped down beside her, sinking into the plush comforter with a content sigh.

They lay there for a moment, breathing, settling, existing in their own little world as the chaos of the celebration raged on outside.

When Kriia finally turned her head, her breath caught.

Rexar looked different.

Not just good—not just his usual unfairly attractive grunge rock disaster kind of good—but alive in a way she had never seen before.

His storm-gray eyes, flecked with crimson, were sharper, more intense, like they were finally awake. His skin, normally so pale from months of fasting, had color again, the warmth of his feeding bringing a glow to his sharp cheekbones, his strong jaw. Even his hair looked brighter, the crimson in his curls more vivid under the dim golden light of the fireplace.

She stared at him, taking him in.

And then, without thinking—

“You’re so handsome.”

Rexar blinked.

For a second, he just stared back at her, processing.

Then—his grin turned slow, lazy, his usual cocky confidence flickering at the edges, but softened by something else—something fond.

“Oh yeah?”

Kriia huffed a tired laugh, rolling her eyes at his tone, but she didn’t take it back.

“You always look good,” she admitted, voice still hoarse with congestion. “But like… this?” She gestured vaguely to him, her fingers barely lifting from the blankets. “This is different. You look—” She hesitated, searching for the right word.

Whole.

Powerful.

Like you were made for this.

But instead, she just sighed, letting the smallest, most exhausted smile tug at her lips.

“…confident.”

Something in Rexar’s face shifted.

His expression softened, his sharp features easing into something deeper, something real.

Slowly, he reached up, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing so, so gently along her jawline. His touch was warm, careful, a stark contrast to the raw strength behind his hands.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

They just existed together.

Noses barely a breath apart, sharing the same air, warmth radiating between them as the rest of the world faded into an indistinct blur beyond the soft candlelight of their room.

For the first time all night, Kriia felt steady—the weight of exhaustion, the dull ache behind her eyes, the relentless itch in her sinuses all momentarily forgotten as she let herself get lost in the quiet pull of Rexar’s gaze.

He looked so alive.

Reinvigorated in a way she’d never seen before—like the hunger that had haunted the edges of his expression for months had finally been satiated. The crimson glow in his storm-gray eyes burned a little brighter, the dark freckles dusting his pale skin standing out sharper in the flickering candlelight.

Gods, he was beautiful.

Kriia reached up, brushing her knuckles against his jaw with a tired, contented little hum. “You’re so—”

But the words caught in her throat as a tickle exploded in her sinuses, sharp and sudden, burning its way down to her lungs.

Oh, fuck—

Her breath hitched violently, her whole body tensing as she barely managed to snap her head to the side—

“Ihh’gxxnt’iiew! Huh'GDTS'iiew!! Hh’NDKT’ihh!!”

The fit tore through her before she could even think about stopping it, each harsh, shuddering release leaving her nose twitching, her sinuses screaming in protest.

“hh’gTShhHh! Ihh’nG-kT—-! h’NgXt! Hh‘gschh!!”

Her shoulders jerked helplessly with each muffled sneeze, her body curling inward, her damp nostrils flaring wildly as she desperately tried to regain control.

But it wasn’t done with her yet.

Her breath kept stuttering—sharp, gasping little hiccups that barely gave her time to recover before—

“Hh’gxxtchh’iew! K’tchh! Nkch! Nkcht! H’gxtchh!!”

Her whole frame trembled against Rexar’s side, her knuckles pressed hard under her nose as she fought against the overwhelming tickle still blooming deep in her sinuses.

She sniffled thickly, congested and wrecked, her eyes bleary as she peered up at Rexar, who was watching her with open amusement, his own nose scrunching slightly in sympathy.

“Bless you, Princess,” he murmured, voice warm with affection as he ran a slow, lazy hand up her back, his fingertips tracing absentminded circles.

Kriia groaned, muffling another congested sniffle into the sleeve of her hoodie. “Kill mbe,” she croaked, voice hoarse and thick, her face burning from both fever and mortification.

Rexar chuckled, leaning in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Nah. You’re too cute to kill.”

Kriia huffed, fully prepared to bury herself in the blankets and never come out—

Then—

“WOOOOOOOO!!!”

The piercing sound of someone absolutely losing their shit with joy ripped through the hallway like a goddamn war cry.

Followed immediately by—

CRASH.

The unmistakable sound of something—several somethings—shattering into a million pieces.

Kriia blinked.

Rexar sighed.

Then, slowly—so slowly—he turned his head toward the door, eyebrows raised in exhausted amusement.

“Fang parties,” he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. “Fucking chaos.”

Kriia snorted.

Rexar grinned at the sound, something warm and utterly smitten settling behind his eyes as he sank back into the blankets—into her—his forehead bumping lightly against hers.

His hand found her waist, fingers curling just enough to keep her close, like letting go wasn’t even an option. The heat of him pressed into her feverish skin, grounding and familiar, wrapping around her like a second skin.

He let out a quiet, fond chuckle, voice still rough from the night air.

“Y’feelin’ any better, though?”

Kriia blinked at him, processing the question.

She did feel better.

Still tired, still stuffy, still wrecked by the aftermath of her fever, but… the weight in her chest wasn’t as heavy anymore. The ache in her limbs wasn’t as overwhelming. Maybe it was the medicine. Maybe it was the warmth of the room.

Or maybe—

Maybe it was just him.

She nodded, scrubbing a sleeve under her nose as another tickle ghosted through her sinuses, threatening to push her back into another round of sneezing. She sniffled thickly, pressing her knuckles under her nose to fight it back, then gave him a small, tired smile.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her voice still hoarse but lighter somehow. “I am.”

Rexar hummed in approval, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles against the sliver of exposed skin between her hoodie and the blanket.

But before he could say anything else—

She smirked.

“So… how was dinner?”

Rexar froze.

For half a second, he just stared at her, caught so off guard that his usual sharp wit momentarily abandoned him.

Then—

His grin split wide, eyes flashing bright, his entire body shaking with laughter.

“Oh, shit, babygirl,” he choked out, running a hand through his curls, his crimson bangs falling right back into his face. “Did you just ask me about The Culling? Like a normal-ass dinner?”

Kriia gave a tired shrug, her smirk widening just a little. “You were starving. I feel like it’s fair game.”

Rexar wheezed.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head, still grinning, his sharp canines flashing. “You really are one of us now, huh?”

She rolled her eyes, but before she could argue—

Rexar kissed her.

Soft, lingering, slow.

His lips brushed against hers like he was memorizing her, savoring her, pouring every ounce of warmth and gratitude into the press of his mouth. His fingers curled into the fabric of her hoodie, like he needed something to hold onto, to keep himself from falling too far into her.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to press another, smaller kiss to the corner of her mouth, he sighed contentedly against her skin.

“You’re fuckin’ unreal,” he murmured, his forehead bumping against hers again. “Gods, I love you.”

Kriia’s breath caught.

Her pulse stumbled.

She barely had time to process the warmth blooming in her chest before her body betrayed her again—

Her breath hitched, sharp and relentless, her damp nostrils twitching wildly as the tickle from earlier surged back to life, pulling her into an unavoidable, messy fit—

“Hh’NGXT’ih! Hh’GNSH’iiew! hptt’CH! Hh’gxtchh! Ngt’chh! hHh’KSHHhh’uehh!!”

She barely managed to wrench away in time, sneezing helplessly into the crumpled sleeve of her hoodie.

Rexar chuckled, running a slow, soothing hand up and down her back, pressing a light kiss to her temple between fits.

“Bless you, Princess,” he purred, his voice dripping with adoration.

Kriia groaned, sniffling miserably as she burrowed into his warmth, her face burning, her breath still catching unevenly in her chest.

Rexar just held her closer, pressing another soft, lingering kiss into her hair.

“Love you even more when you’re a sneezy mess,” he murmured, his voice teasing but so fucking fond. “S’kinda the cutest thing in existence, actually.”

Kriia, completely done with him, muffled her next groan into his chest. “I know you think so, babe…”

Rexar laughed, the sound so full of love, so effortless in its sincerity, that she couldn’t even be mad.

She just let herself melt into him, let herself exist in the space he so easily made for her, let herself believe—

That maybe, just maybe—

She belonged here.

Suddenly, the two were yanked from the dreamland they had stumbled into together and slammed back to reality—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The frantic, almost violent knocking at the door sent both of them jerking upright, Kriia’s breath catching as Rexar’s entire body tensed beside her, his instincts kicking in immediately.

“Rex!!”

A muffled, familiar voice rang through the heavy wood, high-energy and impatient as hell.

Before either of them could react—

Another voice—Elaris—called from down the hall, clearly amused.

“Zyra, leave Rex and his girl alone for a bit!” she teased, her warm, lilting voice full of laughter. “Maybe they’re busy!”

Kriia immediately turned red.

Rexar, to her absolute horror, just grinned.

“Ohhh my god,” Kriia groaned, covering her face as he laughed, way too entertained by the implication.

Outside, Zyra sighed dramatically.

“Come on!!” she complained. “Are they not celebrating with us tonight?! Rex has so much he hasn’t told me yet! I don’t wanna have to wait ‘til next year!”

A pause.

Then—a single, audible stomp against the floorboards.

Kriia peeked up at Rexar through her fingers.

He was still grinning—but his eyes?

They were locked on the door.

Not annoyed, exactly. But… different.

Like something in him had just clicked into place.

Something old. Something instinctive. Something that reminded Kriia, for just a second, that Rexar might be hers—

But he was still a Fang.

Still part of something bigger than himself.

The moment Zyra stomped her foot outside the door, Kriia turned her head toward Rexar, barely biting back a laugh.

He met her gaze almost instantly, amusement dancing behind his crimson-flecked eyes.

Then—silently, dramatically—he mouthed:

"I’m so sorry."

Kriia’s lips curled in a smirk, her expression clearly dismissive, as if to say “don’t worry, I understand—big brother duties.”

The moment he caught it, his grin practically split his face in half.

For a second, Kriia thought he might actually combust with how hard he was grinning.

But instead, he let out a deep, affectionate laugh, flopping down over her again just long enough to wrap his arms tight around her, squeezing like he had to get one last moment of warmth before throwing himself to the wolves.

Then—softly, into her hair—

"You deserve a goddamn medal, babygirl. Thank you for understanding."

And then, before she could even react—

He was gone.

Scurrying to the door, Rexar flung it open with the enthusiasm of a man embracing his fate.

Then—he immediately struck a pose.

Leaning against the doorframe like the biggest, most effortlessly cool motherfucker alive.

Zyra, who had clearly not expected this level of energy, froze.

For exactly one second.

Then—her face split into a manic grin.

"REX!!"

She launched at him.

With zero hesitation, she jumped, arms and legs locking around his waist like a hyperactive koala.

Rexar stumbled, laughing, barely catching himself before his lanky, 6’4 ass nearly toppled straight over.

“HEY—KID—DON’T KILL ME!”

Zyra shrieked with laughter, tightening her grip. “Then don’t disappear for a whole year, dumbass!”

Kriia, still tucked under the blankets, couldn’t stop the soft chuckle that escaped her.

It was chaos. Pure, undiluted chaos.

And then—

A shadow passed through the doorway.

Kriia barely had time to register the movement before Zeraphine Fang herself stepped inside, watching the scene unfold with a single, unimpressed eyebrow raise.

Rexar and Zyra—currently mid-wrestling match— did not stop.

Zeraphine sighed, shaking her head fondly. “You two are worse than the twins,” she muttered, but there was zero actual bite behind the words.

Then—her attention turned to Kriia.

Shit.

Kriia suddenly felt exposed, still buried under blankets but nowhere near protected from the scrutiny of Rexar’s mother.

She watched as Zeraphine took in everything.

The slightly pink nose. The feverish glow to her skin. The way she hadn’t moved from the bed.

And then—the most terrifying thing of all.

A warm, motherly smile.

Fucking hell.

Zeraphine glided past her still-fighting children, stepping gracefully to the edge of the bed.

She sat delicately at the foot of it, hands folded neatly over one knee, watching Kriia with open, genuine affection.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she murmured. “How are you feeling tonight?”

Kriia wanted to die.

Her skin was already fever-warm, but the added weight of Zeraphine’s attention sent a fresh wave of heat straight to her cheeks.

Shit.

This was so much worse than anything she had prepared for.

Clearing her throat, she awkwardly rubbed the back of her neck, offering the most casual, nonchalant answer she could manage:

“I, uh—yeah, I’m feeling a little better than I was this morning.”

Which was not a lie.

She no longer felt like she was actively dying. Just…mildly dying.

And apparently—that was all Zeraphine needed to hear.

Because before Kriia could even process what was happening—

A cool, gentle hand reached out, brushing past the strands of hair clinging to her damp forehead—

And then pressed lightly against her skin.

Kriia froze.

Her breath hitched, her body going rigid at the sudden contact.

Oh, fuck.

Zeraphine hummed softly, her touch light, almost absentminded. “Still warm,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Kriia’s brain short-circuited.

She had spent all weekend trying to act like she wasn’t sick—trying to downplay her symptoms, trying to avoid this exact moment.

And now here she was.

Being mothered by the woman who ran the entire Fang estate.

Fucking kill her now.

Kriia could feel her pulse thundering in her ears, her face only growing hotter under Zeraphine’s careful assessment.

And worse?

When she risked a glance toward Rexar—

He was fucking grinning.

Still trapped in a headlock from Zyra, but fully enjoying every second of her suffering.

She was going to strangle him.

Zeraphine let out a thoughtful hum before finally withdrawing her hand from Kriia’s forehead, her eyes sharp, assessing—but not unkind.

Kriia swallowed hard, sniffling as discreetly as possible while trying to ignore the way Rexar was still smirking at her like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week.

Zeraphine, unfazed by Kriia’s obvious discomfort, smoothed down the front of her gown before tilting her head ever so slightly. “Tell me, darling—do you know about the Culling? What it truly entails?”

Kriia’s stomach dropped.

Her heart pounded. This felt like a test.

Without thinking, her eyes flicked immediately to Rexar, searching for any kind of indication on what the hell she was supposed to say.

To her surprise—there was no hesitation in his response.

Rexar—still stuck in Zyra’s headlock—met her gaze and nodded.

A simple, easy gesture. Go ahead. It’s okay.

Kriia turned back to Zeraphine, sniffled hard, and cleared her throat before speaking.

“I do,” she admitted, her voice still hoarse but steady. “Rex told me.”

Zeraphine’s lips curled into something warm. Pleased.

“Good,” she murmured.

And just like that—any tension in the air dissolved.

Zeraphine reached for Kriia’s hands, clasping them gently in her own, her cool fingers a sharp contrast against Kriia’s fever-warmed skin.

“Then you understand why tonight is not just a celebration,” she murmured. “It is a renewal. A time of indulgence, of strength, of gratitude.”

She gave Kriia’s hands another warm squeeze, her crimson-streaked curls catching in the low light as she tilted her head slightly.

“And I would love for you to celebrate with me.”

Kriia hesitated.

The offer shouldn’t have hit her so hard—but it did.

Her fingers curled slightly against Zeraphine’s, fever-warmed skin contrasting sharply with the cool, effortless grace of the woman in front of her.

“You—” She sniffled thickly, her voice hoarse, cheeks flushing as she quickly wiped at her nose with the back of her wrist. “You want me to come with you?”

Zeraphine’s smile widened.

“Of course, sweetheart,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You are family, after all.”

Kriia stared.

Her throat felt tight in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with her cold.

“Come, doll," Zeraphine coaxed warmly, reaching out as if already expecting Kriia to take her hand.

Kriia hesitated, flicking a glance at Rexar.

He wasn’t smirking anymore.

His expression was unreadable, sharp gray-red eyes flickering over her face, taking in every single sign of how miserable she still was.

After a beat, he raised an eyebrow. You up for this?

Kriia knew he was worried.

She knew she wasn’t exactly at her best.

The pressure behind her eyes had only gotten worse as the night stretched on, her sinuses so thickly congested that breathing through her nose was next to impossible. Her throat ached, raw and overused, and the congestion dripping down the back of it only made it worse.

And then—there was the tickle.

It had been there since Zeraphine first touched her face, a slow, creeping itch deep in her sinuses, growing stronger with every sniffle.

She could feel it building, just on the edge of her senses, lingering like static before a storm.

Still, she forced herself to sit up straighter, ignoring the way her vision briefly tilted at the movement.

She wanted this.

A chance to be included. To experience something that only the Fang family was ever truly part of. To prove that she could handle it.

She plastered on her best, most confident smirk.

“I’d love to—"

But—

Oh. Oh, no.

The itch surged sharply, overtaking her before she even had time to react.

Her breath caught, a thin gasp slipping through her lips, and then—

The sneezes hit her in a rapid, breathless burst.

“Hhh’GXXT’chh! H’NGXSH’ihh! Hihh'GNKSH’iiew! Hh’NGTSH’uehh—hh!—hHh’GXTtt’chh!”

The force of the fit rocked her forward, snapping her nearly in half as she barely managed to twist away, burying her face into the crook of her arm.

For a split second—

Everything was silent.

Then—simultaneously—

"Bless you, sweetheart," Rexar and Zeraphine said in perfect unison.

Kriia froze.

Oh. Oh, no. No, no, no.

Heat flooded her face so fast she thought she might actually die.

Her ears burned, her sinuses still pulsing from the force of the sneezes, and she was acutely aware of Zyra, who had been watching the entire thing.

The moment Kriia dared to peek up, still sniffling thickly behind her sleeve, Zyra beamed.

“Oh my gods,” she gushed, her entire face lighting up. “You sneeze like a little bunny!~”

Kriia’s stomach dropped.

No. No, no, no.

She immediately regretted looking up.

Because Rexar’s grin was instant.

“She fucking does! I keep tryin’ to tell her—,” he said, laughing as if this was the best discovery he’d made all year.

Kriia wanted to die.

Right there. On the spot.

"Rex." Her voice came out dangerously low, but he was completely unfazed.

"Nah, babe, you know I think they’re so cute~," he continued, grinning wider. "Like, real soft—"

"Rexar, I swear to the gods—"

"—and all twitchy, y’know? Like—" He mimicked her, exaggerating a tiny, delicate sneeze that had Zyra howling with laughter.

Kriia, officially ready to die, shot up from the bed so fast she almost tripped over herself.

"Cool. Great. Love that. Moving on," she muttered, grabbing her jacket off the chair in the corner and shoving her arms into the sleeves.

Her entire face burned, her damp nostrils still quivering miserably from the fit, and she desperately needed a way out.

So—

She sprang to her feet, grabbing her shoes and shoving her feet into them with far more determination than necessary.

"So, uh," she said, clearing her throat, determined to change the subject before she actually burst into flames from pure mortification. "What exactly does this whole Post-Feast celebration involve?"

Zeraphine hummed, gracefully standing from her seat.

"It’s a time for renewal," she explained, smoothing out the front of her gown. "For indulgence, for rest, for strengthening bonds. We honor the cycle of life—not just the taking of it, but what comes after."

She offered a knowing smile, then gestured toward the door.

"And of course, it wouldn’t be a proper celebration without a little wine."

As Kriia moved toward the door, she felt a warm, familiar presence at her back. Before she could turn, strong arms wrapped around her in a quick but firm hug, pulling her against the solid warmth of Rexar’s chest.

It was brief—just a second, maybe two—but in that small moment, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the top of her head, his breath ruffling through her hair as he murmured, “Good luck, babydoll. Don’t take anyone’s bullshit, okay?”

When she pulled back to look up at him, he was grinning, his sharp teeth flashing playfully. But beneath the teasing, there was something softer—something warm and unspoken behind his storm-gray eyes, flecked with that familiar ring of crimson.

He didn’t have to say it.

She could feel it.

Kriia had always known that Rexar loved his family—deeply, wholly, without reservation. He was the kind of person who felt everything with his entire being, who never hesitated to let the people important to him know just how much they meant to him.

And now?

She was one of those people.

The realization sent a slow warmth curling in her chest, one that rivaled the fever simmering beneath her skin.

Before she could get too caught up in it, though, Zyra suddenly latched onto Rexar’s side, hugging him with all the enthusiasm of a sister who had waited far too long to have her brother back in her orbit.

“You’re still hanging out with me though, right?” she asked, her eyes wide and expectant.

Rexar scoffed, ruffling her hair. “Duh. I owe you a full year’s worth of updates.”

Zyra’s face lit up instantly, her grip tightening around his waist.

“Hell yeah!” she cheered, squeezing him once before pulling away, a triumphant grin splitting her face.

Kriia watched the exchange with a quiet, growing fondness.

This was the kind of love Rexar had grown up with—the kind that was loud and overwhelming and infinite. The kind that made sure you knew you were wanted. That you belonged.

And the fact that he had never once hesitated to pull her into it?

That was everything.

Still, she couldn’t let herself get too soft about it—especially not when Zeraphine was already waiting for her at the door, watching her with that same knowing, unreadable smile.

She cleared her throat, straightening her shoulders.

“I’ll text you if I need an escape plan,” she told Rexar, raising a teasing brow.

He smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “You won’t. But if you do—” he winked, “I’ll come rescue you.”

Kriia rolled her eyes, but a small, genuine smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she turned to join Zeraphine.

For once?

She actually believed him.

The moment Zeraphine led Kriia out of the room, the sheer energy of the Post-Feast celebration hit her like a tidal wave.

The once-stoic halls of the Fang estate had transformed into something wild and alive—filled with movement, music, and laughter that echoed off the high stone walls. Candles flickered in their sconces, casting warm, shifting shadows against the intricate carvings lining the archways. The air was thick with the scent of wine, roasted meats, and woodsmoke from the massive hearths scattered throughout the mansion.

Everywhere, Fangs were drinking, talking, celebrating—caught in the high of indulgence, of renewal, of the sacred tradition they had upheld for generations.

Zeraphine turned to her with a soft chuckle, her crimson-streaked curls gleaming in the candlelight. “I hope you’ll forgive my family’s… unruly nature,” she mused, an almost sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “The Post-Feast can get a little… out of hand.”

Kriia huffed a quiet laugh, tugging her jacket tighter around her shoulders. “Zeraphine, I’m dating Rexar—I’m used to wild Fang parties. Trust me, this is nothing new.”

Zeraphine laughed at that, shaking her head in fond amusement. “Fair point, sweetheart.”

As they wove their way through the sprawling expanse of the mansion, Kriia found herself completely absorbed by the celebration happening around her.

Men and women dressed in deep reds and blacks spilled through the halls, laughing over shared glasses of wine, their voices ringing through the air like song. Some had gathered in the grand sitting rooms, their feet kicked up as they lounged on velvet sofas, exchanging stories and teasing remarks between sips of dark liquor.

Further down the corridor, a group of younger Fangs had gathered in the main hall, their laughter raucous as they engaged in some sort of heated drinking contest. A loud slam echoed as one of them set their empty mug down with a victorious roar, only to be met with playful jeers from the others as they demanded a rematch.

Kriia grinned, the infectious life of it all warming something deep in her chest.

But then—

Zeraphine suddenly slowed her pace, her gaze landing on a particular table near the center of the hall.

Kriia followed her line of sight and—

Oh.

Seated around a massive oak table, mugs of beer in their hands, were five Fang men—each one broad-shouldered, sharp-toothed, and clearly already several drinks deep.

And among them—

Thorne, Garrik, their uncle Kerrok, another elder Kriia didn’t recognize, and—

Oh, fuck.

Orin Fang.

Rexar’s father.

Usually, Orin carried himself with a kind of commanding presence—imposing, silent, with a gaze that could flay a lesser man alive. But right now?

Right now, with alcohol warming his system and his shoulders loose from celebration?

That stoic, intimidating resolve had finally begun to crack.

He was leaned back in his chair, one arm slung lazily over the backrest, his sharp features softened just enough that he almost looked approachable. Almost.

The men were loud, their laughter shaking the very foundation of the room as they clashed their mugs together, roaring over whatever the hell they had been talking about before Kriia and Zeraphine had arrived.

Zeraphine let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “You lot are going to bring the whole damn house down,” she called, her voice carrying easily over the noise.

Thorne smirked, barely turning his head. “It’s Post-Feast, Zeraphine. That’s the point.”

Garrik let out a booming laugh, clapping a heavy hand on Orin’s shoulder. “We even got this one to drink tonight! You should be proud.”

Kriia blinked.

Oh, shit.

Orin—drinking?

Rexar had mentioned that his father almost never indulged like this. But here he was—relaxed, tipsy, still maintaining that ever-present air of authority but… softer somehow.

Zeraphine arched a brow at him. “Orin, drinking? Gods above.”

Orin exhaled through his nose, swirling the liquid in his mug. “The occasion calls for it,” he muttered, voice still deep, still unreadable—though the barest hint of amusement colored his tone.

The men all laughed, raising their mugs in unison.

“Forever the Fangs!” Zeraphine teased, shaking her head with a knowing smile.

And in perfect synchronization, the men slammed their mugs together, voices ringing through the hall—

“THE ETERNAL FLAME!”

Kriia grinned, warmth curling in her chest at the energy of it all.

The unshakable bond.

The love.

The tradition.

Even Orin, for all his hard edges, was caught up in the moment.

Still, as much as she loved seeing this side of the Fang patriarch—

She was very glad he hadn’t turned his attention on her yet.

Kriia let out a slow breath, forcing herself to relax—only to immediately regret it.

As soon as she inhaled, the itch in her sinuses—sharp, relentless, unforgiving—flared up again, sending a prickling sensation down the bridge of her nose and deep into her throat. Her breath hitched violently, and she barely managed to snap forward, stifling a fit into the sleeve of her hoodie.

“hh’NGKt’chh! Hhh’gNXSH’ihh! hh’NGk’CHhh!—hHHh—hHh’GKSSH’iiew!”

Fuck.

The sneezes rocked through her, each one leaving her nose twitching and her head spinning. The congestion in her sinuses was thick and unrelenting, making her breath shudder unevenly as she scrubbed at her nose with the back of her wrist.

Gods, she felt like a mess. Her ears were warm, her throat ached from the sheer effort of breathing, and every few seconds, another itch would creep into her sinuses, threatening to pull her under again.

She sniffled—thick, damp, and barely contained.

She was so not calling attention to herself right now.

Unfortunately—

"Bless you, sweetheart," Zeraphine murmured, her voice effortlessly warm.

Kriia stiffened.

Shit.

She had tried so hard not to make a scene, but Zeraphine was a mother through and through—she noticed everything.

Kriia sniffled again, pressing her knuckles under her nose to stave off another tickle, then forced her most convincing, casual smile. “Th-thag you—hh’KNTSHhh!—hh’GXNt’chh!—hh!”

For fuck’s sake.

Zeraphine chuckled softly, brushing her fingers against Kriia’s shoulder. “Come, sweetheart,” she coaxed, tilting her head toward the next hall. “Let’s get you somewhere warm.”

Kriia barely had time to process before Zeraphine was guiding her forward, weaving effortlessly through the sprawling mansion, her movements smooth and regal as always.

And Kriia? Kriia was just trying to keep her nose from running down her face.

The moment they stepped into the next room, Kriia was hit with a wall of warmth, sound, and life.

The Grand Hall was massive—far larger than she had expected, its vaulted ceiling lined with dark wooden beams, thick iron chandeliers casting a golden glow over the room. The walls were adorned with tapestries woven in deep reds and blacks, embroidered with the Fang family’s sigil—a black dog motif along side a deep red flame.

But the real energy came from the people.

Scattered around massive wooden tables, dozens of Fangs sat with drinks in their hands, their voices filling the room in bursts of laughter, heated debates, and enthusiastic storytelling.

It was chaos. It was warmth. It was a family, in all its wild, untamed glory.

And seated around one of the largest tables in the center—

Sylwen, Elaris, Marwyn, Aunt Lilith, Vesper, and Runa.

Kriia barely had time to take it all in before Marwyn’s head snapped toward them—

And then she was on her feet.

“Kriia!!”

The warmth in her voice was unmistakable, a rare, unfiltered excitement from the usually quiet, serene woman. She waved them over, her movement so quick and enthusiastic that even Elaris—who had been mid-sip of her wine—paused, blinking in mild amusement.

At the sound of her voice, the rest of the table turned their attention toward the two women entering.

And just like that—Kriia found herself at the center of their enthusiasm.

Marwyn reached her first, her gentle hands pressing lightly against Kriia’s arms as if checking for fever.

"Gods, love, you look wrecked," she murmured, her voice warm but assessing.

Kriia sniffled, suppressing the instinct to groan into her hands. “Thagks, Marwyn. Really needed to hear that.”

Sylwen smirked. “You sound wrecked too.”

Kriia rolled her eyes. “Wow, you guys are killin’ it with the confidence boost tonight.”

Elaris chuckled, tilting her head slightly. “Well, you do look a little…” She gestured vaguely toward Kriia’s flushed face, stuffy nose, and glassy, fevered eyes. “...miserable.”

Lilith, who had been watching quietly, grinned. “And yet, you still showed up. Respect.”

Kriia waved a hand in vague dismissal, swallowing another cough before it could escape. “I wasn’t gonna miss this. Rex’ll never let me live it down if I tapped out early.”

Sylwen arched a brow. “Oh? So you came to impress my brother?”

Kriia, already regretting her words, sputtered. “That’s—not—what I—”

Elaris burst out laughing. “Oh, she’s so easy to tease. I love her.”

As soon as Kriia and Zeraphine reached the table, two drinks were swiftly pressed into their hands—one by Marwyn, who gave Kriia a knowing smile, and the other by Sylwen, who made a show of clinking her own glass against theirs before taking a slow, measured sip.

"Good," she murmured, eyeing Kriia over the rim of her glass. "You’ll need that."

Kriia snorted, bringing the glass to her lips as she settled into the warmth of the conversation.

Elaris, ever the observant one, glanced around the room, her expression just a touch too casual. “Where’s Rexar?” she asked, swirling the drink in her hand. Then—under her breath, just barely loud enough for the table to hear—“Skipping out on this too, huh?”

A slow, deliberate silence settled over the table.

Zeraphine, who had been mid-sip, lowered her glass with a grace so measured it was downright threatening. Her sharp, crimson-flecked gaze flicked to Elaris with a weight that could crack stone.

Elaris immediately straightened in her seat, clearing her throat. “I mean—” she backtracked quickly, her voice light, “he’s not here yet?”

Kriia, biting back a laugh, raised an eyebrow at her before answering. “He’s giving a debrief to Zyra first,” she explained. “But he’ll be here soon.”

Lilith hummed in amusement. “Ah, well,” she said, tilting her head slightly, “Zyra’s practically glued to him whenever he’s home. That girl idolizes him.”

Kriia grinned. “Oh, I know. You should’ve seen how she tackled him earlier. It was like watching a wolf pup taking down an elk.”

The table chuckled, murmurs of agreement passing between them.

Still watching Kriia closely, Sylwen leaned forward slightly, her expression unreadable. “And how’s that going?” she asked smoothly, tilting her glass toward Kriia. “The two of you—living together, working together. How are you managing with him?”

Kriia blinked.

The answer came without hesitation.

“Well,” she started, exhaling a laugh. “It was hard at first. I couldn’t get him to take anything seriously. He was always joking, goofing off, causing more problems than he fixed."

The entire table groaned in unison.

“Oh, gods, yes,” Marwyn muttered, pressing a hand over her face.

“Sounds right,” Elaris said dryly.

Lilith cackled into her drink.

Sylwen gave an amused little shake of her head, looking unsurprised. “And now?”

Kriia smiled—a small, fond, knowing thing.

“Now?” she repeated. “Now, he’s honestly amazing.”

The laughter faltered.

The table stilled.

Kriia, oblivious to their sudden shift, kept going.

“He always compliments me,” she said, shrugging. “Like, all the time. He never lets me forget how much he loves me, how much he appreciates me. He treats me like—like I hung the damn moon for him.” She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “No, seriously. He worships the ground I walk on.”

Silence.

Kriia paused, blinking at them.

Every single woman at the table looked… confused.

Not because they doubted her—but because they had never seen a side of Rexar that wasn’t sarcasm, practical jokes, or just pure, unhinged chaos.

Sylwen’s brow furrowed slightly. “He does?”

Kriia frowned. “Of course he does.”

Marwyn, smiling like she was about to burst into happy tears, clutched at her chest. “Oh, my gods,” she whispered. “That’s so cute.”

Elaris, blinking as if she needed to process this information, exhaled a slow laugh. “Rexar,” she said, tilting her head, “our Rexar, is a hopeless romantic?”

Kriia smirked. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Marwyn swooned.

Lilith grinned. “Alright, I’m listening,” she said, swirling her drink. “Tell us everything.”

Kriia laughed, shaking her head as she flopped into one of the open seats.

The women at the table watched Kriia expectantly, their disbelief thick in the air.

It wasn’t that they thought she was lying. It wasn’t even that they thought Rexar couldn’t be sweet.

But Rexar? The absolute menace they’d grown up with? A doting, lovesick, devoted partner?

Yeah. They were gonna need proof.

Kriia sniffled thickly, scrubbing at her itchy, pink-tinted nose with the sleeve of her hoodie as she settled deeper into her seat.

“Alright, where do I even start?” she mused, voice thick with congestion, tapping her fingers against her glass.

Then—a slow, knowing grin curled her lips.

“Oh—actually, I’ve got one.”

“The first time I got really sick after we moved in together,” Kriia started, sniffling against her sleeve, “Rex was losing his mind. Like, full-on pacing the apartment, watching over me like I was on my deathbed over a fever.”

Marwyn nodded approvingly. “Good,” she murmured. “As he should.”

Kriia snorted, but the sound was rough, caught halfway between a laugh and a congested wheeze. “Yeah, well, it got worse. Because at, like, one in the morning, he suddenly got it in his head that I needed this specific lemon-honey tea from a café across town.”

Sylwen frowned. “He just… decided that?”

“Oh, yeah. Fully convinced himself that no other tea in the house would work.”

Elaris arched a brow. “Please tell me he didn’t.”

Kriia sniffled, rolling her eyes. “He absolutely did.”

The table erupted.

“He left the house in the middle of the night for tea?” Lilith wheezed.

“He left the house for tea that wasn’t even guaranteed to be there,” Kriia corrected, pinching the bridge of her nose as another slow, persistent tickle bloomed deep in her sinuses. “Drove forty minutes across the city, only to find out the café was closed.”

Elaris shook her head, muttering, “Unbelievable.”

“So what did he do?” Marwyn asked, eyes wide with delighted anticipation.

Kriia sniffled again, harder this time, her damp, irritated nostrils flaring as she gave them a tired, amused smile.

“He broke in.”

Silence.

Then—

“WHAT?”

The table exploded.

“OH, YOU’RE LYING—”

“No way—”

“HE BROKE INTO A CAFÉ FOR TEA?!”

Kriia half-laughed, half-coughed, her voice raspier than before. “Yep. Rex literally picked the lock, made the tea himself, left cash on the counter, and walked back out."

Marwyn looked ready to burst into tears.

Lilith, wheezing into her drink, leaned against the table for support. “Holy shit. He’s insane.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Kriia agreed, rubbing at her still-twitching nose. “But he got me my tea.”

Sylwen shook her head in disbelief. “I cannot believe you’re saying all of this with a straight face.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Kriia said, waving a hand dismissively. “You should’ve seen what he did when I sprained my ankle a few months ago.”

“Oh, gods, what did he do?” Elaris groaned, already bracing herself.

Kriia gave a congested sniffle, then snapped forward with no warning—

"Hh’GXkT’shh! Hh’NGSH’ihh! hh'GNTCHhh! Hhh'KSHh’uehh!"

The sneezes hit her in a rapid, breathless fit, each one shuddering through her before she could do anything to stop them.

A chorus of bless yous echoed around the table.

Marwyn, ever the healer, pressed a hand to Kriia’s forehead, frowning slightly. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

Kriia groaned. “Don’t start.”

Elaris chuckled, shaking her head. “Alright, back to the ankle story. What did he do?”

Kriia sniffled thickly, still rubbing at her nose, and sighed. “He carried me everywhere for, like, a week.”

Lilith nearly choked on her drink. “Everywhere?”

“Everywhere,” Kriia confirmed, adjusting her jacket like it could shield her from the utter embarrassment. “I wasn’t allowed to walk. He’d just scoop me up and drop me wherever I needed to be.”

Sylwen blinked. “You’re joking.”

“I wish,” Kriia laughed, voice still hoarse. “I literally woke up one morning to use the bathroom, and before I could even sit up, he materialized out of nowhere, picked me up, and carried me.”

Elaris, fully exasperated now, threw up her hands. “That’s not romantic, that’s deranged.”

Marwyn, who was now fully swooning, clasped her hands over her heart. “That’s adorable.”

Sylwen tilted her head. “Rexar carried you?”

Kriia nodded. “Like a damn fairytale princess.”

Sylwen slowly turned to Elaris. “He used to shove us down the stairs.”

She nodded grimly. “Yep.”

Kriia snorted. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Elaris shook her head, still clearly struggling with this information. “I just—I cannot wrap my head around Rexar being… this.”

Kriia shrugged, smiling softly. “That’s just how he is with me.”

Marwyn, who was practically glowing with happiness now, clutched at her chest. “I love this for him.”

Elaris sighed, rubbing her temples. “Alright. Hit me with another.”

As the stories kept flowing, more and more Fangs gravitated toward the table.

At some point, Nyxara appeared, settling into a chair with a single raised brow as if already expecting chaos.

Even Varos, who rarely engaged in family discussions, leaned against the back of Sylwen’s chair, arms crossed, listening with mild intrigue.

And through it all—Kriia kept going.

The time Rexar built an entire blanket fort when she had a migraine and refused to let her leave until she felt better.

The time he canceled an entire show just to stay home and take care of her when she had the flu.

The way he never lets her go to sleep without reminding her how much he loves her.

Each new revelation was met with equal parts horror and delight.

Kriia sniffled thickly, her poor, irritated nose twitching in protest as she wiped at it with her sleeve.

She had been holding her own in this conversation, deflecting teases, telling her stories, riding the high of sharing just how much of a romantic idiot Rexar truly was—but gods, she felt miserable.

Her head wasn’t just stuffy—it was full, pressure pressing against her skull like a vice. The congestion in her sinuses was relentless, thick and unmoving, leaving her breathing slow and shallow through her mouth.

And the tickle—

Gods, the constant, crawling, unbearable tickle deep in her nose had been teasing her nonstop, lingering just enough to be a problem but never quite letting her sneeze it out completely.

Until now.

Kriia barely had time to gasp in a sharp, hitched breath before the fit slammed into her, unstoppable.

“Hh‘gsch! k’gnsh! N’gxt! Heh’n’gtx! Huhhh.. n’gtx!”

She barely managed to bury her face in her sleeve, shoulders jerking helplessly with each desperate, congested explosion.

But it wasn’t done.

Her breath hitched wildly, her poor nostrils flaring mercilessly, her damp, pink-tinged nose wrinkling with the force of the next wave.

“hh’ihHh…! k’gnsh! Ngt’chh! hptt’CH! h’gTShhHh! hiIh’nG-kT—-!”

It was brutal.

By the time the fit finally eased, she was left sniffling pathetically, blinking through bleary, watery eyes as her breath shuddered unevenly in her chest.

Another chorus of bless yous rippled around the table.

Marwyn, mothering instincts fully engaged, pressed the back of her hand to Kriia’s forehead. “You poor thing,” she murmured. “That was awful—here, have some water.”

Kriia sniffled weakly, taking the glass Marwyn handed her with a quiet, miserable groan. “Th-thagk you,” she mumbled, barely able to get the words out past her congestion-thickened voice.

Sylwen, who had been watching her closely, shook her head. “And yet, you’re still out here, proving a point about Rexar,” she noted, amused.

Kriia sniffled again, rubbing her sleeve under her overly-sensitive, still-twitching nose. “Dambn right.”

Elaris chuckled, leaning forward on her elbows. “Alright,” she said, clearly still processing everything Kriia had told them. “So, we’ve established that Rexar is an absolute menace, but somehow also the biggest sap alive.”

“Accurate,” Kriia confirmed hoarsely.

“But let’s be honest,” Elaris continued. “The real tragedy of Rexar is that he’s actually good at a lot of things—he just doesn’t apply himself enough.”

That got a round of immediate agreement from the table.

“Gods, yes,” Sylwen said. “It’s not that he can’t do things, it’s that he doesn’t care enough to commit.”

Marwyn, gestured wildly. “Right?! You guys have seen him fight—he’s insane! He just never wants to.”

Kriia, still sniffling against her sleeve, frowned slightly. “Wait—Rex holds back in fights?”

Nyxara, who had remained silent up until now, tilted her head. “He’s one of the strongest of us,” she said simply. “But he only fights when he has to.”

Lilith nodded. “And even when he does, he’s usually messing around. Like—he could wipe the floor with most people, but half the time he’s too busy talking shit and being an idiot to finish the job properly.”

Kriia blinked. “That tracks.”

Elaris smirked. “Oh, it’s worse than you think. You know he’s terrifying at strategy, right?”

Kriia frowned. “I mean… he’s good at thinking on his feet, but he doesn’t exactly seem like a ‘master planner’ type.”

“Oh, but he is.” Elaris leaned in. “You should’ve seen him as a kid. He used to win every single game we played—strategy, tactics, even politics. We actually thought he was gonna take an important position in the family one day.”

Kriia tilted her head. “So… what happened?”

Sylwen sighed. “He got bored.”

Marwyn chuckled softly. “Rex is good at a lot of things,” she murmured. “But only if he cares enough to use his full potential. And honestly? He just doesn’t want to.”

Kriia sniffled hard, trying and failing to keep up with the conversation as another sharp itch bloomed behind her sinuses.

Her breath hitched wildly, lips parting as she barely managed to lift a trembling hand—

“K’tchh! Nnch! Nkch! Ktch! Nkcht! Nngch!”

She crumpled forward, sneezing helplessly into her sleeve, her whole body shuddering with each messy, ticklish release.

“Bless you,” Sylwen murmured absently, still focused on the conversation.

Kriia sniffled miserably, rubbing at her poor, tortured nose. “Ughhh. I’mb dyig.”

Nyxara, still watching her with a quiet, calculating look, finally spoke again.

“Rexar’s a difficult person,” she murmured. “He’s brilliant, but he’s also… chaotic. And you’ve managed to keep up with that?”

Kriia, still sniffling against her sleeve, gave her a watery, exhausted smile. “I dod’t just keep up,” she rasped. “I wid.”

Lilith laughed. “Oh, I like her.”

Marwyn still buzzing with energy, grinned. “Okay, but like—have you seen him in a real fight? Like, when he’s serious?”

Kriia blinked, her fevered brain just slightly too slow to keep up. “I meand… I’ve seed hib fight people off, but he’s usually… playig a-arou—hhh’nGNxxt!—ugh, playig arou’d.”

Elaris smirked. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what that man is actually capable of.”

Kriia sniffled thickly, blinking blearily. “Should I be worried?”

Marwyn laughed softly, resting a hand on Kriia’s arm. “No, love,” she said gently. “If anything, you should feel safer.”

Kriia, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, leaned slightly into the warmth of Marwyn’s touch.

Gods. She was so tired.

As the drinks flowed and the stories began, Kriia found herself caught in something she hadn't expected—a rare, unfiltered glimpse into Rexar's past.

The Fangs were loud, their laughter shaking the foundations of the estate as they recounted moments she had never heard before. They were a little drunk, a little nostalgic, a little too honest—and as the stories unfolded, she realized something:

Rexar wasn’t just a rebel. Rexar wasn’t just the one who got away.

Rexar was terrifyingly capable. And he had been, for a very, very long time.

"I don’t give a damn if he denies it—Rex was a nightmare in the North."

Kriia sniffled into her sleeve, her poor nose raw and irritated from the relentless sneezing fits she had endured all night. She barely had time to grab a napkin from the table before her breath hitched violently, her shoulders jerking forward.

“Ht’tchkt! Hihh’gxxxnt! ngsh! H’NgXt! Hh‘gsch! ”

Elaris barely even paused, lifting her glass in amusement. “Bless you. Now, listen—this is a good one.”

Kriia groaned, still sniffling pathetically as she nodded for her to continue.

Years ago, when Rexar was still traveling with the family’s Cullings, they had been sent to the Northern Territories in Vyncis—a bitterly cold province where crime thrived in the shadows of snow-capped mountains.

This particular job had been a slave-trading syndicate, deeply embedded in the region, their outpost hidden within the frozen wilderness.

It should have been a straightforward purge.

But something went wrong.

The syndicate had been tipped off. They were waiting. Armed. Ready.

Elaris sighed dramatically, shaking her head. "By the time we got through the first wave of men, we thought we were in for a real fight."

She smirked. "Turns out, Rex had already handled it."

Kriia blinked. "What?"

Nyxara, who had been listening silently, finally spoke again. "He was ahead of us. He cleared half the camp before we even got inside."

Not with brute strength. Not with sheer force.

But with speed. With precision.

He moved like a shadow through the camp, silent, efficient, taking them down one by one.

"By the time we reached him," Elaris said, tilting her head, "the last few men were just… falling. He had already cut their throats, and they just hadn’t hit the ground yet."

Kriia felt a chill crawl down her spine.

But what struck her wasn’t just that he had done it.

It was what came after.

He hadn’t stayed to feed.

"We found him outside," Nyxara murmured, watching Kriia carefully. "Sitting on a rock. Just… waiting for us. He said he wasn’t hungry."

"Said the whole thing left a bad taste in his mouth," Elaris added. "Like he hadn’t just wiped out two dozen men without breaking a sweat."

"And that’s the difference, isn’t it?" Sylwen sighed. "Most of us—when we fight, we enjoy it. But Rex? He fights because he’s good at it. Too good, maybe. He just doesn’t have the stomach for what comes after."

Kriia sniffled, rubbing at her nose.

Her mind was reeling.

She had seen Rexar fight. She knew he was fast, unpredictable, but this? This was something else.

And as she tried to process it—another sneeze hit her like a damn freight train.

“hhHh! Hiihh’NGnxxt’iiew! hihh’KXXtsh’chhu!”

She barely managed to catch them in her napkin, her breath hitching wildly as the fit left her dizzy and sniffling miserably.

Marwyn pressed a fresh napkin into her hands immediately. "Sweetheart, I swear, you are the most stubborn sick person I’ve ever seen."

Kriia, nose twitching, barely managed a watery smile. "You’ve never had to deal with your brother."

That got a round of laughter.

"Oh, but if you really want a story, you need to hear about the Red Market."

The Red Market was one of Hiraeth’s underground auction circuits—an exclusive, black-market network that specialized in illegal artifacts and high-value prisoners.

Instead of sending a strike force, Orin had done something unusual.

He sent Rexar alone.

Kriia sniffled, rubbing absently at her twitching nose as she frowned. “Why?”

"Because he was bored," Elaris sighed, rolling her eyes.

Lilith grinned. “He didn’t go in as an assassin. He went in as a performer.”

Kriia blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

Lilith laughed. "Rex signed up as the night’s entertainment. Walked in with his guitar, played for the crowd like it was just another gig."

"And then?" Kriia asked.

Nyxara’s eyes flickered. “Then, he locked the exits.”

Kriia stared.

Lilith shrugged. “They were so caught up in his music, they didn’t even notice. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late.”

He had waited until every target was in the same room—then brought the entire operation down around them.

And then he walked away.

"Didn’t even feed," Lilith added, shaking her head. "Just strolled out like he wasn’t even interested."

Kriia sniffled, utterly exhausted. “He’s such a damn weirdo.”

The table erupted into laughter.

As the stories unfolded, Kriia felt something shift.

She had always known that Rexar was different. She had always known he was strong, capable, deadly if he needed to be.

But this? This was something else.

Her goofy, rebellious, chaotic partner—the man who dotes on her, who calls her "Princess" and “Babygirl” in that lazy, teasing drawl, who never lets a single day pass without reminding her how much he loves her—is also one of the most terrifyingly efficient killers the Fang family has ever produced.

Not because he enjoys it. Not because he wants to be.

But because he was trained for this.

Because if he wanted to, he could be just like Garrik. Just like Thorne. Just like Varos.

But he chooses not to be.

And that, more than anything else, is what sets him apart.

Marwyn, watching her closely, smiled softly. “You’re starting to understand, aren’t you?”

Kriia sniffled, still rubbing at her poor, twitchy nose.

She wasn’t sure if it was the fever making her feel lightheaded, but for the first time all night—

She truly understood just how much Rexar had been holding back.

Kriia’s eyelids were growing unbearably heavy.

Between the warmth of the room, the deep hum of laughter and conversation, and the sheer exhaustion of fighting off her cold, she could feel herself starting to sink. Her body felt slow, hazy, like she was floating somewhere between awareness and sleep.

She had barely managed to blink herself back into focus when the unmistakable sound of boots scuffing against the floorboards made her glance toward the doorway—

And then, just like that—

Rexar was there.

His presence filled the room instantly, drawing the attention of everyone at the table.

His storm-gray eyes scanned the group, sharp and calculating, but when his gaze landed on Kriia—

His entire expression softened.

Before he could even open his mouth—

“Rexar Fang, you absolute menace,” Marwyn declared dramatically, standing up and placing her hands on her hips.

Rexar blinked. “...Huh?”

Marwyn, ever the doting healer, pointed straight at Kriia. “How could you just throw your poor, sick girlfriend to the wolves like this?”

Rexar frowned immediately, looking at Kriia again—this time with pure concern.

And, as if her body had planned it just to drive the point home, Kriia’s breath hitched violently at that exact moment.

“hhHh! hh’NGkT’chh! Hh’GNSHH’ieuww! HhHh’tSCHhh’ihh!”

She barely managed to stifle the fit against her wrist, shoulders trembling with the effort.

When she finally surfaced, sniffling thickly, she caught the look on Rexar’s face.

Oh. Oh.

He melted instantly.

The shift was immediate, seamless—like flipping a switch.

One moment, he was the sharp-edged, cocky, untouchable Rexar Fang—and in the next, he was all warmth, all tenderness, all love.

“Oh, babygirl, c’mere—”

Kriia barely had a second to react before he was beside her, running a gentle hand over her back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his sharp eyes scanning her fever-flushed face.

She barely had time to sniffle again before his thumb brushed lightly under her nose, wiping away the mess before she even noticed it.

The table was silent.

Dead silent.

Every single Fang was staring at the scene unfolding in front of them, their expressions ranging from shock to pure, unfiltered disbelief.

Lilith had paused mid-sip, her mouth slightly open.

Zyra looked like she was watching some kind of alien invasion.

Sylwen had tilted her head ever so slightly, trying to process what the hell she was witnessing.

Even Elaris—who usually had something to say about everything—was speechless.

Rexar, completely unfazed by their reactions, gently cupped Kriia’s cheeks, tilting her face toward him.

“Y’alright, Princess?” he murmured, voice softer than anyone at the table had ever heard.

Kriia, still sniffling miserably, managed a tiny, tired nod.

Rexar pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead, letting his lips rest there for a moment, like he could somehow will her fever away.

Then, he straightened, exhaling a sigh before leveling a look at the table.

“Alright,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just shattered everyone’s perception of him. “I’m getting my sick girl in bed.”

The room snapped back to life immediately.

“Oh—yeah, of course,” Marwyn said, still looking a little dazed.

“Understandable,” Nyxara murmured, sipping her drink.

Elaris just shook her head, muttering something about how she needed to rethink everything.

One by one, the family nodded their goodnights, but before Rexar could leave—

Zeraphine stood, stepping toward Kriia.

She smiled, warm and knowing, as she reached out and brushed a cool hand over Kriia’s fever-warmed cheek.

“My dear,” she murmured, genuine affection in her voice. “I loved having you here for the celebration.”

Kriia blinked, throat tightening.

Zeraphine’s gaze was soft, motherly—accepting.

“Thank you,” she continued, “for celebrating with us, even when you were miserable.”

Then—just as casually as if she were commenting on the weather—

“It’s nice having another daughter in the house.”

Kriia’s breath hitched—but not from a sneeze this time.

She barely managed to nod, barely managed to keep her voice steady as she croaked, “It… it was wonderful. Thank you for having me.”

Zeraphine smiled like she could see right through her.

Then, she stepped aside, and Rexar, grinning as if he knew she was about to lose it, swept her up into his arms, lifting her effortlessly into a bridal carry.

Kriia, too exhausted to fight it, immediately tucked herself into his chest.

The family watched in stunned silence as Rexar effortlessly carried her out of the room and up the stairs.

By the time Rexar pushed open the door to their bedroom, Kriia was half-asleep against his shoulder.

He carried her straight to the bed, setting her down gently, tucking the blankets around her before immediately getting to work—

Grabbing tissues. Finding medicine. Brushing her hair back with gentle fingers.

He was everywhere at once, dotingly fussing over her, his rough hands impossibly tender.

Kriia, sniffling into the blankets, peeked up at him, her voice sleepy and stuffy. “You’re doting.”

Rexar huffed. “Damn right I am.”

She laughed softly, then immediately coughed.

Rexar winced, rubbing slow circles into her back. “Y’wanna tell me about your night, babydoll?”

Kriia sniffled thickly, then mumbled into the pillow, “Your family told me about the time you assassinated a war criminal in complete silence and then went out for pancakes like it was a normal Tuesday.”

Rexar paused.

Then—he groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“They told you that?”

Kriia nodded sleepily. “They also told me you’re terrifying.”

Rexar blinked, taken off guard. “Huh?”

She sniffled again. “Like. Actually scary. You just don’t try very hard.”

Rexar tilted his head, watching her.

Then, slowly, he grinned.

“Well, good,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Wouldn’t want you forgettin’ I’m dangerous.”

Kriia, exhausted, fevered, congested beyond belief, gave him a completely deadpan stare.

Then—she sneezed directly into his chest.

“Huh'GDTS'iiew!! Hh’NDKT’ih! H’GXTSH’ue!”

Rexar froze.

Kriia groaned into his hoodie. “Oh my gods just kill me.”

Rexar laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed.

“Princess,” he wheezed, pressing a kiss to her temple between his chuckles. “You are the most adorable, miserable little thing I’ve ever seen.”

Kriia grumbled, burrowing deeper into the blankets.

Rexar, still laughing, tugged her into his chest.

And as she drifted off in his arms, wrapped in warmth, fever-heavy but safe—

She realized something.

He may be terrifying. He may be dangerous.

But with her?

He was nothing but soft.

Next time, in the last part of The Fang Family Reunion…

Kriia was barely conscious at this point, her body heavy, fevered, and utterly exhausted. The warmth of the blankets, the soothing way Rexar’s fingers rubbed slow, absentminded circles into her back—it was all lulling her under.

Her tired, red-rimmed eyes fluttered shut, her breathing finally starting to even out—

And then—

A sharp, hitched breath from Rexar.

Kriia barely had time to register it before his body tensed beneath her, his chest expanding sharply as he turned his head away—

“et’CHXIEW!! heT’CHXOO!! et’tCHOO!!”

The room erupted in light.

Flames burst from his mouth and nose with each desperate sneeze, searing through the darkness like a damn flamethrower. The entire room was momentarily bathed in a flickering orange-red glow, shadows dancing wildly across the walls before the fire fizzled out, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of charred air.

Kriia’s eyes snapped open.

She stared in complete, horrified silence at the wall in front of her, blinking slowly, deliberately, her fever-fogged brain struggling to process what the hell had just happened.

Behind her, Rexar was completely still.

Holding his breath.

Waiting.

Kriia sniffled thickly, her sore, exhausted nose twitching slightly, but she did not turn around.

Because she knew.

She knew exactly what this meant.

Rexar never sneezed.

His nose wasn’t super sensitive like hers—which meant it took a hell of a lot to make him sneeze even once.

And that only meant one thing.

He was getting sick, too.

To be continued… ✨

24 notes · View notes

aller-geez · 2 months ago

Note

missing baby draeko so much! what about a sickfic full of fluffiness? 🫶

You got it, Nonny! (Sorry for the delay, and that it’s only KanaixDraeko without Alistar, I struggle to imagine Alistar in fluffy situations and still write him on character, so I’ll leave writing fluffy Alistar to @thekinkyleopard 😅)

Kanai’s Guide To Sick Mutt Maintenance

written and illustrated by: allergeez ✨

Summary: Draeko has been sick before, but this time feels different. What starts as a mild cold quickly worsens into something more exhausting and relentless. Kanai, ever observant and unshakably patient, watches over him with quiet precision—ensuring his care is handled with calculated efficiency, even if Draeko stubbornly insists he’s fine. As the fever takes its toll, Draeko finds himself vulnerable in ways he hadn’t anticipated, and Kanai, despite his limited understanding of emotions, refuses to leave his side. In the midst of fevered delirium, restless dreams, and unrelenting exhaustion, Draeko begins to understand something deeper about Kanai’s presence—his unwavering steadiness, his quiet acts of care, and the unspoken truth that, no matter how weak or miserable he feels, he will never have to go through it alone. 5.2k words

Content Warnings!

Illness & Fever: Depictions of fever, congestion, exhaustion, and general cold/flu-like symptoms.

Nightmares & Distress: Mentions of fever-induced nightmares and emotional distress.

Sensory Overload Elements: Descriptions of discomfort due to fever, overwhelming sensations, and exhaustion.

Draeko had been sick plenty of times before, but this—this felt different.

It had started that morning as just a tickle in his throat, a little congestion, and a few sneezes that came and went with mild annoyance. Kanai had noted it immediately, of course—his observational skills were as meticulous as his aquariums—but Draeko had waved it off, insisting he was fine.

Kanai had simply blinked at him. "You are ill."

Draeko had sniffled, muffled a quiet "Hh'GXNTchh'ue!" into his sleeve as he pinched his nose shut, and cleared his throat. "...No, I'm not."

Kanai tilted his head in a slow, calculated movement, eyes scanning him as if analyzing the probability of Draeko being a liar.

"You stifled that," he noted blankly. "It is unhealthy to suppress a sneeze, Luciftias. The pressure can rupture delicate blood vessels."

Draeko groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Nai, I don’t need a scientific analysis of my immune system—hhHh'GXXTchh’iew! Hh’KXTCH’ue!—ughh..."

Kanai watched in silence as Draeko sniffled thickly, his ears drooping slightly under the weight of his congestion. His nose twitched as if still tickling, his expression soft and unfocused in the aftermath of his fit. A perfect, obvious, undeniable picture of a sick man.

And yet, Draeko still had the audacity to smile up at Kanai through watery, mismatched eyes and say, "See? Totally fine."

Kanai did not react.

Instead, without comment, he disappeared into the kitchen.

When he returned, he set a bottle of water, tissues, and fever medication on the table beside Draeko with a precision that suggested he had already determined this outcome the moment the hybrid sneezed.

Draeko blinked at the items, sniffled pitifully, and then blinked up at Kanai. "...You just had this stuff ready to go, huh?"

Kanai sat beside him, silent for a long moment before answering, "It is inevitable."

At first, Draeko had believed his own stubborn optimism. His symptoms remained mild, just a little stuffiness, the occasional harsh sneezing fit, and a general feeling of malaise that he refused to acknowledge.

Kanai, ever present, had watched.

Even as Draeko curled up under a blanket in the hound’s room, watching the soft, eerie glow of the jellyfish tanks sway in the dim lighting, Kanai observed. He had his notebook in hand, jotting something down between glances at Draeko.

Draeko, snuggled into his hoodie, narrowed his tired eyes. "You’re writing about me, aren’t you?"

Kanai did not bother denying it. "I am analyzing the physiological progression of your illness."

Draeko groaned. "Great. I’m a science experiment."

Kanai hummed noncommittally, his hand still moving against the paper.

Draeko huffed, sniffled, and wobbled to his feet. "I’m getting some water—hhHh’KSHhht’iiew! Hih’GXNTch!—hihh’KXXtsh’chhu!!" He froze mid-step, his breath still hitching as he quickly pinched his pink dusted nostrils between his thumb and index finger, the tickle refusing to subside.

Kanai, still writing, spoke without looking up. "Bless you."

"Hhhihh…hh’NGXSHh’ue!—Hihh’GXXTsh’iiew!“

Kanai paused. Looked up. Watched.

Draeko was still stuck, breath trembling in his throat, nose reddening at the edges as he fought against the overwhelming itch. His deer ears twitched, his tail flicked once behind him before he finally succumbed.

"Ihh’gxxnt’iiew! Huh'GDTS'iiew!! Hhh— Hh’NDKT’ih!"

The sneezes rocked his small frame, leaving him sniffling miserably into his hands.

Kanai observed him carefully, eyes flicking toward the tissues before he, without breaking eye contact, slid the box toward Draeko with a slow, deliberate push.

Draeko sniffled and took one. "...Thanks."

Kanai nodded once. "You are still getting worse."

Draeko sighed heavily, flopping back down into the blankets. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

Kanai watched him curl into himself, his tail wrapping around his legs as his sniffles softened.

He turned back to his notebook. "Stage two: full-body fatigue. Increased sneezing frequency. Heightened congestion. Possible fever incoming."

He did not know at the time how correct he would be.

At first, Kanai was not aware that anything had changed.

His aquariums filtered the silence of the night with soft bubbling, their light casting slow-moving shadows across his walls. The apartment was quiet. Draeko had fallen asleep beside him earlier, his small frame curled under layers of blankets, breathing softly.

Everything had been still.

Until the whimpering started.

Kanai’s eyes snapped open.

His ears tuned in immediately to the sound—the barely-there, breathless murmurs of distress.

Kanai shifted, turning to where Draeko lay—only to immediately notice the problem.

Draeko was shaking.

Not the light, occasional shiver of someone cold, but the uncontrollable tremors of a body overwhelmed by fever. His sweater was damp with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead, his breath coming in short, sharp little gasps.

Kanai pressed his hand to Draeko’s forehead.

Burning.

The next thing Kanai noticed was the thrashing.

Draeko's small frame twitched and jerked under the heavy blankets, his legs kicking out in frantic, unfocused movements. His tail curled in tight, his ears pressed flat against his damp, sweat-matted hair.

Then came the murmuring.

At first, it was just soft whimpers, breathless little sounds that barely carried beyond the blankets. But soon, his voice rose—frantic, fevered, lost.

"N-no—" Draeko shifted sharply, his body curling inward as if bracing for something unseen. His hands clenched at the sheets, gripping desperately, knuckles white. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, quivering at the edges.

Kanai watched. Assessed.

He knew what nightmares were. He had read about them. Observed them in others. But he had never experienced one. Fear was an abstract concept to him—one that did not govern his actions, one that did not coil in his chest the way it did in mortals.

Still.

Draeko was in distress.

And Kanai did not like it.

Kanai barely shifted as Draeko whimpered against him, his overheated body curling tighter into his chest. The slow-moving constellations in Draeko’s horns flickered briefly, unfocused—like a signal struggling to hold.

Kanai observed the change in silence, watching as the swirling nebulae blurred, the stars within them shifting sluggishly, their usual clarity dulled by fever.

“You are disoriented,” Kanai murmured, his cool fingers tracing the ridges of one horn carefully, monitoring the slow, dragging movements of the galaxy reflected there. “Your vision is compromised.”

Draeko only sniffled against him, a weak, exhausted hum the only response he could muster.

A particularly sharp whimper escaped Draeko’s lips, a broken, pitiful sound that sent a deep, unfamiliar sensation twisting in Kanai’s chest.

His breath hitched sharply, his fingers gripping at nothing, his brows furrowing in visible fear. His chest rose and fell erratically, his voice barely a breath.

"...D-don’t leave…"

Kanai reacted instantly.

Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around Draeko, pulling him close. His palm found Draeko’s burning cheek, grounding him, his presence a steady, unmoving force.

Draeko’s breath stuttered. His mismatched eyes fluttered open, glassy, disoriented.

Kanai tightened his hold.

And then, with a choked, gasping inhale—

Draeko jerked awake.

He sat up so fast that the world tilted, his breath staggering in his lungs. His fever blurred the edges of reality, his vision swimming, disoriented. Sweat dripped down his temples, soaking into his flushed skin.

For a moment, he didn’t know where he was.

His ears twitched wildly, searching for sound, for something familiar, something safe—

And then his eyes met Kanai’s.

Silent. Steady. There.

Kanai was already reaching for him.

Before Draeko could fully register what was happening, he was being pulled into Kanai’s chest, into warmth, into something solid and grounding.

And the moment Kanai’s arms wrapped around him—the moment Draeko realized he was safe—

He broke.

A choked sob wrenched its way out of his throat, raw and helpless, as his fingers clutched Kanai’s hoodie. His body shook violently, shivers wracking his fevered frame as the pent-up fear, exhaustion, and overwhelming sickness crashed over him all at once.

Kanai said nothing.

He simply held him.

One hand pressed firm and steady against Draeko’s back, the other threading slowly through his damp, pastel-colored hair.

Draeko’s sobs came hard and unrelenting, his breath hitching, catching painfully in his throat. The fever left him raw, vulnerable, too exhausted to hold anything back. His tears burned hot as they spilled against Kanai’s chest, his fingers tightening in the fabric of his hoodie as if he feared Kanai might disappear from his grasp if he didn’t.

Kanai did not let go.

His hand continued its slow, steady movements, combing through Draeko’s sweat-dampened hair in a rhythm that was neither rushed nor hesitant.

Draeko sniffled hard, burying his face deeper against Kanai’s shoulder, his body still trembling in aftershocks of panic. His breath stuttered, breaking apart between cries, voice hoarse and small.

“…Nai…?”

The name was barely a breath—soft, fevered, and uncertain.

Kanai’s grip on him tightened. Not out of urgency, not out of worry—but out of certainty. Out of the absolute, unwavering fact that Draeko was here, in his arms, safe.

"You are safe, Luciftias." Kanai’s voice was low, steady. Absolute.

Draeko shivered. His entire body curled into Kanai’s warmth, his weak, trembling hands balling up a fist full of Kanai’s hoodie as though the fabric itself was keeping him tethered to reality. He let out a soft, stuffy whimper, his breath shuddering as his nose twitched, pink and raw from the endless irritation.

“I f-feel so shitty…” His voice cracked, barely above a whisper—stuffed thick with congestion, choked with fever. His lips parted as if trying to say more, but the words never came. Instead, his breath hitched sharply—a sudden, desperate gasp sucked in through blocked sinuses.

Kanai paused.

Draeko’s expression slackened, his brow furrowing slightly, his glassy, unfocused eyes fluttering as his pink nose twitched violently. His ears twitched along with it, flicking back against his damp, pastel-colored hair. His breathing grew uneven—little quivering inhales, caught somewhere between relief and irritation.

And then—

"hhHh'GNXTschhh'ue! hhHh'kNNGTchh'ue! Hiihh’NGnxxt’iiew!!"

Each sneeze pitched him forward, his small frame shaking as they ripped through him, leaving him sniffling weakly against Kanai’s chest.

Kanai did not move.

He simply waited. Observed. Let Draeko press his fever-warm face further into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with heat and helpless sniffles.

Draeko whimpered softly, nuzzling against Kanai’s chest like a miserable, sickly kit searching for warmth. "Uhhg… snnfff… s-sorry…"

Kanai didn’t acknowledge the apology. It was not necessary.

Instead, he pressed his cool palm against Draeko’s flushed cheek, feeling the unnatural heat still radiating from his small frame. Still rising. Still unacceptable.

"You are overheating."

Draeko made a weak, exhausted noise, the kind of sound that could not be classified as protest or agreement—just resignation. He sniffled harshly, voice thick and ruined.

"...D’know what to do about it… snnff!"

Kanai knew.

Without another word, he let his long, delicate fingers trace up Draeko’s face, brushing aside the damp, sweat-clung strands of pastel pink and mint green.

Draeko shivered, but this time, it wasn’t from fever.

His eyelashes fluttered, lips parting slightly as Kanai’s fingers ghosted over his temple, slow and deliberate. It was not an intentionally affectionate gesture—just methodical, precise. But to Draeko, it felt like paradise.

Kanai hummed softly. “I will cool you down.”

Draeko, too weak to protest, merely let out a small, pitiful sniffle, his body sinking further into Kanai’s touch.

Without hesitation, Kanai moved.

Every action was slow, calculated, but undeniably gentle.

He reached for a damp cloth, freshly soaked in cool water from earlier, pressing it carefully to Draeko’s overheated forehead. His movements were precise, methodical, deliberate—as if handling something fragile.

Draeko sighed, his body giving in completely.

The relief was instant.

A soft, trembling exhale slipped past his lips, barely a breath—a whimpering, exhausted sigh as he melted into Kanai’s care without resistance.

Kanai paused.

Something settled in his chest. A feeling unfamiliar. Unnamed.

His fingers moved on their own, slipping down to trace slow, absentminded circles along Draeko’s back. Not calculated. Not planned. Instinctual.

Draeko sniffled again, rubbing his still-twitching nose against Kanai’s chest with a quiet, sleepy grumble.

"...Nai…’s cold now…"

Kanai blinked.

He adjusted the cloth with precision, pressing the cool fabric back against Draeko’s flushed cheeks.

"You were overheating," he stated plainly. "This is an improvement."

Draeko huffed—a stuffy, congested little sound, muffled against Kanai’s hoodie.

"...Still don’ like it…" He sniffled wetly, barely lifting his arm before another sharp inhale stole his breath.

Kanai braced.

Draeko’s nose scrunched, his pink nostrils quivering in irritation. His breath hitched—a quick, gasping prelude—before he finally succumbed.

"H’GXTSH’ue! K’GNSH’iiew! Hihh’GXXTsh’iiew! "

Kanai remained perfectly still as each sneeze rocked Draeko’s frame, knocking the mutt further into his grip.

Draeko gave a small, exhausted whimper, sniffling helplessly against Kanai’s chest.

Kanai, without comment, reached for the handkerchief beside them.

He brought it to Draeko’s face.

Draeko’s dazed, glassy eyes fluttered open.

Kanai tilted his head slightly. "Blow your nose."

Draeko, blinking sluggishly, let out a small, tired groan before obediently pressing his nose to the cloth.

He blew, then sniffled. Then collapsed completely against Kanai’s chest.

Kanai, still holding the cloth, merely wrapped his arm more securely around Draeko’s shoulders, letting the mutt curl into him.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Draeko’s breathing slowed, evening out. His fever still burned, but the shaking had lessened.

And Kanai, still tracing absentminded patterns along Draeko’s spine, let the weight in his chest settle.

"...Better?" He finally asked.

Draeko, already half-asleep, gave a small, stuffy sigh.

"...Mmhm…"

Kanai exhaled softly.

“…Nai?” Draeko mumbled after a moment, his voice hoarse, barely above a breath.

Kanai’s eyes flickered down, feeling the slight shift of Draeko’s weight against him.

"Yes?"

Draeko sniffled, the sound thick and pitiful, before pressing his hot forehead further into Kanai’s chest. His small fingers curled weakly in the fabric of Kanai’s hoodie, his grip loose but clinging.

“…Y-you’re being really nice.”

Kanai blinked. He paused briefly, processing the statement, before responding in his usual calm, even tone.

“I am always ‘nice’ to you, Luciftias.”

Draeko’s fevered mind latched onto that immediately.

His ears twitched, and despite the obvious misery he was in, a small, stuffy giggle slipped out, wet and tired.

“…’Cept when you let me eat that weird fish food.”

Kanai did not react outwardly.

“…That was an experiment.”

Draeko groaned dramatically, sniffling thickly against Kanai’s chest. “Not cool, Nai.”

“You are still alive,” Kanai countered. “Thus, the experiment was a success.”

Draeko huffed—a breathy, exhausted sound, though his tail flicked once, betraying his amusement. But the moment was short-lived.

His breath hitched.

Kanai recognized the signs immediately.

Draeko’s nose twitched, pink and raw from irritation. His eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowing, as his breath trembled into a sharp, desperate inhale.

Normally, he would stifle. He always did. Pinching his nose, suppressing every sound, even if it hurt.

But now—with Kanai—

"HhHh'IHSHh’iew! hhHh'KSHhht! hh'ihhTSHH'ue!!"

Draeko sniffled weakly, rubbing his nose against Kanai’s hoodie in a dazed, exhausted motion. His body remained slumped against the hound’s chest, his fevered frame boneless and pliant.

Kanai’s fingers continued their slow, rhythmic motions through Draeko’s hair, smoothing through the damp pastel strands with absentminded precision.

Then, in the same calm, neutral tone he always spoke in, Kanai hummed softly and said,

“I am beginning to understand why Donnie is so fond of those.”

Draeko blinked.

Still half-buried in Kanai’s chest, he lazily peeked one glassy, mismatched eye up at him, blinking again in tired confusion.

“…Hhuh?” His voice was thick with congestion, but the bewilderment in it was still obvious.

Kanai tilted his head slightly, his hand still idly stroking down Draeko’s spine, like one would soothe a restless creature.

“Sneezes,” he clarified evenly.

Draeko stared.

Kanai watched his exhausted, fevered brain struggle to process the words, the gears in his mind turning sluggishly.

And then, despite the fog, the realization hit.

Draeko’s ears twitched.

His pink-flushed cheeks darkened slightly, and suddenly, his tail flicked once, as if his body was visibly trying to short-circuit.

“Nai—what?” His stuffy voice cracked slightly, genuine disbelief flooding his expression.

Kanai remained unaffected.

“It was not unpleasant,” he stated plainly, his fingers still idly combing through Draeko’s tangled hair. “Your body tensed and released in a rhythmic pattern. Your breath grew erratic, followed by a sharp, involuntary reaction. It is always an interesting physiological process to witness up close.”

Draeko’s face heated, and not just from the fever.

He blinked rapidly, shifting weakly in Kanai’s arms. “Wh—okay, okay, but—fond of them? What does that even—” He sniffled, his red-rimmed nose twitching slightly. “Wait—d-do you mean like—”

Kanai nodded.

Draeko made a noise.

A small, stuffy, overwhelmed noise.

“Nai, what the fuck?”

Kanai hummed. “It was inevitable that I would begin to analyze their effects, yes?”

Draeko sputtered. His fevered brain was not equipped for this conversation. He sniffled aggressively, trying to clear his mind, but instead, the sudden inhale tickled too much, and he barely had time to catch a breath—

"hhHh'IHSHh’iew! hhHh'KSHhht! hh'ihhTSHH'ueh!"

He collapsed back into Kanai’s chest, too tired to stifle, too tired to care.

Kanai remained silent for a moment.

Then, in a perfectly neutral tone, he mused, “Yes, Luciftias. Like that.”

Draeko groaned, his ears twitching wildly as he tried to sink into Kanai’s hoodie and disappear forever.

“…Nai, I am not having this conversation right now.”

Kanai tilted his head slightly. “Why not?”

Draeko groaned again. “Because I don’t—ugh—I don’t get it!”

He sniffled, voice thick and miserable, rubbing his tender, pink nose against Kanai’s hoodie again without thinking.

Kanai continued his slow, absentminded touches, voice still calm and observant.

“Your breath hitches before release. Your body is overcome with sensation. The tension builds, and then you succumb to it entirely.”

Draeko felt his soul leave his body.

His ears pressed back into his mess of hair, his face heating up as a blush bloomed further into his cheeks.

He sniffled deeply, still lost in Kanai’s hoodie, too sick and tired to fight back.

“…Okay,” he muttered helplessly. “Okay. I mean. I—I guess? I still don’t get it, but sure.”

Kanai hummed in response. “It was an interesting discovery.”

Draeko, exasperated but too drained to argue, sniffled weakly and let out a small, tired sigh.

“…You’re so fucking weird.”

Kanai did not react.

Instead, he simply pressed the damp cloth against Draeko’s forehead again, his free hand returning to gently stroking his back.

Draeko, utterly spent, utterly stuffy, and utterly unwilling to unpack this moment further, just sighed heavily and melted into the contact.

“…Can you just pet my ears now and pretend we never had this conversation?”

Kanai obliged immediately.

The heat was still there. His body still burned beneath the weight of the fever, his cheeks flushed pink, damp strands of hair clinging to his forehead.

Kanai, without thinking, tucked the stray strands behind Draeko’s ear, his cool fingers lingering against fever-warm skin.

Draeko let out a soft, sleepy sigh, his body finally settling.

His fever still burned beneath his skin. His body still trembled with exhaustion.

But he was safe.

Kanai was here.

And Kanai wasn’t leaving.

Draeko’s breath evened out, his body going slack in Kanai’s arms, his tail giving one final, lazy flick before stilling completely.

Kanai waited.

A full ten minutes passed before he finally adjusted his hold, his fingertips brushing lightly against Draeko’s forehead once more.

Still warm. Still fragile.

But no longer alone.

Kanai had been carefully replacing the damp cloth on Draeko’s forehead when he noticed it.

The usual slow, idle drift of stars across Draeko’s horns had changed. Instead of lazily panning across the cosmos, the frame had sharpened—focused.

The image shifted, settling on something closer.

Kanai observed the flickering planets, the shifting coordinates. A precise lock. A location.

His eyes lowered. “…You are tracking.”

Draeko, half-delirious, barely clinging to consciousness, gave a slow, congested sniffle against Kanai’s chest. He blinked glassy, unfocused eyes, trying to process the words.

“Mmh…?” His voice was barely a breath, his horns flickering again—trying, failing, to hold the image.

Kanai hummed, lightly pressing his fingers against the spiraling ridges. The image within them wavered, and then, as if sensing Draeko’s exhaustion, the focus collapsed.

The frame drifted back into its usual slow pan of space.

“…You are too ill to track properly,” Kanai noted.

Draeko just sniffled again, pathetically.

“…’s fine…wasn’ tryin’ to…”

Kanai hummed in acknowledgment, brushing his thumb over the base of Draeko’s horn once, absentmindedly.

“I will monitor for anomalies,” he said simply.

Draeko, too tired to process, mumbled something incomprehensible and melted further into Kanai’s arms.

Draeko slept, but it wasn’t deep. His body twitched in Kanai’s arms, shifting restlessly beneath the blankets, still too warm, still too sick.

Kanai, ever patient, remained still.

Even when Draeko’s hot breath fanned against his collarbone, even when his fevered skin pressed against his own cool frame, Kanai did not move away. His fingers continued their slow, absentminded movements through Draeko’s sweat-damp hair, tracing along the soft strands without conscious thought.

It was an automatic action. A motion meant for soothing, for grounding.

And it worked.

Draeko breathed softly against Kanai’s chest, finally resting. His exhausted frame had gone slack, his fevered body no longer trembling so violently.

Kanai remained still.

His eyes drifted, watching the ever-slowing movement of Draeko’s horns as they settled into their idle sequence.

Planets drifted lazily.

Stars flickered like distant embers in a cosmic tide.

Kanai watched wordlessly, his fingers resuming their slow, steady motion through Draeko’s sweat-dampened hair.

“…Rest, Luciftias.”

The galaxies continued their silent orbit.

Draeko’s breathing remained soft, congested sniffles slipping between quiet, fevered murmurs. Every so often, his tail gave a weak flick, his body reacting to some unseen discomfort before settling once again.

Kanai watched.

Listened.

And when Draeko whimpered softly in his sleep, pressing his face against the fabric of Kanai’s hoodie, Kanai simply tightened his hold—just slightly. Just enough.

Draeko sighed, his warm, clammy fingers twitching against Kanai’s chest before going still again.

Draeko stirred.

Not all at once, not suddenly—just a slow, sluggish shift, his overheated body squirming weakly under the weight of the blankets.

Kanai immediately noticed.

He could feel the heat still radiating off Draeko’s skin, could hear the shallow congestion in every uneven breath. He reached for the cool cloth, still damp, and gently pressed it back to Draeko’s forehead.

A small, pitiful whimper left the mutt’s lips.

“Too cold…” Draeko’s voice was hoarse and congested, barely above a breath as he curled further into Kanai’s chest, tucking his nose into the fabric like a burrowing creature.

Kanai blinked, then pressed the cloth back down anyway.

“You were overheating.”

Draeko whined.

The sound was soft, hoarse, but childishly stubborn.

“…Don’ like it…” he mumbled thickly, sniffling deeply against Kanai’s hoodie. His nose rubbed absently against the fabric, barely processing that he was doing it. “Wanna be warm again…”

“You are already too warm.” Kanai held the cloth in place, ignoring the sleepy protests. “You will overheat again if I remove it.”

Draeko let out a weak, dramatic sigh.

“…’S so unfair…” His tail gave a lazy flick, curling slightly at the tip before falling still again.

Kanai hummed, watching the way Draeko’s ears twitched slightly at the vibration in his chest. His fingers never stopped their soothing patterns, brushing through Draeko’s hair with calculated ease.

“…You are unusually clingy.”

Draeko let out a sleepy, stuffy giggle, his half-lidded, fevered eyes blinking up at Kanai’s blank expression.

“…’Cause you’re comfy.”

Kanai blinked.

He did not know what to do with that information.

So he ignored it.

“…Your fever is still high.” His fingers brushed against Draeko’s temple, pressing lightly as if assessing the temperature again, even though he already knew the result.

Draeko just sighed into him, his stuffed-up breath catching slightly.

“…You’re always so nice to me when I’m sick…” His voice was thick, heavy with congestion.

Kanai hummed. “You are in distress.”

Draeko sniffled hard, his nose scrunching slightly—and then, with no warning, his breath hitched sharply, his body tensing beneath the blankets.

Kanai paused.

Watched.

Draeko’s eyelashes fluttered, his pink nostrils quivering as his lips parted, breath growing uneven—

“Hh’ITSCHH’ueh!—hhHh'IHSHh’iew! hhHh'KSHhht!—hh'ihhTSHH'ueh!”

Each sneeze pitched him weakly forward, his small body shuddering from the force.

Kanai waited.

Draeko’s breath caught again, nose twitching as if overloaded with irritation. His ears twitched, drooping slightly, before another sharp inhale forced him into another fit.

“HhHh'IHSHh’uhh! Hhh… hhHh'KSSHhh’ueh!”

Kanai tensed slightly, the soft, breathy sneezes far too close against his collarbone.

Draeko sniffled thickly, groaning as he pressed his pink nose against Kanai’s chest, snuggling deeper into his hoodie.

“…Hhihh—ihH’ktdSHhh! hiiih’ISHHHh—uhH!! h’dtTISHh! ”

Kanai did not react outwardly.

Instead, he simply reached for the tissue box on the nightstand, plucking one free before bringing it directly to Draeko’s face.

"Blow."

Draeko let out a small, tired whine.

“…T’red…”

"Blow."

Draeko groaned dramatically, but leaned into the tissue, his tiny, fevered sniffles worsening.

Kanai held it firm, his grip steady as Draeko finally complied. The sound was wet, exhausted.

“…nnnngh…,” Draeko groaned weakly, pressing his forehead against Kanai’s collarbone.

Kanai folded the tissue with precision, setting it aside before running his cool fingers down the back of Draeko’s neck.

Draeko sighed.

“…You’re so cold…” He nuzzled further into Kanai’s touch, sniffling softly. “D’know if I wanna fight you anymore…”

Kanai tilted his head slightly. "You were fighting me?"

“…For control of the temperature…”

Kanai blinked.

Then, after a moment:

"You lost."

Draeko let out a sleepy, congested giggle, tucking himself further into Kanai’s chest.

“’Course I did…”

Kanai exhaled slowly, his fingers continuing their slow movements through Draeko’s hair.

Draeko sighed again, his tail curling slightly against Kanai’s leg.

“…’m really glad you’re here.”

Kanai, without thinking, pressed his forehead lightly to the top of Draeko’s head.

“…You were in distress,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“I will always wake up for you, Luciftias”

Draeko melted.

His breathing evened out, his tiny sniffles growing softer, until—finally—his body relaxed completely.

Kanai did not move.

He simply watched the rise and fall of Draeko’s chest, felt the soft warmth of his even, fevered breaths.

Still warm. Still fragile.

But no longer alone.

Draeko woke to the soft sound of bubbling water.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

His body was heavy, aching, like he had been buried under layers of warmth and exhaustion for centuries. His head pounded, his throat was raw, and his nose felt completely clogged.

He sniffled experimentally.

Nothing.

A miserable groan rumbled from his chest, muffled against something solid, warm, and unmoving.

It took another few seconds for his fever-fogged brain to realize where he was.

Kanai.

Draeko blinked blearily, vision swimming, before tilting his head slightly to confirm.

Yep. Still there.

Kanai was still holding him.

Not in an uncomfortable, confining way—but with perfect precision, like he had measured exactly how much weight to apply to keep Draeko comfortable but not trapped.

…Had Kanai even moved all night?

Draeko squinted, voice thick and hoarse when he finally rasped out, “…Did you even sleep?”

Kanai did not hesitate.

"No."

Draeko groaned, pressing his flushed face into Kanai’s hoodie.

“Naiii,” he whined stuffily, sniffling hard against the fabric, voice muffled beyond recognition. “You don’t have to be that nice…snnff!”

Kanai tilted his head slightly, pressing the back of his cool fingers against Draeko’s cheek.

"You would have woken up alone."

Draeko, still groggy and congested, felt his ears twitch weakly at that.

“…Well…yeah," he admitted, sniffling against Kanai’s chest, too tired to argue properly. “But…that’s only ‘cause you’re not supposed to…hh’ihhhSHH’uhh!—stay up the whole night…”

Kanai did not move as the hybrids tiny, exhausted sneeze pitched him weakly forward. He simply reached for a tissue, held it to Draeko’s twitching nose, and waited.

Draeko blinked sleepily.

“…Snnff—oh.”

"Blow."

Draeko sighed dramatically, too tired to put up a fight, and let Kanai gently press the tissue against his pink, stuffy nose.

The sound was embarrassingly wet.

Draeko whined. “Uhhhg… I’b so gross…”

Kanai, unfazed, simply folded the tissue neatly, setting it aside before tilting Draeko’s chin up slightly.

"You are still alive."

Draeko gave him a flat, stuffy look.

“…That’s your bar for success?”

Kanai hummed, lightly smoothing a cool palm over Draeko’s damp forehead.

"Yes."

Draeko groaned again, snuggling deeper into Kanai’s hoodie.

Kanai did not move away.

Instead, he reached for the cup of water on the nightstand—one he had placed there hours ago in preparation—and gently nudged it toward Draeko’s hands.

"Drink."

Draeko pouted, sniffled, and grabbed the cup anyway.

Kanai watched closely as he took small, slow sips, waiting for any signs of discomfort.

“…Better?” he asked once Draeko set the cup back down.

Draeko gave a small, stuffy nod, his ears twitching.

“…Y-yeah… snff! A little…”

Kanai hummed, his fingers finding Draeko’s ears almost on instinct, rubbing small, precise motions into the soft fur.

Draeko melted instantly.

A deep, congested sigh escaped him, his body relaxing completely into Kanai’s touch, ears flicking once before going limp.

Kanai observed this with mild intrigue.

“You respond positively to touch stimulation,” he noted, scratching lightly at the base of Draeko’s ears, his movements slow, practiced.

Draeko sighed again, half asleep.

“…'s juss d’ice…" he slurred. “Dod’t stob…”

Kanai did not stop.

He simply adjusted Draeko’s blankets, checked his forehead again, and settled in silence.

Draeko’s breathing evened out, his tiny sniffles growing softer, his tail giving one final, lazy flick before stilling completely.

Kanai exhaled softly.

“Sleep, Luciftias.”

As Draeko finally slipped into deep, fevered sleep, the swirling images within his horns slowly stilled. No longer flickering between blurry visions or faltering attempts at tracking, they settled into their natural state—a slow, drifting pan of the cosmos.

Nebulae stretched lazily across the curved surface, painted in soft, glowing hues of violet and deep cerulean, dusted with flickering golden stars. The planets shifted in gentle, rhythmic orbit, their movements slow and dreamlike, matching the soft rise and fall of Draeko’s breathing.

Kanai watched in silence.

With each measured inhale, the light in his horns glowed and dimmed, like the pulse of some quiet, celestial heartbeat.

Kanai did not move.

Instead, his fingers drifted absently over Draeko’s damp hair, his touch cool and calculated, yet uncharacteristically tender.

The galaxies in Draeko’s horns continued their unhurried path across the vastness of space.

Kanai, for the first time in hours, allowed his eyes to close, his golden halo sliding slightly askew, and his grip on Draeko never loosening.

Draeko was safe.

And the universe—at least within his horns—slept peacefully with him.

The End ✨

32 notes · View notes

aller-geez · 2 months ago

Text

A Place Among Predators

(A Fang Family Reunion [pt 1 of 3])

written & illustrated by: allergeez ✨

Summary: Kriia knew meeting her boyfriend’s family in person would be a challenge, but she wasn’t expecting to do it while sick. Determined not to let a bad cold ruin everything, she pushes through the long journey to the Fang Estate in Erinth—a sprawling gothic mansion deep in a fog-laden hamlet, surrounded by towering ancient trees and steeped in eerie tradition.

The Fang family is infamous, their name carrying both power and mystery. They are elite, deeply respected, and bound by customs older than the land itself. To be accepted among them is no small feat. Kriia is determined to prove herself, to show that she belongs in their world—sickness be damned. But as the weekend unfolds, she quickly realizes that navigating the weight of tradition, the watchful eyes of powerful predators, and the growing pressure of keeping up appearances might be more than she bargained for.

As the family prepares for The Culling—a ritual that is equal parts necessary and haunting—Kriia is faced with the question: Can she truly find her place among predators? Or will the weight of expectation and the secrets beneath the Fang family's legacy prove too much to bear? 8.7k words

Content Warnings:

Body Horror & Supernatural Themes: Discussions of rituals, feeding on souls, and predatory instincts.

Illness Depiction: Heavy focus on sickness symptoms, including sneezing, fever, congestion, and exhaustion.

Family Expectations & Social Pressure: Themes of proving oneself, feeling like an outsider, and navigating unfamiliar traditions.

Violence & Dark Fantasy Elements: References to hunting and an intense family ritual with potentially unsettling implications.

Emotional Themes: Grief, loss, and finding belonging.

Rexar had been talking about this trip for weeks.

Every chance he got, he’d bring it up—in the car, at dinner, during their late-night video game marathons, even half-asleep with his head on Kriia’s lap, mumbling about how she was going to love it there.

“The Erinth estate’s insane, babe,” he’d say, voice brimming with the kind of enthusiasm he usually reserved for trap metal concerts and street fights. “Like, picture a mansion, but make it even more ridiculous. The halls are so long you could probably start a new civilization in one and no one would find you for weeks. And my family? They’re gonna love you. My mom runs the house. My dad runs the family.” Rexar said it simply, like it was an undeniable fact. “She’s the heart. He’s the teeth.”

Kriia had smiled, feigned confidence, nodded along. But in reality?

She was nervous as hell.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t met the Fangs before. She had—technically.

Over countless video calls, she’d laughed with his sisters, exchanged sarcastic banter with his brothers, even had a full hour-long conversation with his mom once when Rexar fell asleep on the call.

And they’d all been nothing but welcoming.

But meeting them in person? That was different.

She’d heard stories—so many stories.

Rexar had grown up surrounded by opulence, expectations, and something much darker lurking beneath the surface. The Fang family was old, powerful, and steeped in traditions that most people wouldn’t even believe. She had listened as Rexar shrugged off details that would have sent a normal person running—details about The Culling, the way his family hunted, the weight of the rituals that dictated their lives.

And she had nodded, laughed at his dry humor, accepted it.

Because that’s what you did when you loved someone.

Still, accepting was not the same as understanding.

She wasn’t just meeting his parents. She was stepping into the den of one of the most feared and revered predator bloodlines in existence.

And she was going in as an outsider.

That fact alone was enough to set her teeth on edge.

Rexar, of course, had no clue about her nerves.

He was too excited, too caught up in the idea of bringing her home, showing her somewhere he grew up, finally letting his family meet the person he had willingly fasted an entire year for.

"You know they already love you, right?" Rexar had said one night, sprawled across their couch, feet kicked up on the armrest, flipping a guitar pick between his fingers.

Kriia had snorted, stretching out beside him. "They love me through a screen, Rex. That's different."

He had turned his head toward her, grinning. "Nah. Trust me. You're gonna kill it."

That was the problem.

She was supposed to kill it.

Charm them. Impress them. Prove that she belonged in Rexar’s world, that she was strong enough to handle whatever expectations came with being tied to a Fang.

And she would.

Or—she would have.

If she didn’t wake up sick as hell.

The second she opened her eyes, she knew something was off.

Her throat ached, scratchy and raw like she’d swallowed a handful of gravel in her sleep. Her head was thick and stuffy, her sinuses tickling like they were threatening to betray her at any second.

She groaned, rolling onto her side, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.

No. Nope. This wasn’t happening.

She wasn’t getting sick.

Not today.

She sniffled experimentally—bad idea.

The tickle in her nose flared instantly, sharp and relentless, pushing up until she had no choice but to snap forward into her pillow.

“h’kTSHHh!—hh’ihhNGXT’uhh!”

A second later, she heard Rexar stirring from his spot beside her, groggy and half-awake.

Shit.

She froze, heart hammering. Do not wake up. Go back to sleep.

He made a vague, grumbling noise, then—mercifully—went quiet again.

Crisis averted.

She exhaled slowly, carefully, then dragged herself upright, ignoring the way her head swam.

She reached blindly for her phone, checking the time.

They were leaving in two hours.

Okay. She could fix this.

If there was one thing Kriia was good at, it was bullshitting.

All she had to do was act normal.

The plan was simple.

1. Shower—because maybe she’d feel less like death warmed over if she was at least clean.

2. Cold meds—the good kind, the kind that would at least hold her together until they got there.

3. Fake it. Pretend. Do what she did best—act like nothing was wrong.

She could handle this.

She had no other choice.

With a deep breath, she sniffled back the worst of the congestion, squared her shoulders, and got to work.

Because if Rexar wanted this weekend to be perfect—

She was damn well going to make sure it was.

The purr of the Hummer’s massive engine vibrated through Kriia’s bones as they sped down the highway, Rexar drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in perfect sync with the metal blaring through the speakers.

Nine hours.

That was how long it took to get from their home in Scrila to the Fang Estate in Erinth.

Nine. Goddamn. Hours.

Kriia had been hanging in at first. She was exhausted, sure, but the road trip had started out fun—they took turns picking songs, made dramatic performances out of their favorites, and had stopped for snacks at every possible gas station, stocking up on caffeinated sugar bombs and salty junk food like they were preparing for war.

But by the halfway mark?

Kriia was fucking struggling.

The cold meds she had taken before they left had started wearing off hours ago, and now, with nothing but sheer willpower and stubbornness keeping her upright, her body was starting to revolt.

The pressure in her sinuses had built steadily throughout the drive, growing heavier, thicker, until her whole face felt like it was packed with cement.

Her throat was raw, scratchy from all the silent coughing she had been forcing into her sleeve whenever Rexar wasn’t looking. And her headache?

Fucking. Brutal.

Still—she was holding it together.

For now.

Barely.

The real problem was the sneezing.

Kriia had spent years mastering the art of holding back sneezes. It was a skill she had perfected out of pure necessity—after all, she wasn’t exactly the kind of person who liked drawing attention to herself when she was feeling vulnerable.

And right now?

She was feeling very fucking vulnerable.

Unfortunately, her immune system didn’t give a shit about her pride.

The fits were coming whether she wanted them to or not.

The only thing she could do was stifle them beyond recognition.

She had gotten good at it—good enough that Rexar, despite being stupidly observant, hadn’t noticed.

Yet.

But it was getting harder. Way harder.

The congestion behind her eyes made every suppressed sneeze feel like a personal attack. The second she forced one down, the next was already building, lingering at the edge of her senses, taunting her.

By hour six, Kriia was unraveling.

Her sinuses were a disaster, her throat raw, and every inhale felt like it might trigger something disastrous. Her head pounded in rhythm with the dull hum of the highway, and she was starting to feel like her body was actively trying to betray her.

Meanwhile, Rexar was completely, blissfully unaware.

One hand on the wheel, the other rummaging through a bag of snacks, he was happily rambling about the estate, his energy seemingly endless despite the grueling drive.

“Oh, princess—wait till you see the library. It’s got, like, secret doors and shit. I used to sneak in there all the time as a kid just to—hold up.”

Kriia barely had time to react before her breath caught sharply.

No. No, no, no—

She twisted into her sleeve just in time—

“h'NGXt!—hh’tSHH’kngt!—hhHh’NGXTCHh-uhh!”

The force of it left her momentarily stunned, her head dipping forward as she pressed her wrist firmly under her nose, willing herself to keep it together.

Rexar shot her a look. “Was that a sneeze?”

She blinked, feigning innocence. “Huh?”

His squint deepened. “I heard something.”

She sniffled discreetly, forcing a casual shrug. “Probably the radio.”

There was a beat of silence where she could feel him considering it—

Then, miraculously, Rexar just shrugged and went back to his snack raid, muttering something about "needing a damn drink."

Kriia exhaled slowly, carefully, pressing her knuckles under her nose as another tickle flared dangerously in her sinuses.

That had been way too close.

She couldn’t let that happen again.

She just had to hold on a little longer.

By the time they finally pulled up to the Fang Estate, Kriia was holding on by a thread.

The place was breathtaking—a sprawling gothic estate nestled within a fog-laden hamlet, its towering spires barely visible through the dense mist. Ancient trees loomed on all sides, their twisted branches stretching toward the sky like skeletal fingers, their bark slick with the ever-present damp. The air was thick with the scent of moss, rain-soaked earth, and the faint, lingering traces of old woodsmoke, wrapping around them like a second skin.

Beyond the estate, narrow cobblestone streets wound through the small village, the old-world charm almost eerie in the dim, muted light. Weathered lanterns flickered weakly against the fog, casting long, wavering shadows along the path. In the distance, the silhouette of a towering chapel stood against the treeline, its steeple barely cutting through the mist.

The weight of history clung to the land, as if the very stones beneath their feet had been watching, listening, for centuries.

It was exactly what she imagined a Fang estate would look like.

And standing at the entrance, waiting for them, was Zeraphine Fang herself.

Rexar’s mother.

Fuck.

The moment the car stopped, Rexar practically leapt out, grinning wide as he scooped his mom into a hug.

Zeraphine laughed, the sound warm and low, wrapping her arms around him easily despite the height difference. She was tall for a woman, but Rexar still dwarfed her at 6’4.

She was beautiful in the way that older predator women always were—sharp features, effortless poise, and an air of quiet authority.

Her hair was shoulder-length, silver-blonde, with streaks of deep red, the curls framing her face in a way that made her look both regal and dangerous at the same time. Her eyes—a striking mix of gray and crimson—studied Rexar with fondness before flicking toward the car.

Kriia, meanwhile, was fighting for her goddamn life.

The second she reached for the door handle, the tickle in her sinuses surged, sharp and demanding, her breath catching involuntarily.

No. Not now.

She pressed two fingers under her nose, holding her breath, waiting it out.

After a few agonizing seconds, the feeling eased just enough for her to pull herself together.

She sniffled discreetly, squared her shoulders, and finally stepped out of the car.

Rexar was already waving her over excitedly, looking like he was having the best day of his life.

And when Kriia finally reached them, Zeraphine turned to her with a warm, knowing smile.

“You must be Kriia,” she said, voice smooth and rich with a hint of amusement.

Kriia offered her best grin, shaking her hand firmly.

“That’s me.”

Zeraphine hummed, studying her.

"Rexar’s told us so much about you," she said. "We were starting to think you weren’t real."

Kriia snorted, then instantly regretted it as it sent a sharp tickle straight up her sinuses.

She sniffled quickly, covering it with a casual laugh.

“Well, I’m here now,” she said smoothly. “And trust me—I’m just as real as the headache he gives me every day.”

Zeraphine laughed, and just like that—some of Kriia’s nerves faded.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

The inside of the estate was somehow even bigger than Kriia had expected.

The ceilings stretched impossibly high, held up by carved stone pillars that looked ancient yet impeccably maintained. The floors were polished dark wood, the walls adorned with massive oil paintings of regal, sharp-featured ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow them as they walked. Chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the space, their intricate metalwork shaped like curling flames—an unsubtle nod to the Fang family’s infamous pyromancy.

And the people?

Everywhere.

Fangs of every shape and size moved through the halls, some dressed in modern, casual clothes, others in traditional, high-collared attire that made them look like they had walked straight out of an old vampire novel. They were a beautiful, predatory mix—all of them sharing the Fang bloodline’s striking features, their sharp eyes flickering with interest as they passed.

As they navigated the sprawling halls of the Erinth Fang Estate, Rexar led Kriia past a series of towering archways, nodding enthusiastically at passing relatives, most of whom greeted him with fond smiles, a high-five, or a large, Fang-esque hug.

Every few feet, someone else recognized Rexar.

And every single one of them commented on how much he had grown.

He was thirty. He had not grown in years.

"Rexar! Gods, look at you—it's been ages!"

"Holy shit, you're huge! What are they feeding you?"

"How do you keep getting bigger?!"

"You’re gonna hit seven feet soon at this rate!"

Rexar, to his credit, took it all in stride.

"Y’know, I get that a lot."

His usual wide, charming grin was permanently fixed to his face, laughing and greeting each one with his signature easy warmth. He was in his element here—his energy infectious, his confidence effortless.

Kriia, meanwhile, was struggling.

Her head pounded, her sinuses burned, and every breath she took felt like she was inhaling through wet cotton. The heavy fog outside pressed in against the estate, seeping through the ancient stone walls and settling into her bones, making her fever feel ten times worse. The damp, clinging air carried the scent of rain-soaked earth and moss-covered stone, thick and inescapable.

She forced herself to stand tall, nodding politely when introduced, but her body was screaming at her to lie down and never get up. The flickering lanterns cast elongated shadows against the towering bookshelves and worn wooden beams, giving everything a dreamlike haze—though whether it was the fever or the fog outside, she wasn’t sure.

And then—of course—they ran into Perry.

He stood at the end of the corridor, leaning against a carved stone pillar, arms folded neatly over his chest. Even at a distance, his mismatched eyes were sharp, dissecting, their eerie glow fixed on Rexar with an air of casual disapproval.

His horns—deep green, curling like polished obsidian—caught the light, and his sleek, dark coat made him look like he had just stepped out of some high-end magazine. Not a single thing about him was out of place.

Which made him the complete opposite of Rexar, who immediately grinned like he’d just spotted his favorite person in the world.

"Perry!" Rexar called out, clapping a hand on his shoulder before he could dodge. “Dude, I was hoping I’d run into you! What’s up, man?”

Perry barely reacted, save for the subtle, impatient flick of his eyes toward Rexar’s hand, which was still on his shoulder.

"Apparently, you," he deadpanned, his voice smooth, clipped, and carrying zero enthusiasm.

Rexar just laughed, ignoring the obvious distaste and squeezing his shoulder once before finally letting go.

“Bro, don’t act like you’re not happy to see me,” he teased. “You missed me, admit it.”

Perry exhaled through his nose, the closest thing he ever gave to an eye roll, and finally turned his attention to Kriia.

His gaze flickered over her just once—quick, assessing, noting everything.

The too-flushed cheeks. The slight sheen of sweat. The way she subtly swallowed before speaking, as if trying to soothe a sore throat.

Interesting.

"Kriia," he said smoothly, offering a hand. “Nice to finally meet you in person.”

Kriia, despite feeling like death, still managed to shake his hand firmly, flashing the same confident smirk she always did over video calls.

“Likewise.”

She sniffled subtly, barely catching it before it became too obvious.

Perry didn’t miss it.

But he didn’t say anything.

He just tilted his head slightly, gaze still locked onto hers, like he was picking her apart in real time.

Rexar, completely oblivious to the tension, clapped Perry on the back again and laughed.

"Man, don’t let him intimidate you, babygirl," he said to Kriia, grinning. "Perry tries to be all mysterious and broody, but deep down? He’s just a big nerd."

Perry’s jaw twitched.

“Charming,” he said dryly.

Kriia barely bit back a smirk.

She was sick as hell, but Rexar being this unfazed by Perry’s entire existence was genuinely hilarious.

Still, before Perry could respond, Zeraphine poked her head out from one of the doorways down the hall, waving the two over.

“Rex baby, you want to see your room?”

Rexar perked up instantly. "Hell yeah, let’s go!"

Kriia took the lifeline instantly, already turning to follow him.

But just before she could go—

Perry’s voice followed her.

Soft. Amused.

“I do hope you enjoy the weekend, Kriia.”

She didn’t need to look back to know he was smirking.

And she didn’t need to hear the subtext to know exactly what he meant.

He knew.

And he was waiting to see how long she could keep up the act.

Every step she took felt heavier, her body dragging with the weight of exhaustion. The fever simmering under her skin had grown worse in the time it took to get from the car to their room, the heat pressing into her bones like a slow, persistent burn.

Her sinuses throbbed, packed so thick with congestion that each inhale felt like breathing through damp cotton. She sniffled discreetly, but it was a losing battle—her nose was running and stuffy at the same time, leaving her in a constant cycle of either sniffling or swallowing around the thickness in her throat.

Her ears felt clogged, her head aching dully from the sheer pressure building behind her eyes.

And the sneezes?

A fucking nightmare.

She had managed to hold them back so far, each sharp tickle forcing her to pause for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek, pressing her wrist hard against her nose, waiting for it to fade.

She was losing, though.

Her breath kept hitching, forcing her to turn away slightly, feigning a casual rub at her nose while she swallowed back the urge.

No one had noticed yet.

But one person did.

Zeraphine.

Rexar’s mother didn’t say anything.

But Kriia felt the weight of her gaze.

Sharp, perceptive, knowing.

Still, she didn’t comment.

Instead, she simply led them down the long hallway, her tone warm as she spoke.

"This will be your room for the weekend."

She pushed open the massive double doors, revealing a sprawling bedroom steeped in old-world grandeur.

A towering four-poster bed dominated the center, its dark oak frame carved with intricate patterns, draped in layers of deep crimson and black silk. Heavy velvet curtains framed the windows, their fabric thick enough to block out the ever-present fog that curled outside. Beyond the glass, the hamlet stretched out in eerie silence, the twisted silhouettes of ancient trees barely visible through the shifting mist. The scent of damp stone and aged wood lingered in the air, grounding the room in a sense of history—both elegant and haunting.

There was a fireplace, already lit, casting dancing orange light against the stone walls. A sitting area with plush chairs and an ornate wooden desk sat in the corner, complete with a collection of old books and handwritten letters.

It was beautiful.

And Kriia barely saw it.

She was too focused on staying upright.

Zeraphine turned to them with a graceful smile.

"Dinner will be ready in an hour," she said, voice warm. "I'll leave you two to settle in."

With one last look at Kriia—a look that said she had noticed every damn thing—she turned and disappeared down the hall.

And the second the doors shut behind her?

Kriia crumpled onto the bed, groaning into the blankets. A deep, miserable groan muffled into the pillows, vibrating with pure exhaustion.

She felt like absolute shit.

Her body was overheated, her skin clammy from the fever that had been slowly rising all day. Every inch of her throbbed, her muscles sore from the sheer effort of keeping herself upright for the past nine hours. Her head pounded, a dull, relentless ache pressing against her skull, making even the dim, golden glow of the bedside lamps feel like too much.

And her sinuses?

Completely, hopelessly clogged.

She couldn’t get a single proper breath through her nose, forcing her to breathe through her mouth—which only aggravated her raw, aching throat further. Every inhale felt thick, like she was pulling air through a straw filled with molasses.

Her ears were stuffed up, too, muffling the sounds around her, making everything feel just slightly off-kilter.

And then—there was the tickle.

That constant, merciless itch deep in her sinuses, teasing at her already overwhelmed nerves, threatening to push her over the edge.

Kriia pressed her wrist hard against her nose, willing the sensation to fade, her breath hitching in silent desperation. She couldn’t lose control now.

Not here.

Not with Rexar watching.

But fuck, it was so strong—spreading like static electricity, crawling its way up until her breath gave a sudden, sharp hiccup.

Shit—no, no, no.

She twisted just in time, barely managing to stifle the fit into the blankets, her shoulders jerking violently with each suppressed sneeze.

"hh’kNXT’tt!—h'NGXT’chh!—hh!—hh’tSSHhu!"

The last one slipped out—harsh, scraping, far too wet.

A sharp sniffle followed, barely enough to clear the congestion, and she immediately winced at how obvious it sounded.

Rexar, who had just sat down beside her, froze.

His red-flecked eyes narrowed instantly, brows furrowing in suspicion.

"Babe," he said, nudging her gently. "What’s up? You’ve been, like… weirdly quiet since we got here."

Kriia hesitated.

She couldn’t tell him.

If his family found out she was sick, they’d probably shove her straight into the tunnels like they did with him whenever he got sick as a kid.

The thought made her stomach twist.

Kriia forced herself to sit up, ignoring the way her vision tilted dangerously for a moment. She plastered on a smirk, one she hoped still had its usual confidence, and shot Rexar her best “I’m totally fine” look.

“Just—tired from the drive,” she said, voice hoarse but light, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m good.”

Rexar squinted.

He wasn’t buying it.

His storm-gray eyes flickered over her face, taking in every detail—the slight flush to her cheeks, the glassy haze in her eyes, the way her breathing wasn’t quite right, just a little too controlled.

But instead of pressing, he sighed through his nose, leaning back slightly against the edge of the bed.

“If you say so,” he muttered, not sounding convinced.

Then, instead of calling her out, he gestured toward the room around them.

“Y’know, this place is kinda sentimental for me,” he admitted, a rare softness creeping into his voice. “I stayed here a lot growing up, when we came through Erinth for Cullings. Out of all the rooms in the estate, this one was always mine.”

Kriia glanced around, trying to focus on his words instead of the relentless tickle in her sinuses.

The room was massive, all dark stone and deep crimson accents, exuding the weight of old money and older secrets. A towering four-poster bed stood at its center, draped in impossibly soft-looking blankets, its heavy wooden frame carved with intricate, timeworn details.

One entire wall was dominated by towering windows, their glass fogged at the edges, offering a ghostly view of the mist-laden hamlet beyond. Gnarled, ancient trees loomed just beyond the estate’s perimeter, their twisted branches half-lost in the dense, ever-present fog. On the opposite side of the room, a fireplace stretched nearly to the ceiling, the kind so cavernous it looked like it could swallow a person whole, its hearth blackened with age.

It was exactly the kind of place she could picture a younger Rexar sprawled across the bed, lazily strumming his guitar, trying to carve out a space for himself in the sprawling, shadowed world of his family.

She wanted to say something—maybe make a teasing remark about how absurdly dramatic it was that he had his own gothic prince suite—but—

The tickle flared.

Her breath hitched.

Shit—

Kriia turned sharply away, muffling the sneezes as best she could into her wrist.

“h’KTSCHhh! hh’ihhNGXT’uhh! hh’kTSSHh’uhh!”

Messy, unrestrained—still stifled, but nowhere near subtle.

The second the sneezes escaped, she felt Rexar move.

Before she could even recover, he was already at her side, one warm, calloused hand brushing across her cheek, checking her temperature.

“Ah—dude,” she croaked, barely managing to play it off.

Rexar’s expression flickered with suspicion, his grey-red eyes narrowing slightly.

“Dust?” she supplied quickly, sniffling thickly and waving a vague hand toward the air. “There’s—like, I dunno—old books or something in here, right?”

He didn’t look convinced.

But after a long, assessing pause, he just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Yeah, maybe.”

Crisis averted.

Kriia exhaled slowly, schooling her expression into something more relaxed as she turned away, reaching for the water bottle on the nightstand.

But then—

Her breath caught again.

Shit.

She barely had time to wrench her sleeve up before another harsh, stifled sneeze ripped through her. “Heh’n’gtx!” Then another. “hhh’nGNxxt!” And another. “H’GXTSH’ue!”

Rexar straightened immediately, brows furrowing. “Okay, that is not dust.”

Kriia swallowed hard, scrubbing at her nose with the heel of her hand. “It’s fine,” she rasped, already feeling the telltale burn building again. “I’m fine—”

“Babe.”

She could hear it in his voice—the shift from playful skepticism to something more serious, more concerned.

And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong to be.

She was losing this battle.

Her breath kept hitching, shoulders trembling with the effort of holding back the sneezes threatening to overwhelm her. Rexar could see it, his gaze sharpening as he stepped closer, watching her carefully.

“Kr—”

A knock at the door.

Kriia could’ve kissed whoever it was.

She latched onto the distraction instantly, clearing her throat and quickly scrubbing her sleeve under her nose as a tiny, hesitant voice called from the hallway:

“Um… dinner’s almost ready.”

Kriia and Rexar both turned toward the door.

Rexar’s expression softened instantly.

“That’s Runa,” he murmured, voice quieter now. “My youngest sister.”

Kriia seized the opportunity, shoving the blankets off herself as she stood, forcing a grin. “Right. Let’s go.”

Rexar hesitated.

His concern hadn’t faded—not by a long shot—but with his little sister waiting outside, he let it go.

For now.

The Fang dining hall was colossal.

Massive chandeliers cast a warm, flickering glow over the endless stretch of dark wooden tables, each overflowing with platters of lavishly prepared meats, charred vegetables, and golden, freshly baked bread. The scent alone was intoxicating—smoky, rich, layered with spices Kriia couldn’t even begin to place.

And the sheer number of people in the room? Overwhelming.

The instant they walked in, Kriia barely had time to register the vastness of the space before ten distinct voices erupted all at once.

“Rex!!”

The pack descended.

Thorne and Sylwen, the oldest of the Fang siblings, towered over the rest—Thorne with his heavy, bear-like frame and Sylwen’s coolly amused expression as she leaned on her twin’s shoulder. Elaris and Garrik were next, talking over each other as they teased Rexar, shoving him playfully like they were still in their teenage years.

Nyxara and Marwyn were elegant in their greetings, Nyxara rolling her eyes with a fond “Still slouching, I see,” while Marwyn gave a rare, but genuine smile, offering a quick, affectionate “Welcome home, little brother.”

Varos, the last of the older brothers, grinned wickedly and mussed Rexar’s hair, dodging the half-hearted swipe aimed at his arm.

Then came Zyra, barreling into Rexar with all the force her twenty-year-old self could muster, already grilling him for stories about Scrila, about his band, about literally everything he hadn’t told her yet.

Vesper lingered a little behind, cool and observant, offering only a “Glad you made it in one piece,” before retreating back to her seat.

And finally, Runa, the shyest of them all, stood just behind them, watching Kriia more than Rexar.

Kriia forced a smile, but her head was spinning.

So many names. So many faces.

Kriia hadn’t even noticed the man at the head of the table until his deep, commanding voice cut through the lively conversation. “Rexar. You’ve finally decided to show up this year.” Orin Fang’s sharp, piercing gaze flickered between his son and Kriia, assessing, weighing. His presence was imposing—not loud, not overbearing, but absolute.

And not just Rexar’s direct family members, either—she recognized some of his extended family sitting among the others at the table:

Aunt Lilith, the infamous adventurer who had found and adopted Perry, nudging Uncle Zerrok with her elbow looking far too amused as she watched the chaos unfold

Aunt Selka, Aunt Erisen, and Aunt Calista, all chatting amongst themselves, but keeping a keen eye on their younger relatives.

Cousins Loriel and Rivana, each engaged in their own quiet conversation, but still offering Rexar a nod of greeting.

It was a lot to take in.

And Rexar?

He was completely in his element.

Laughing, talking, effortlessly shifting between every conversation, giving as good as he got whenever one of his siblings teased him for staying away too long. He thrived in the attention, soaking it up like a plant in the sun, answering every question, grinning through every jab.

Meanwhile, Kriia?

Dying.

She was tense, silent, nothing like the quick-witted, sharp-tongued version of herself that his family had seen over video calls.

And it was not going unnoticed.

Especially not by Zeraphine.

His mother had seated herself near the head of the table, but Kriia could feel her gaze on her, assessing.

Still, she said nothing.

She merely gestured for them to take their seats, and the moment they did—the real feast began.

The food was undeniably incredible. Every dish was rich and indulgent, perfectly seasoned, the flavors both comforting and decadent. Under any other circumstances, Kriia would have been devouring it with reckless abandon.

But instead—

She was fighting a war.

Her sinuses were on fire, the relentless tickle teasing deep within her nose, an unbearable itch that refused to settle. Her head throbbed, her throat was raw, and the effort of stifling every cough, every sneeze, every miserable sniffle was draining her by the second.

She couldn’t let them hear. Couldn’t let them see.

So she played it off.

Whenever her breath hitched, she masked it with a sip of water, letting the glass linger near her face just long enough to cover her expression.

Whenever the urge to cough clawed at her chest, she disguised it as clearing her throat, forcing it to be soft, controlled.

And when—despite everything—a sneeze finally won, slipping past her defenses, she stifled it so viciously into her napkin that it barely made a sound.

"hh’NGXt’CHH!—hh’ihhGNXT’uhh!"

Still, Rexar’s head turned.

He hadn’t missed it.

His eyes narrowed slightly, his easygoing demeanor not shifting, but his attention firmly locking on her now.

She sniffled hard, pretending to wipe at her mouth with her napkin, her fingers pressing just under her nose as if adjusting her septum piercing. The tickle flared violently in retaliation, and she barely managed to smother another round of sneezes into the fabric before they could escape.

"h’KTSCHh!—hh’kTSHH’uhh!!"

Her shoulders trembled with the effort.

Rexar didn’t blink.

She avoided his gaze.

She pushed food around her plate, nodding along absently to whatever conversation was happening, hoping he would just let it go.

For a while, he did.

But as the night wore on, she found herself retreating further and further into silence.

By the time dessert was served, she wasn’t even pretending to eat anymore.

And that?

That was when Rexar really noticed.

The second the meal ended, Rexar pushed back from the table, stretching like it was no big deal.

“We’re crashing early,” he announced, casual and easy, glancing at Kriia like this had been her idea all along. “Long drive, y’know?”

A few of his siblings groaned in protest, but Zeraphine only nodded.

“Get some rest, love,” she said, her voice gentle—too knowing.

Kriia forced a weak smile, offering a polite “Goodnight,” before following Rexar out of the dining hall.

The instant they were out of sight—

“Okay. Spill.”

Kriia sighed, already knowing this was coming.

She was too tired to fight it anymore.

So, after a long pause—

She finally admitted it.

“I think I’m sick...”

The words sat between them for a moment, hanging heavy in the dimly lit hallway.

Rexar’s expression shifted instantly—the teasing gone, the concern fully settling in.

His hands found her waist, pulling her closer, his voice dropping into something softer.

“Babe…”

Kriia sighed, letting herself lean into his warmth, just for a second.

“It’s fine,” she mumbled. “I just—I feel kinda shitty. And I probably look even worse.”

That got her a reaction.

Rexar huffed, offended on her behalf.

“You always look hot,” he corrected, squeezing her waist for emphasis. “But also, what the hell, why didn’t you say something earlier?”

Kriia groaned, burying her face into his shoulder.

“Because! It’s your family! I didn’t wanna be that girl—the one who shows up and instantly hides in the guest room for two days. I already feel like an outsider here, I don’t want them thinking I’m—”

She cut herself off.

She didn’t want them thinking she was weak.

Didn’t want them to see her as pathetic, breakable, a fragile little thing that needed handling with care.

Didn’t want them to send her to the tunnels.

Rexar sighed, pressing a slow kiss to the top of her head.

“Kriia. Baby angel. My precious little babydoll.”

His voice was gentle, but firm.

“You’re not hiding. You’re sick.”

She huffed, sniffling miserably against his chest.

“Doesn’t make a difference.”

He chuckled, low and fond.

“Princess, they love you. My mom is, like, obsessed with you. And if she knew you were sick, she’d probably be in our room right now with a whole-ass team of healers, force-feeding you soup.”

Kriia shuddered at the thought.

Rexar just laughed.

“See? Wouldn’t be so bad.”

She grumbled, muttering something about how she’d rather be left for dead, but she didn’t argue.

And Rexar?

He saw right through her.

So, instead of pressing, he scooped her up effortlessly, carrying her toward their room like she weighed absolutely nothing.

Kriia let him.

Mostly because she was exhausted.

But also because—even if she’d never admit it—Rexar’s arms were warm. Safe.

And right now?

That was exactly what she needed.

Kriia woke up to the soft murmur of the TV and Rexar’s body heat pressed against her back.

For a second, she could almost pretend she was back home.

Back in their ridiculously oversized bed, tangled in blankets, half-awake while some stupid reality show droned on in the background.

Except—

She wasn’t.

Her head throbbed, her throat was on fire, and she was very much not home.

A deep, prickling tickle bloomed high in her sinuses, sharp and relentless, overtaking her before she even had the chance to fight it.

"hhh’tSCHHh! hh’TSSCHhh’uhh!—hH’ihhNGXSH’uhh!"

The sneezes burst out of her in rapid succession, harsh and miserable, muffled only slightly by the pillow she had buried her face into.

Rexar’s hand found her back immediately, rubbing slow, lazy circles.

“Morning, beautiful.”

His voice was still rough with sleep, but his teasing grin was already in place.

Kriia groaned louder, half sniffling, half glaring at him.

“Shut up.”

Rexar chuckled, completely unbothered, still tracing mindless patterns along her spine.

“You sleep okay?”

She grunted in response.

It was halfhearted at best.

Another sharp inhale cut through the thick air, and she barely managed to twist away before another fit overtook her, her body jerking forward with the force of it.

“Hihh’GXXTsh! ehh’Gxxtchh! Hiihh’NGnxxt’iuh!”

Rexar winced in sympathy, his arm sliding fully around her waist, voice dipping into something softer.

“You feel any better?”

Kriia sniffled, scrubbing at her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie.

Another grunt.

Less convincing.

Rexar sighed.

“Didn’t think so.”

He spent the entire day doting on her.

Fetching her water, bringing her food she barely touched, pulling the blankets up when she shivered, turning the TV up when she was too tired to talk.

Kriia tried to tell him to stop. Tried to insist she was fine, that she didn’t need him to hover.

But Rexar wasn’t having it.

“If you’re not gonna let me call my mom in here to actually take care of you, then you’re just gonna have to deal with me doing it.”

Kriia groaned, throwing an arm over her face.

“Unacceptable.”

Her breath suddenly hitched, a sharp gasp catching in her throat before she could stop it—

“Hh’NDKT’ih! H’GXTSH’ue! K’GNSH’iiew!”

The force of the sneezes rocked her forward, tearing through her already raw throat, leaving her sniffling and dazed.

Rexar just laughed, rubbing circles into her back as she curled into herself.

“Too bad, babygirl.”

She tried to glare at him, but her head was too heavy, and he was too warm, and the congestion thickening behind her eyes made it impossible to do anything except melt further into his side.

Her breath shuddered violently, her whole body tensing against him as the sneezes overtook her without warning—

“hh’NGXT’uhh! hh’NTSCHh’iew! hH’ihhKSHh’uehh—hh’NGXT’uhh! H’GXTSH’ue!”

A sharp gasp tore through her chest, but the fit wasn’t done with her yet. Her nostrils flared desperately, damp and quivering as her breath hitched unevenly. She was completely helpless against it, caught in a torturous limbo where the sneezes refused to come but refused to fade.

Rexar barely had time to glance down before she sneezed again—directly into his side.

It was messy, wet, leaving a small damp spot on his shirt that she barely had the energy to be mortified about. He felt her tense in embarrassment, her fingers twitching against his chest like she wanted to pull away, but he just chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer.

“Bless you, Princess,” he purred, voice thick with lazy amusement.

Kriia let out a miserable, stuffy whimper, her breath still trembling on the edge of another fit. Her nose twitched against him, red and dripping, her eyes glassy with the effort of trying to force it out.

Rexar watched her with open adoration, his grin widening as she wriggled in frustration, her breath hitching miserably without relief.

“Poor babygirl,” he murmured in her ear, his voice warm and teasing, sending a fresh shiver through her exhausted frame.

Her eyes fluttered open just long enough to shoot him the weakest, most pitiful glare he’d ever seen.

He grinned.

Without her even having to ask, he brought his hand up, his calloused fingertips tracing a slow, featherlight line from the bridge of her nose to the very tip—then back up again.

Kriia jolted, her breath stuttering sharply in response.

But still, the fit refused to break.

Her nostrils flared wildly, her damp, pinkened nose twitching with the maddening, stuck sensation. A tiny tear welled at the corner of her eye, her lips parting with helpless, stuttering gasps.

Rexar chuckled, feeling a little bad but unable to stop himself from enjoying the sight.

“Damn, sweetheart,” he teased, switching tactics, his nail ghosting lightly along the delicate curve of her septum, then tracing along the sensitive rims of her nostrils. “Your nose is being real stubborn today, huh?”

She whined, voice so small, so utterly wrecked with congestion and frustration that he had to bite back a groan.

Then—finally—her breath hitched in a violent gasp.

Her whole body tensed, her chest stuttering against his as she pitched forward into him.

“Ngt’chh! hptt’CH! GXTtt’chh! hh’GKXT’ihh! hh—hHh’KSHHhh’iew!—hh’ihh’KSHHh’uhh! hh’HKXT’chh! hH’ihh’kSHHh’uehh!”

The fit tore through her in drawn-out, rapid-fire bursts, barely muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

Rexar hummed in praise, rubbing slow, soothing circles along her back as she shuddered against him, breathless and spent.

“Atta girl,” he murmured, lips brushing against her temple. “Knew you had it in you.”

Kriia let out a muffled, mortified whimper, burying her face in her hands, her entire body radiating warmth—though whether it was from the fever or sheer embarrassment, Rexar couldn’t tell.

“Th-thag you,” she mumbled, her voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

He pressed a slow, affectionate kiss to her temple, his hand still tracing soft, absentminded circles against her back.

“Anytime, babygirl.”

And for the rest of the day, she let herself exist in the cocoon of his warmth, his hands in her hair, the deep rumble of his voice as he mindlessly narrated whatever show was playing.

For the first time since they got here—

She felt safe.

But by the time the sun started to set, Kriia knew what was coming.

She’d known since before they even left Scrila.

Tonight was The Culling.

And Rexar was leaving.

She could feel it—the shift in his energy, the way his usual easy charm had dimmed.

He was still smiling, still laughing, still teasing her every chance he got.

But beneath it?

There was something heavier.

Something quieter.

The Fang estate had been alive with movement, every member of the family preparing for what was, to them, a sacred tradition.

Kriia had heard about The Culling countless times, had seen the way it weighed on Rexar, had even researched the ritualistic nature of it out of curiosity.

But knowing and witnessing were two entirely different things.

She’d never actually seen him leave for one before.

Never watched him stand among his family—ten siblings, mother, father, aunts, uncles, cousins, elders—each one of them primed for the hunt, their energy buzzing, their monstrous nature barely contained beneath their skin.

And Rexar?

Even through all his laughs, his jokes, his easygoing demeanor—

Kriia could see the shift in him.

The way his posture stiffened, the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, the way he let his family’s excitement wash over him without really absorbing it.

This wasn’t something he did joyfully.

It was something he did because he had to.

She hadn’t realized she was staring until he turned, his gray-red eyes finding hers.

For a moment, everything else blurred.

The laughter. The conversation. The chaos.

There was only him.

Kriia rolled onto her side, watching him as he sat on the edge of the bed, tying his boots.

He had felt her staring.

“What?”

She hesitated.

Then—

“You okay?”

Rexar’s hands paused.

For just a second.

Then—

He smirked, looking over his shoulder at her.

“Worried about me, babygirl?”

Kriia huffed, shoving a pillow at him.

“Shut up.”

Rexar laughed, catching it easily, but his eyes were softer now.

He turned back, finishing the laces, rolling his shoulders.

Preparing.

Then—

He leaned down, pressing a slow, warm kiss to her forehead.

“Get some sleep, Princess. I love you more than anything.”

And before she could respond—

He was gone.

The night air was thick with anticipation as the Fang family gathered in the heart of the fog-laden hamlet, shrouded by towering, ancient trees. Wisps of mist curled between the gnarled roots and moss-draped branches, swallowing the lantern light and casting eerie, shifting shadows across the damp cobblestone streets. The scent of wet earth and woodsmoke clung to the cold breeze, a stark contrast to the simmering energy crackling between the assembled predators.

Beyond the hamlet’s outskirts, the dense forest stretched into the unknown, its depths cloaked in darkness, alive with the whisper of unseen things stirring in the undergrowth. The weight of ritual hung heavy in the air—the unspoken understanding that tonight, they would indulge the hunger coiled deep in their bones.

The silence was unnatural. Expectant.

It settled over the group like a second skin, pressing in with the weight of something inevitable.

Rexar stood among them, hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders loose and easy despite the tension curling around them all. He knew what was coming. The moment they were all together, away from the house, away from Kriia—someone was bound to bring it up.

It didn’t take long.

“So, your girl’s been hiding all day,” Garrik said, voice light but pointed. “Thought she was supposed to be meeting everyone?”

Nyxara, ever the blunt one, snorted. “You sure she didn’t change her mind about us?”

“She’s been so different in person,” Elaris added, brow furrowed. “Quiet. She barely spoke at dinner.”

There were murmurs of agreement, a ripple of speculation moving through the group. Rexar caught the way Aunt Selka exchanged a glance with Aunt Erisen, the subtle crease in Zeraphine’s brow, the way Varos leaned in slightly, listening.

He let it go on for a second—just a second—before sighing dramatically, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on.”

The conversation stuttered. Eyes turned toward him.

Rexar smirked, crossing his arms. “You guys are acting like she’s avoiding you.”

Sylwen tilted her head. “…Isn’t she?”

“No,” Rexar scoffed. “She’s sick.”

That got their attention.

Zeraphine’s expression softened instantly. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” Rexar continued, grin still easy, but voice a little gentler now. “She’s been trying to hide it ‘cause she didn’t want you guys to hate her. Or worse, send her to the tunnels.”

That earned a collective groan.

“We would never send her to the tunnels,” Marwyn said, exasperated.

“That’s awful,” Aunt Calista added, shaking her head.

Runa, the youngest, tugged at Rexar’s sleeve, looking up at him with wide, worried eyes. “Is she okay?”

Rexar ruffled her hair. “She’ll be fine. She just needs rest.”

There was a brief pause—then, a wave of understanding.

His aunts, his sisters, even a few of his cousins let out soft, sympathetic sounds.

“She should’ve just told us,” Nyxara mused, frowning.

“We’ll have to make sure she’s comfortable tomorrow,” Zeraphine said firmly.

Rexar huffed a quiet laugh, rolling his eyes fondly. “Yeah, I figured this would happen.”

The teasing remarks about Kriia’s absence faded into something else entirely—concern, acceptance, understanding.

Rexar felt something loosen in his chest.

She had nothing to worry about.

His family had already claimed her as one of their own.

The Culling took hours.

Kriia had fallen asleep at some point, but when the sound of voices finally pulled her back to consciousness, it was different.

Louder.

Brighter.

The moment the front doors opened, the entire mansion came alive.

Laughter echoed through the halls, voices booming, the weight of the hunt still thrumming through the air like a second heartbeat.

Kriia sat up slowly, rubbing at her eyes.

The estate felt entirely different than it had earlier—like it had been recharged, revitalized.

Like a holiday feast had just ended, and the guests were still riding the high of indulgence.

And then—

There was Rexar.

She heard him before she saw him, his deep, lively voice cutting through the noise.

He sounded good. Energized.

For the first time in months, his hunger was gone.

And when he finally knocked at the door, his voice gentle, but teasing—

“Babygirl? You decent?”

Kriia couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, come in.”

The door clicked open, and when she saw him—

For a moment, she forgot she even felt like shit.

His features were alive in a way they hadn’t been in so long.

His cheeks flushed, his eyes bright, his usual lazy smirk tugging at his lips, the smoke drifting from his nose in thin streams.

But more than that—

There was something lighter about him.

Like a weight had been lifted.

Like he could finally breathe.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he beat her to it.

“You have a visitor. They have something for you.”

Kriia blinked.

Then, from behind him, a tiny, shy voice.

“…I made you tea… w-with honey.”

Kriia’s heart stopped.

There, peeking nervously from behind Rexar’s arm—was Runa.

His youngest sister.

She looked so small, barely seven years old, holding a delicate porcelain cup with both hands like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“Auntie Lilith helped,” Runa admitted quietly, her big red-gray eyes darting between Kriia and Rexar.

“But I—I hope you feel better.”

Kriia swallowed.

For the second time that night, she felt something warm bloom in her chest.

Slowly, carefully, she reached out and took the cup, her fingers brushing against Runa’s.

The last thing she had expected tonight was for anyone—let alone Rexar’s tiny, reserved little sister—to show up with something just for her.

The overwhelming warmth in her chest was almost too much.

“Oh, come here,” she murmured, reaching for her.

Runa hesitated for only a second before letting Kriia pull her into a hug, small arms wrapping lightly around her middle.

“Thank you, Runa, that’s so sweet of you…” Kriia said, her voice a little thick.

Runa just nodded against her before pulling away, cheeks slightly pink. She gave a tiny wave, then slipped back out of the room, leaving Kriia clutching the warm mug like it was the most precious thing she had ever received.

She swallowed, staring down at it for a moment, then glanced up at Rexar.

His expression was… sheepish.

“Sooo,” he drawled. “I might’ve mentioned to everyone that you were sick.”

Kriia blinked. “Rex.”

“Look, I had to! They were all wondering why you were hiding, and I wasn’t about to let them think you just didn’t like them.” He grinned, leaning in a little. “Besides, now they feel awful that you’ve been feeling like shit. So, uh. You should probably prepare yourself.”

She frowned. “For what?”

“For the whole Fang package,” Rexar said, wiggling his fingers dramatically. “And when I say my family goes overboard with the whole caretaking thing, I mean it. You are about to be aggressively babied.”

Kriia let out a hoarse, tired laugh, shaking her head.

And then—

Tears burned at the corners of her eyes before she could stop them.

Rexar’s grin faltered. “Princess?”

Kriia sniffled, scrubbing at her face with her sleeve. “Sorry,” she muttered, voice cracking slightly. “I just… I didn’t think they’d actually care this much. I thought I’d come here and feel like an outsider. I thought they’d be pissed that I wasn’t out there proving myself or whatever. But instead—” She let out a shaky breath. “They actually care...”

Rexar’s expression softened.

She cleared her throat, blinking quickly, but the words spilled out before she could stop them.

“You know I don’t really have family,” she murmured. “Not since my dad passed. And I know I joke about how obnoxious yours is, but—” Her voice wavered. “I think I get it now. You’re really lucky, Rex.”

His brows furrowed, something fond and unbearably warm settling behind his crimson-ringed gaze.

Slowly, he reached out, cupping the side of her face with a calloused hand. His thumb brushed gently under her eye, catching a stray tear before it could slip down her cheek.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I am.” Rexar's expression softened more, his usual cocky grin giving way to something quieter, something unbearably fond.

"But babydoll, of course they care," he continued, his usually sharp eyes filled to the brim with adoration for the woman in front of him. "You’re important to me. That means you’re important to them. That’s just how it works."

Kriia’s throat tightened. "I don’t even know how to handle that."

Rexar let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You don’t have to ‘handle’ anything, Krii. You just gotta let people give a shit about you."

Kriia huffed, rolling her eyes even as she sniffled. "That’s a lot harder than you make it sound."

"Yeah, I know," he said, pulling her closer, "but you’ll get used to it. Promise."

For the first time in days, Kriia let herself sink into his warmth, into the steady rise and fall of his chest, into the safety of knowing—really knowing—that she wasn’t alone in this.

That maybe, for the first time in a long time, she had a family again. And that made everything worth it.

To be continued… ✨

31 notes · View notes

aller-geez · 2 months ago

Note

ok so i have an idea !!

a scenario where A and B go to a party but since A doesn't feel well (they have a nasty cold, their nose tickles uncontrollably and feel completely miserable), they both hide in an empty room so B can help A to induce some sneezes and get all that congestion out 💞

Finally finished this req for you, Nonny! Thanks so much for your req, it was fun to write ngl 😭😂

After talking it over with Kezzi, we both agreed this sounds like a RemixLevi snzario, with Levi as A and Remi as B, so I hope this satisfies your vision, cause it did for me 🫠🫠

Wrecked, Restless, & Really Congested

Written & Illustrated by: allergeez

Summary: Wrecked, Reckless, and Really Congested follows Remi and Levi as they navigate a chaotic house party hosted by Rexar Fang, the rowdy frontman of the trap metal band Toad Biscuit. Remi, initially reluctant to go, agrees to support Rex—especially since his usual handler, Kriia, is out sick. Unfortunately, Levi catches the same miserable cold Kriia had, but refuses to let Remi go alone, knowing how reckless he and Rex get together.

Amidst loud music, drinking challenges, and an increasingly miserable Levi trying to fight off relentless sneezes and congestion, the night takes a turn when Remi decides to help him find some relief—leading to playful teasing, quiet moments away from the crowd, and unexpected intimacy.

5k words, CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT!! @thekinkyleopard owns Levi as always 🖤

CW:

Alcohol Consumption & Intoxication – Heavy drinking and partying are central to the story.

Cold/Illness Themes – Detailed descriptions of illness symptoms, including sneezing, congestion, and fever.

Mild Sensory Content – Descriptions of discomfort and physical sensations related to illness.

Explicit Content – Explicit description of sex or content relating to sex between characters.

Strong Language – Frequent swearing and crude humor, especially from Rexar.

The night air was thick with the electric buzz of bass-heavy music and the scent of sweat, cheap beer, and faint traces of cigarette smoke. The house party was already in full swing by the time Remi and Levi pushed their way through the crowded living room, bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder, pulsating with the chaotic energy that followed Rexar Fang everywhere he went.

Remi hadn’t wanted to come. He had made that abundantly clear when Rex first asked, grumbling that he had better things to do than babysit a bunch of overhyped metalheads getting blackout drunk while his best friend set something on fire for fun. But Rex had insisted, pouting like an overgrown child and reminding him that Kriia—his girlfriend and the band’s unofficial but terrifyingly efficient merch manager—was out sick and wouldn’t be there to keep him in check.

"I need moral support," Rex had said, leaning against Remi’s shoulder dramatically. "And someone to get drunk with."

Remi had rolled his eyes but eventually caved, much to Levi’s amusement.

But then Levi got sick.

The morning of the party, he had woken up sniffling, his freckled nose pink and runny, and his normally sharp ice-blue eyes bleary with fever. He had groaned softly, rubbing at his face as Remi perched on the edge of the bed, frowning.

“You don’t have to come,” Remi had said, his voice unusually gentle. “Seriously, you look miserable. I’ll go, have a drink with Rex, and be back before midnight. No big deal.”

Levi had cracked one watery eye open, giving him a skeptical look. “Remi, I know how you and Rex are when you’re alone together. You’re a terrible influence on each other.”

Remi smirked at that, stretching his arms over his head before flashing Levi a sheepish grin. “That’s… fair.”

And so, despite the fever and the congestion, Levi had downed some cold medicine, thrown on one of Remi’s oversized jackets, and forced himself off the couch.

Which was how they ended up here—Levi looking like death warmed over, wrapped up in Remi’s leather jacket for warmth, and Remi already half-dreading whatever chaos Rex was about to drag him into.

The music from the garage-turned-stage was loud, vibrating through the floorboards as Toad Biscuit played their final set. Rex’s guttural screams echoed through the house, his voice a harsh growl over the relentless chug of guitars and the pounding drums. Someone had definitely set off fireworks in the backyard. The air was heavy with adrenaline, booze, and whatever else people were smoking, and Remi was already wondering why he let himself get talked into these things.

He glanced down at Levi, who was huddled beside him, sniffling softly into his sleeve. His pale skin was flushed from the fever, his usually sharp features softened by exhaustion. His freckled nose twitched, his breath hitching slightly, and before Remi could say anything, Levi turned away with a harsh, stifled sneeze.

“Hhh—Hihh’GXXTsh! Snfhh.”

Remi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You sure you don’t wanna go home?”

Levi sniffled thickly, straightening up as he gave Remi a tired glare. “Not until I make sure you don’t let Rex burn the place down.”

Remi chuckled, draping an arm around Levi’s shoulders. “That’s fair.”

Across the room, Rex caught sight of them and grinned wildly, his grey and red eyes flashing with mischief as he grabbed two bottles from the counter and started weaving through the crowd toward them.

“Well,” Remi muttered, watching him approach. “Here we go..”

Rex pushed through the sea of bodies with an exaggerated swagger, his sharp grin wide and wild as he swung an arm around Remi’s shoulders and shoved one of the bottles into his chest. “There’s my favorite fucking wolf!” he crowed, his voice already rough with alcohol and whatever reckless energy fueled him on a daily basis. “Was starting to think you were dodging me.”

Remi rolled his eyes but smirked as he took the bottle, twisting off the cap with one flick of his thumb. “Yeah, yeah,” he drawled. “I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t show up, right?”

“Damn right you wouldn’t,” Rex barked a laugh, tipping his own bottle back and downing a mouthful like it was water. “Kriia’s out, and that means I need you to be my chaos partner tonight.” He waggled his brows, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Gotta make up for all the stupid shit I could’ve been doing if she were here to yell at me.”

Levi, wrapped up in Remi’s leather jacket, snuffled wetly into his sleeve before cutting Rex a glare. “Or, and hear me out, you don’t set anything on fire, and we all make it through the night without having to evacuate,” he said, voice hoarse and dripping with congestion.

Rex squinted at him for a moment, as if processing the words through the thick fog of his own drunken thoughts. Then he burst into laughter, clapping Levi on the back. “Dude. That’s adorable. You think you have control over this situation.”

Levi groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “This is exactly why I didn’t let Remi come here alone.”

Remi chuckled, taking a casual sip from his bottle before slinging an arm around Levi’s shoulders again. “Understandable,” he admitted, though there was already a familiar spark in his green, glowing eyes—the kind that only ignited when Rexar was around.

Rex nudged Remi with his elbow, winking. “Alright, man. I need to see if you’ve still got it. Six shots. Back to back. Right now.”

Remi snorted, shaking his head, but there was no real protest behind it. He could already feel the party pulling him in, Rex’s reckless energy as contagious as ever. As he let himself be dragged toward the counter where the shots were being poured, he caught Levi’s exhausted but knowing look.

“Don’t die,” Levi muttered.

“No promises,” Remi shot back with a grin.

The party was in full swing, chaotic and loud, just the way Rexar Fang liked it.

Remi hadn’t even been here for an hour, and he’d already been dragged into taking six shots back to back with Rex, who had clapped him on the back and laughed like it was some kind of endurance test. The room felt warmer now, his head pleasantly fuzzy, and his usual stoic demeanor had cracked—Rex had that effect on him. His voice was louder, his energy higher, and he was laughing more than he had all week.

“C’mon, Connors!” Rex slurred, throwing an arm around Remi’s shoulders, his wolfish grin wild and unrestrained. “Where’s the fire in you, huh? Thought you could drink!”

“I can drink,” Remi shot back with a tipsy smirk, shaking his head as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re just an idiot with a death wish.”

Rex threw his head back and howled with laughter. “That’s why you love me.”

Remi just snorted, shaking his head. He did not love Rex—at least, not in the way he was suggesting. But he couldn’t deny that something about Rex’s reckless, chaotic energy always drew something out of him, made him lean in just a little more.

It was fun.

But not for Levi.

Levi, poor Levi, was miserable.

He sat curled in Remi’s leather jacket, hunched over on a dilapidated couch, sniffling endlessly. His freckled nose was an irritated pink, and his normally sharp ice-blue eyes were watery and unfocused, dark circles settling under them from exhaustion. His nose was running relentlessly, yet he was somehow still impossibly congested, the pressure building behind his sinuses so badly that his head throbbed.

And the tickle. God, the tickle.

It tormented him, dancing just out of reach, keeping him on the edge of release over and over again only to disappear at the last second. It was infuriating.

“Hhh… hhihh… hh’ihhh… snffhh!”

Levi’s breath stuttered, his pink nostrils quivering, his face frozen in that helpless, pre-sneeze expression. His head tipped back slightly, lips parting, eyes fluttering—only for the sensation to vanish at the last second.

His entire body sagged with frustration, and he let out a hoarse, congested grumble, rubbing furiously at his nose with his sleeve. "Fugkig hell," he muttered breathlessly under his breath, scrubbing at the ticklish underside of his nostrils, trying to coax the sneeze back out.

Remi, still buzzed, still grinning at whatever nonsense Rex had been spouting before he wandered off to play beer pong, glanced down at Levi and blinked.

For a second, his expression softened.

Then, an idea sparked in his tipsy brain.

His gaze flickered around the party, assessing the situation. No one was paying attention to them—Rex was somewhere in the mass of bodies, too busy screaming over the music or flipping a table or whatever dumb thing he was doing now. No one would notice if they disappeared for a bit.

Remi turned back to Levi, his smirk returning. “Hey,” he said, his voice low, playful. “Come this way for a second with me.”

Levi, still sniffling and rubbing at his nose, blinked blearily at him. “W-why?” he croaked, his voice completely wrecked.

“Just come on,” Remi murmured, already taking his wrist and tugging him gently up from the couch.

Levi stumbled slightly, still disoriented from the congestion pressing down on his sinuses, but he followed, sniffling softly as he tried (and failed) to look stern. “R-Rem, what—?”

Remi didn’t answer. He guided him through the packed bodies, down a narrow hallway where the noise began to thin. They passed a few doorways, some cracked open to reveal coats piled on beds or couples making out, but Remi didn’t stop until they reached the end of the hall.

He pushed open a random door, revealing a dimly lit guest bedroom, unused and eerily quiet compared to the chaos of the party outside.

Levi, still sniffling, pulled back slightly. “Remi, w-we cad’t jusd go idto—”

Remi ignored him, smirking as he pulled Levi inside and shut the door silently behind them.

The sudden quiet was almost jarring. The only sounds were the muffled bass of the music outside and Levi’s damp, congested snuffles.

Remi turned on the lamp, the dim glow illuminating Levi’s utterly miserable expression. His freckled face was flushed, his red nose twitching helplessly, his breath still hitching ever so slightly. He was trying to glare at Remi, trying to look annoyed at being dragged away from the party, but it was impossible to take seriously when his breath kept stuttering and his watery eyes were half-lidded with irritation.

Remi chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “You look so pathetic right now.”

Levi scowled—or, well, tried to. “Fugk you,” he rasped weakly, sniffling hard.

But then his breath caught again, his lips parting, his nostrils flaring. He hovered there on the edge, right on the cusp of relief—only for it to fade away again.

“Ughhh,” Levi groaned miserably, scrubbing at his nose again. “Id’s right—hhehh—righd t-there…! Snffhh!”

Remi just smirked. “Yeah?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “You need some help with that?”

Levi blinked up at him, dazed, confused, a little too feverish and miserable to even process the implication of that statement.

Remi, however, already had a plan forming in his booze-fueled brain.

And he was about to have some fun with it.

Levi was still hanging there, his breath hitching sharply, his tired, fevered face stuck in that frustrating pre-sneeze limbo. His nostrils flared helplessly, pink and irritated, his ice-blue eyes fluttering, watery and unfocused. But just like before, the sneeze taunted him, tickling relentlessly but refusing to fully release.

He let out a congested, exhausted whimper, scrubbing at his nose in frustration. “R-Remi, I c-cad’t— hhuhhh… snffhh! —I cad’t g-get id out!”

Remi, still a little buzzed, smirked as the I dea turned into a plan.

"Here," he murmured, voice low and teasing. “Let me help.”

Before Levi could protest, Remi reached out and gently—slowly—took hold of Levi’s chin between his fingers. His grip was firm but careful, his rough, calloused fingers somehow warm against Levi’s feverish skin.

Levi froze instinctively at the touch, his breath still stuttering, his body already leaning slightly into Remi’s hold.

Remi tilted the cat’s face up slightly, his green eyes glowing with arousal as he let his other hand lift. He raised his index finger and, with deliberate slowness, dragged his fingernail from the bridge of Levi’s pink, irritated nose all the way down to the very tip.

The effect was immediate.

Levi’s breath hitched violently, his whole body trembling with the sudden, overwhelming tickle that bloomed deep in his sinuses. His lips parted, his nostrils twitching desperately as his shoulders shuddered.

"Hhh—hihhh—hH’EXTSH’ue!! Hah’ESHHh‘uh!! HET’Shhh’eu! Eh’schh’iue!!”

He barely had time to turn his head to the side, sneezing freely into the air. The sneezes were wet and breathless, leaving him gasping between each desperate release.

“H'ptschu! Hhih’eeshiew! H’etshhiEW! Hihhh— Hihh’EXTSH’ue! hH’EiSCH’iiew!!”

By the time the fit passed, Levi was left panting softly, his cheeks burning both from exertion and embarrassment.

Remi chuckled, looking far too pleased with himself. “Feel better?” he teased, still holding Levi’s chin gently between his fingers. “At least that’s gotta be better than all those false starts you’ve been fighting all night.”

Levi, still breathless, sniffled thickly, his freckled nose twitching slightly as he swatted Remi’s hand away. “Y-you’re ad asshole,” he rasped, but the congested grumble in his voice robbed it of any real bite. He sniffled again, rubbing his sleeve under his nose before reluctantly muttering, “…but yeah, that did help a little. Took some of the pressure off my sinuses.”

Remi grinned, smug but affectionate. “Told ya,” he said, ruffling Levi’s damp fauxhawk.

Levi grumbled again, swatting at his hand before giving his nose a few thick, liquid sniffs. His sinuses were still unbearably full, but at least he wasn’t stuck in an endless cycle of false starts anymore.

Remi, still smirking, turned toward the nightstand, eyeing the brand-new tissue box sitting neatly in a fancy holder. He plucked one from the top, rolling the tip of it carefully between his fingers until it became a pointed, delicate twist.

He turned back to Levi, his glowing green eyes mischievous.

“Alright,” he murmured, holding up the tissue like a makeshift tool. “Wanna see if we can clear all of that congestion up?”

Levi eyed the rolled-up tissue in Remi’s hand, his ice-blue eyes bleary and wary, but ultimately resigned. He knew that look in Remi’s glowing green gaze—mischievous, teasing, but also brimming with a kind of gentle affection that he could never quite resist.

At least Remi hadn’t brought flowers. Or, worse, that damn chhinkni.

Levi still remembered the last time Remi had gotten his hands on some chhinkni, all too amused by how violently it had sent Levi into a spiraling sneezing fit. He’d had to lock himself in the bathroom just to get away from the smug bastard before he completely lost his mind.

So, all things considered, a tissue was fine.

Levi sighed, utterly defeated, before sniffling thickly. “F-fide,” he croaked, voice shredded and raw. “Bud... led be blow by dose first. Snffhh! By sdeezes have beed a liddle... messy lately…”

Remi chuckled at that, the sound low and affectionate, his lips curving into a fond smirk. “Of course,” he murmured, grabbing a handful of tissues from the box and passing them over.

Levi took them gratefully, pressing the soft layers firmly to his red, twitchy nose. He inhaled deeply through his mouth, gearing up, and then—

“Hhhnnnghhfff! Snrrfffhh!”

The sound was thick, liquid, and intensely productive, the tissues quickly filling as he cleared out some of the congestion clogging his sinuses. He winced, swallowing as he glanced up at Remi with a sheepish, embarrassed look.

But Remi wasn’t judging him.

If anything, he looked pleased, leaning back slightly, one arm draped over his knee, watching Levi with an almost amused kind of fondness. “Better?”

Levi nodded, sniffling softly before balling up the used tissues and tossing them onto the nightstand. “A liddle,” he admitted, voice still congested but at least slightly less thick.

Remi grinned, patting the empty space on the bed in front of him. “Alright. C’mere, kitten.”

Levi huffed at the nickname but obeyed, shuffling onto the bed, facing Remi, his freckled cheeks still flushed—not just from fever now, but from the absurdity of the situation.

Remi, looking just a little too entertained by all of this, tilted his head slightly and let his voice drop into something lower, smoother. “You ready?”

Levi sniffled once, thick and wet, before nodding hesitantly. “I’b ready…”

Remi smirked but softened as he reached out, gently cupping Levi’s chin in his hand once more, tilting his face up just slightly. Levi, already feeling the tickle lurking deep in his sinuses, let his breath hitch faintly at even that small movement.

Then, slowly—deliberately—Remi lifted the twisted tip of the tissue and traced it along the pinkened, sensitive edges of Levi’s nostrils.

The effect was instant.

Levi’s nose twitched hard, his breath immediately catching in his throat. “Hhh—hhehh…!” His watery eyes fluttered shut, his whole body tensing, his pink nostrils flaring wide as the feathery touch of the tissue teased at the deepest, most ticklish part of his sinuses.

Even just touching the sensitive skin inside was almost enough to make him gasp.

Remi, watching closely, let his lips curl in quiet satisfaction. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice smooth, guiding. “Let it happen.”

Levi barely had a choice. The tickle exploded into something unbearable, a sharp, shuddering sensation that spread from the bridge of his nose all the way to the back of his skull. His lips parted, his head tilting back slightly, the gasping breaths coming in quick, desperate waves—

“Hhhihh—hH’EiSCH’iiew!! Hihh’EXTSH’ue! Hhihhh—hah’ESHHh‘uh!! HET’Shhh’eu!! Eh’schh’iue!!”

Each sneeze bent him forward violently, his freckled nose buried in the tissues Remi had tucked into his free hand just in time. The sneezes were wet, breathless, completely uncontrollable, leaving him gasping for air in between.

Remi, still holding his chin steady, let out a low chuckle, utterly pleased. “Damn, bless you,” he murmured, rubbing a slow, soothing thumb over Levi’s jawline.

Levi barely had time to recover from the first fit before Remi was tilting his chin back up again, his glowing green eyes sharp and focused, his smirk lazy and amused.

“You’re not done yet, Kitten…” he murmured, his voice deep and almost—almost—sounding satisfied.

Levi’s exhausted, watery blue eyes blinked at him sluggishly, his chest still rising and falling unevenly from the last bout of sneezes. “R-Rebi,” he croaked, voice barely above a whisper. He sniffled thickly, gripping the tissues in his hand with trembling fingers. “I—I thidk I’b good, I’b—”

“Mm, nah, I don’t think so,” Remi cut him off, twirling the tip of the tissue deftly between his fingers. “You’re still all stuffed up, and I know you hate that.” His green eyes glowed with something a little darker, something mischievous. His smirk widened as he slowly traced the now damp tissue along the flushed edges of Levi’s twitching, sensitive nose. “Besides,” he added smoothly, “you let me start, so now you gotta let me finish.”

Levi let out a weak, choked sound, already feeling the feathery touch send an immediate, unbearable itch coursing through his sinuses. His nostrils flared wide, his lips parting, his flushed cheeks growing even pinker as the tickle spread mercilessly, faster than before.

“Hhh—h-hahhh…!”

Remi guided the tissue inside, his movements slow, deliberate, teasing. The instant it brushed against the sensitive walls of Levi’s sinuses, his whole body shuddered. His hands clenched in his lap, his breath completely stolen as the tickle bloomed into something utterly overwhelming.

“Thaaat’s it,” Remi murmured approvingly, watching as Levi’s face crumpled, his nostrils quivering desperately around the delicate pressure of the tissue. “Just let it happen, kitten.”

Levi barely had the presence of mind to glare at him before the sneezes finally tore through him.

“Hhh'KSHIEW! H'ihh’tTSCHhiew!! Hhh—! Hihh’EXTSH’ue! HAHHh—! Hhh’ESCHHh’eu!! H’ptschh-! i’hKSHIEW!!”

Each sneeze grew wetter, messier, more forceful, shaking his slender frame with every desperate release. Remi’s firm grip remained on the leopard’s chin, forcing him to sneeze freely into the air, the mess glittering against Remi’s tanned skin. The wolf couldn’t help but bite his lip firmly between his teeth.

As Levi opened his eyes slowly, his breath still shuttering from the intensity of the fit, he caught a glimpse of the animalistic glaze over his mate’s features. He knew that look. There was no reigning the wolf back in now…

As Remi reached out and cupped Levi's face in his hand, he tilted it upwards again, this time with their lips mere centimeters apart. Levi's heart raced, anticipation making him dizzy with desire. Their lips met in a deep, passionate kiss, tongues mingling together in an age-old dance. Levi moaned into the kiss, feeling warmth spread throughout his body.

Remi's hands began to explore the leopard’s body as their mouths moved together in unison. Fingers trailed down Levi's chest and abdomen, teasingly circling around his nipples and making him shiver with delight. When Remi's hand finally reached his mate’s waistband, he gave the bulge there a gentle squeeze that caused Levi to gasp and break away from their kiss.

"Please… touch me," Levi whispered breathlessly as Remi guided him onto his back and slowly peeled both his pants and underwear off in one fluid motion. He watched with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the wolf knelt between his legs, a smirk playing on his lips. Remi’s strong hands grasped Levi's thighs, spreading them apart and revealing his flushed, aching entrance.

He leaned down to press tender kisses on Levi's inner thighs, his warm breath causing the feline to shudder with anticipation.

"You’re so sensitive tonight," Remi murmured deeply against the soft skin of his mate’s thigh, his voice rich with satisfaction.

Levi's exhausted, watery blue eyes blinked at him sluggishly, his chest still rising and falling unevenly from the onslaught of sensation.

As his tongue finally made contact with Levi's entrance, he felt the quivers that coursed through the smaller male's body. Levi whimpered in pleasure, bucking his hips slightly into Remi's face. “Nnngh.. hhh!”

The wolf continued to tease and pleasure Levi with his skilled tongue, licking and prodding at his entrance while occasionally moving upward to stroke along the underside of Levi's erection. He glanced up at Levi, noting the way his fingers clutched at the sheets and how his blue eyes were glazed over with unbridled lust, his pink freckled nose slight scrunched with pleasure.

Remi’s green eyes were so bright they were almost blinding, letting his lips curl in satisfaction. "That's it," he murmured, his voice smooth and guiding. "Doesn’t that feel so much better?"

Levi barely had a choice. The pleasure built up until it became unbearable; every sensation seemed intensified tenfold. His lips parted, gasping breaths coming in quick, desperate waves.

"Ah—oh god! Yes, Remi…please…"

“And what do you want, hm?” Remi urged, his bright green eyes almost blinding from the intensity in the dimly lit bedroom.

Desperate for more contact, Levi arched his back and moaned, "Remi… please… I need you inside me."

This made the wolf smirk, biting his lip between his teeth again. Without further delay, Remi positioned himself at Levi's entrance, guiding the head of his throbbing cock to the tight ring of muscle. He locked eyes with Levi before slowly pushing forward, inch by inch claiming the leopard beneath him as their bodies joined.

Levi gasped at the sensation of being filled so completely, biting down on his lower lip to stifle a moan. His fingers clawed at the sheets as he whimpered, "H-hhh—nngh...!"

Remi began to move with slow and deliberate thrusts, each time sinking deeper inside until their bodies were pressed flush together.

"God! Remi!" Levi moaned as the pleasure built inside him, threatening to burst from his very pores.

As their rhythm increased in both speed and intensity, Remi bent down to capture Levi's lips in a searing kiss. Their tongues danced together once more as they shared moans and pants of pleasure.

Unable to take any more teasing or restraint, Levi broke from the kiss and pleaded passionately into the wolf’s ear: "Remi… oh god… let me cum..."

His other hand stroked Levi's hard cock in time with the thrusts, applying just enough pressure to keep him on the edge of climax without sending him over. "That's it, kitten," he purred, his hot breath against Levi's ear sending shivers down his spine. "Let me hear you beg for it."

Levi's hips began to jerk erratically as the waves of pleasure crashed over him. "P-please, Rem-mi… I need t-to— Ahh!”

With that final plea, Remi's control snapped and he began thrusting faster and harder, causing Levi's moans to grow louder and more desperate. “That’s it, cum for me, kitten…” Remi commanded in deep, lustful purr.

On the brink of his climax, Levi's body tensed, back arching as he cried out in ecstasy.

Suddenly, Levi couldn't take it anymore. His entire body tensed as he arched off the bed, a sultry moan pouring from his lips as white-hot semen erupted onto both of their stomachs in thick ropes. The force of his climax left him trembling beneath Remi’s firm grip.

With a satisfied smirk, the wolf continued to thrust into him until he too reached his peak, releasing with a guttural growl.

For a moment, the rest of the world fell away and it was only the two of them, Levi’s body still trembling from the force of his orgasm as Remi slowly pulled out, his lips quirked into that trademark smirk of his, but his bright green eyes filled with something dangerous close to affection. He swiped a few more tissues from the box on the nightstand and wiped off the remnants that decorated his mate’s stomach.

“See? Now don’t you feel better?” The wolf mused between ragged pants as he handed Levi his discarded clothes.

Levi responded with an eye roll and an amused huff, a smile playing on his lips as he got dressed again. The air in the guest room was thick with warmth and the lingering scent of sex, but Levi finally felt like he could breathe again. His flushed cheeks were cooling, his sinuses were relieved, and the miserable pressure behind his eyes had faded into a dull hum instead of a relentless throb. He sniffled softly, rubbing the sleeve of Remi’s leather jacket across his nose before giving a content sigh.

“Alright,” he murmured, voice still hoarse but much less congested. “We should probably—snffhh—head back out before people start wond'ring where we wend.”

Remi, sprawled lazily on the bed, still looking way too pleased with himself, smirked at him. “You sure? You look like you’re actually comfortable for the first time tonight.”

Levi rolled his eyes, his cheeks dusted with a soft pink blush, but let out a small, amused huff. “Yeah, yeah. C’mon, before Rex starts burning shots in the air or something.”

Remi chuckled, pushing himself up from the bed before reaching down to take Levi’s hand. With a quick glance toward the door to make sure the coast was clear, he pulled them both out of the dim room and back into the party.

The music was still blaring from the garage, the air was still thick with alcohol and smoke, and the party was still a chaotic mess of bodies and laughter. But for once, Levi didn’t feel like absolute hell while standing in the middle of it. He felt light, more at ease, his usual energy returning bit by bit.

Unfortunately, before they could make it two steps, a familiar, very drunk presence crashed into them from the side.

“THERE you assholes are!” Rex slurred, throwing both arms over Levi and Remi’s shoulders, effectively pulling them both into a sloppy, warm half-hug. “Was wondering where my best fucking friends went!”

Levi let out a startled laugh as he stumbled slightly under the sudden weight of Rex’s embrace, while Remi just grinned, holding steady.

“You guys,” Rex continued, swaying slightly as he spoke, “are the best for coming tonight. Like—fuck, I love you guys. Seriously. I’d set the whole house on fire for you.”

“I know you would,” Levi said, shaking his head, still giggling as he looked away, his face pink—this time not from his cold.

Remi, smug as ever, shot Levi a knowing look before turning back to Rex with a lopsided grin. “Nah, Rex, thanks for inviting us. We had a fun night.”

He tossed Levi a wink, and Levi groaned, reaching up to smack Remi’s arm playfully—but he didn’t disagree.

Rex, squinting between the two of them, clearly drunk enough to sense something but not quite drunk enough to piece it together, just furrowed his brows in slow confusion.

“…What the fuck did I miss?”

Remi just laughed, shaking his head as he slid out from under Rex’s arm. “Nothing, man. Absolutely nothing.”

Levi, still pink-cheeked, ducked away, sniffling one last time before nudging Remi toward the door. “Alright, c’mon, before we really do have to put this place out of a fire.”

With Rex still muttering in tipsy confusion behind them, Remi and Levi made their way toward the exit, their steps light, their shoulders bumping together.

And for once, despite the sneezing, the congestion, and the sheer disaster of the night, Levi couldn’t help but think:

Yeah. That actually was kinda fun.

The end 🖤

37 notes · View notes

aller-geez · 2 months ago

Note

Oooo could we maybe get a(nother) follow up to the S7en fic with Elex catching S7en's sickness and hiding it so he doesn't get his bf all worked up and worried because his lungs are still a little sensitive?

Hey there Nonny!

Be careful what you wish for…. 😏 the fluff in this one makes me melt I cannot lie 😫

Asphyxia (pt 3)

(Oxygen, or part 1 can be found here, and Breathless, Again or part 2 can be found here)

written and illustrated by: allergeez ✨ @thekinkyleopard owns Elex 🖤

Summary: Elex wakes up knowing something is wrong. His body is sluggish with fever, his head pounding, but none of that matters—because S7en is finally home. Finally safe. After everything he’s been through, the last thing Elex wants is to burden him with something as insignificant as a cold. So he does what he does best: he pushes through it. He hides the exhaustion, swallows every cough, and forces himself to act normal. But sickness isn’t something you can just will away. As his condition worsens, it becomes harder to keep up the act—especially with someone as observant as S7en. The problem is, S7en has only just begun to recover, and if he gets sick again, Elex isn’t sure he could live with himself. What starts as a stubborn attempt to tough it out spirals into something heavier—fear, control, guilt—emotions Elex doesn’t want to acknowledge but can’t seem to escape. But S7en isn’t an idiot, and the more Elex pulls away, the more determined he becomes to figure out what’s wrong. And when he does? Well, Elex might not be the only one who’s pissed. 7.2k words

Content Warnings!:

Illness & fever (coughing, congestion, sneezing, general flu-like symptoms)

Mild medical anxiety & contamination fears (hand-washing, mild germophobia, references to past illness trauma)

Emotional suppression & avoidance (characters struggling to ask for/accept help)

Mild language (casual swearing)

Physical exhaustion & overexertion

Elex knew from the second he woke up that something was wrong.

His head throbbed in a slow, punishing rhythm, a heavy weight pressing behind his eyes like a vice tightening inch by inch. His limbs felt sluggish, his body leaden, overheated—but not in the comfortable, lazy way that came with sleeping too long. No, this was different. This was wrong.

Still, he forced himself upright, biting back a low groan as the dull ache in his throat flared into something sharp and raw. His skin prickled with fever, the air in their apartment thick and stifling, but there was no time for this. No room for it. Not now.

Not after everything S7en had just been through.

Elex scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, forcing his expression into something neutral before glancing to the other side of the bed. S7en was still asleep, his teal and orange hair a mess against the pillow, his breathing shallow but steady. No more oxygen masks. No more hospital rooms. Just him, here, home, safe.

And there was no way in hell Elex was about to let him worry about this.

So he swallowed against the rawness in his throat, pushed past the fatigue clawing at his limbs, and carefully—carefully—slipped out of bed without a sound.

His body screamed at him the second his feet hit the floor. A fresh wave of dizziness crashed into him, nausea twisting in his gut, but he gritted his teeth and powered through. Mind over matter. He’d been through worse.

S7en stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

Good.

The last thing he needed was the cat noticing.

Because S7en, stubborn as he was, had barely recovered. His lungs were still weak, his body still too frail, and if he caught even a whiff of Elex being sick, there would be no stopping him. He’d hover, fuss, get in his own damn head about it, and the last thing Elex wanted was for him to stress over him when he should have been focusing on himself.

So Elex shoved it down. The ache in his chest, the burning tickle creeping into his sinuses, the sharp stutter of his breath—he ignored it. He was fine. He’d be fine.

He just had to make sure S7en never found out.

And if that meant hiding every cough behind a clenched jaw, stifling every sneeze into the fabric of his hoodie, and downing enough painkillers to pretend his fever wasn’t steadily climbing?

So be it.

The first real warning sign came when Elex went to make coffee.

He had barely poured water into the machine when a violent shiver ripped through him, sending ice-cold prickles down the length of his spine. The air in the kitchen suddenly felt too thin, the light from the window too sharp, slicing into his headache like a knife. He braced himself against the counter, swallowing hard as his stomach twisted, fever heat coiling tight in his chest.

No. No, no, no. Not now. Not today.

He sucked in a slow, measured breath, rolling his shoulders, willing himself back into control. He’d dealt with worse. This was nothing. Just a little exhaustion, a little lingering chill from sleeping without a blanket. He just needed coffee. Caffeine would fix this.

Except—

His nose twitched.

The tickle was sudden, sharp, rising out of nowhere like a spark catching dry grass, flaring hot and fast. His breath hitched—once, twice—his head snapping forward before he could fight it.

“H’UTSSCHHhiew!! Hh—h’UHDTschhiew! Hh’uhSSCHHIHHeewww!”

The force of them knocked him forward, rattling in his chest, leaving his vision swimming and his throat burning like he’d just swallowed glass. He barely had time to straighten before another overtook him, tearing from deep in his lungs—

“hdt’USSCHHIEWW!!!”

Shit.

The sound echoed through the apartment, too loud, too obvious. His stomach dropped as he held perfectly still, pulse thudding in his ears, waiting for movement from the bedroom.

Nothing.

No footsteps. No sleepy voice calling his name.

S7en was still asleep.

Elex exhaled slowly, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead, feeling the fever radiating under his skin. He hated this. The congestion, the heat, the way his nose itched relentlessly, teasing him with another sneeze he refused to let out.

And worst of all? The knowledge that he was contaminated.

The very thought made his skin crawl. He could already feel it, the invisible filth clinging to his skin, coating his throat, tainting the air around him. He needed to shower. He needed to scrub his hands, burn his hoodie, fumigate the entire apartment—

But he couldn’t.

Because the second he acted too clean, too frantic about disinfecting everything in sight, S7en would know.

He was already walking a razor’s edge, trying to act normal while his body actively worked against him. If he so much as glanced at a bottle of disinfectant too long, S7en would sniff him out like the suspicious little feline bastard he was.

No. He had to play it cool. Hide this.

S7en had just barely clawed his way out of pneumonia, and his lungs were still weak. If Elex so much as breathed wrong around him, he could get sick again. And that? That wasn’t an option.

So Elex squared his shoulders, forcing the tension from his body, and grabbed a paper towel, swiping aggressively at his nose before moving to make breakfast.

He’d get through this.

He had to.

S7en had gotten used to waking up to Elex next to him. Even when they were both exhausted, even when life was kicking their asses, Elex was always there—half-awake, chewing on something plastic, grumbling about the sun being a “rude little bitch” before slumping into him for five extra minutes of warmth.

But today?

The bed was empty.

The sheets were cold.

S7en frowned, sitting up slowly, still groggy from sleep, his chest tightening with something uneasy.

Elex wasn’t in bed.

Elex was always in bed when S7en woke up.

He ran a hand through his hair, blinking away the haze in his vision before glancing toward the door. The apartment was quiet—too quiet. No sound of Elex shuffling through the fridge, no muttered cursing as he nearly tripped over their shoes by the door, no telltale sound of his knuckles tapping the counter absently like they always did in the mornings.

The silence felt... wrong.

Dragging himself up, S7en swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pushing to his feet with a slow exhale. His body was still weak—he hated it—but he was getting better. He was supposed to be better.

So why did it feel like something else was falling apart?

He found Elex in the kitchen, already dressed, already moving, wiping down the counter like he was trying to erase something only he could see.

S7en leaned against the doorway, watching for a moment before speaking.

"You left me alone," he muttered, voice still rough with sleep.

Elex stiffened.

It was quick, barely there, but S7en caught it.

The hesitation. The delay before answering.

"Yeah," Elex said, too casual, too quick. "Figured I’d let you sleep. You need rest, y’know, what with the dying and all."

S7en rolled his eyes, but the joke didn’t land the way it should have.

Because Elex still wasn’t looking at him.

And for the first time in a long time, S7en felt alone.

But he swallowed it back as much as he could, shuffling into the kitchen with his usual groggy irritation, hoodie sleeves hanging past his fingers, glasses sliding down his nose. His orange eyes were still hazy with sleep, his tail dragging lazily behind him as he blinked toward Elex with a tired squint. He was barefoot, which Elex immediately clocked as a problem.

The floor wasn’t clean enough.

Not for bare skin. Not for someone who had just gotten out of the hospital, lungs still too weak, body still too fragile.

Elex’s hands twitched toward the disinfectant spray, but he forced himself to grip his coffee mug instead, knuckles white.

Just act normal.

"Why the hell are you up first?" S7en muttered, voice rough with leftover congestion.

Elex smirked, masking the way his stomach clenched at the reminder of just how recently S7en had been this sick. "Had to make sure my dumbass boyfriend didn’t wake up and start licking the walls again."

S7en squinted at him.

"That happened once."

Elex huffed a laugh, lifting his coffee to his lips—

And that was his mistake.

The heat hit his throat, scalding against the rawness he’d been trying to ignore, and the tickle in his throat that had been lurking for hours suddenly flared up hard and fast.

His breath hitched.

His lungs clenched.

No, no, no—

Elex barely had time to turn his head, fist clenched against his mouth, before the cough tore out of him, rough and deep and impossible to hide.

The sound of it made his own skin crawl.

And worse?

S7en froze.

For a long, horrible second, the kitchen was silent.

Then—

"What the fuck was that?"

Elex gritted his teeth, forcing his face neutral, the heat of his fever making the air feel thick, suffocating.

"Swallowed wrong."

S7en’s ears flicked.

He was watching him now.

Fully aware, pupils narrowing in that calculating way Elex hated.

"You sure?"

Elex shrugged, already turning toward the sink to pretend to rinse his mug.

"Yep."

S7en didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Elex could feel the weight of his stare, feel the way his lungs wanted to wheeze, feel the next cough curling in his chest like a live wire.

Don’t let him see. Don’t let him hear.

He held his breath.

Held still.

And after an excruciating moment—

S7en grunted, finally moving toward the coffee pot.

Elex exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the way his hands had started shaking.

But the second S7en stepped closer, the air shifted.

It was subtle, just the smallest tilt of his nose, the faintest flick of his ears—barely noticeable to anyone else. But Elex knew. He knew.

S7en smelled it.

He always did.

Elex felt a fresh pulse of panic claw up his spine. If that damn cat caught so much as a whiff of this—

"Something smells weird."

Elex tensed.

"Like—" S7en sniffed the air again, his nose scrunching. "Not bad, just…off."

Fuck.

"Yeah?" Elex muttered, keeping his voice lazy, unconcerned. "Probably just your own breath. You were mouth-breathing like an asshat all night."

S7en scowled, flicking his tail at him in irritation, and Elex almost relaxed.

Then—

S7en tilted his head, squinting harder. His pupils dilated slightly. His ears twitched forward.

The exact fucking look he got whenever he was about to figure something out.

Elex’s entire body went on high alert.

Because if S7en knew? If he caught on?

Elex would be done.

So he did the only thing he could do—he faked a yawn, stretched dramatically, and turned away.

"Ugh, I need to piss," he announced, already heading toward the bathroom.

S7en made a vague noise of acknowledgment, clearly not fully awake yet, but Elex didn’t give him time to press further.

He was gone before S7en could dig his claws into the situation.

Elex shut the bathroom door behind him, locked it, and immediately braced his hands against the sink, breathing hard.

He had seconds before another sneeze hit.

His nose burned, his sinuses prickling unbearably, every breath quivering with the inevitable. He scrambled for a handful of tissues just as his chest hiked—

"Hh'UMFShhhiew!—h'Ushh'iew!—hh’ieXSHHHh!!"

The force of them wrecked him, leaving him gasping against the counter, fever heat pulsing under his skin. He grabbed the faucet, cranking the water to the highest heat, and scrubbed his hands raw, fingers digging into his palms like he could scrape away the sickness itself.

Not clean. Not clean. Not clean.

He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling slow, steady.

No more. No more sneezing. No more anything.

He was fine. He had to be fine.

He couldn’t let S7en know.

Not now.

Not ever.

Elex leaned heavily against the counter, his breath coming in uneven gasps as he forced himself upright. The heat of the water scalded his hands, the sting grounding him, but it wasn’t enough. The sickness was still there, clawing at his throat, pressing against his skull, burning beneath his skin. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the dizziness to pass, willing his body to just cooperate.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. He wasn’t sure.

Eventually, the tremors in his hands eased enough for him to shut off the faucet, but the unease lingered—coiled tight in his chest like a cable ready to snap. He needed to move, to shake the feeling of filth clinging to him, but when he pushed off the sink, his vision tilted. The world blurred at the edges, his knees threatening to give.

He caught himself just in time, fingers gripping the doorframe, heart hammering.

Breathe. Breathe.

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, his body felt detached—like he was wearing it rather than existing inside it. He forced himself forward, each step calculated, careful, controlled. If he could just keep this up—if he could just last the day—he could make it through this without S7en catching on.

But as the hours crawled by, the fever pressed in harder, suffocating.

And S7en?

S7en was starting to notice.

S7en was used to Elex being a little twitchy. It was just how he was.

Always moving, always chewing on something, always restless in a way that made it hard to tell if he was anxious or just alive.

But this?

This was different.

They were sitting on the couch—or, at least, S7en was. Elex was perched on the other end, practically curling into the armrest, the furthest he could physically get without sitting on the floor.

It was weird.

Elex was always touching him. Always pressing up against him in some way—a foot shoved against his thigh, a hand absently tugging at his hoodie strings, a knee bumping into his as they sat too close for no reason.

But right now?

S7en may as well have been on a different planet.

He frowned, stretching his arms over his head before slumping further into the cushions.

"Y’know, it’s real fuckin’ weird when you’re not all over me," he muttered.

Elex huffed, a short, forced noise. "Wow. Clingy much?"

S7en kicked at his foot.

"You like it."

Elex snorted, but he didn’t move closer.

Didn’t shove at S7en like he usually would. Didn’t sink into him lazily, the way he always did after a long day.

Something about it made S7en’s stomach twist.

He let it go.

But the feeling stayed.

Elex had made it through the morning.

Barely.

Now, the afternoon loomed ahead, and his body was falling apart faster than he could keep up.

His limbs felt weak, heavy like they didn’t belong to him anymore. His fever had climbed, turning his skin too hot, then too cold, then hot again, like his body couldn’t decide what the hell it was supposed to be feeling.

But worse than the heat, worse than the exhaustion, worse than the pounding ache in his skull—

Was the fact that S7en wasn’t an idiot.

Elex had been dodging him all day.

Avoiding sitting too close. Keeping his back turned while cooking lunch. Drowning himself in cups of coffee and forcing a smirk any time S7en’s gaze lingered too long.

But the cat was watching him.

He could feel it.

The slow tilt of his head. The way his orange eyes narrowed, pupils slitting ever so slightly, tail flicking in that way it did when he was figuring something out.

It made Elex’s skin crawl.

And then—

The itch flared again.

A sudden, unbearable tickle climbing sharp and fast through his sinuses, making his breath hitch, eyes fluttering against his will.

Fuck. Not again.

He twisted away, forcing the urge down, down, down, clenching his teeth and balling up his hoodie’s fabric in his hands.

Don’t.

His shoulders tensed hard, muscles locking up so tight it made his head pound worse—

And somehow, somehow, the sneeze receded.

Barely.

His chest was still tight, his breath still uneven, but at least he hadn’t—

"You good?"

Elex’s entire body locked up.

S7en’s voice was casual, almost bored, but there was something off about it. Something too sharp, like he was waiting for the answer to confirm a suspicion.

Elex forced himself to exhale slowly through his nose.

"I'm fine," he said, voice rough, but steady enough.

S7en hummed.

"Sure."

He didn’t believe him.

Elex knew it.

Knew it the way S7en’s ears twitched forward. The way his tail lashed lazily against the arm of the couch. The way he tapped his mechanical pencil rhythmically against his sketchbook, eyes never leaving Elex’s face.

But he didn’t press.

Not yet.

Which meant Elex still had time.

He just had to hold it together a little longer.

Just—

A shiver rattled down his spine, making his breath stutter, and he barely bit back a curse.

S7en’s eyes narrowed.

Fuck.

Keep moving.

Elex turned toward the sink, gripping the edge with white-knuckled force, blinking hard against the dizziness creeping into his vision.

His palms were sweating.

His skin felt disgusting.

He needed to wash his hands again.

But if he did, if he reached for the soap one more time, S7en would—

“You’re acting weird.”

Elex stiffened.

Breathed in slow.

Out.

And forced a lazy smirk as he turned around.

"Am I?"

S7en’s gaze flicked over him, studying.

Too long. Too observant. Too much.

His pupils dilated, nose twitching—like he was smelling something.

Elex’s stomach dropped.

"I dunno," S7en mused, stretching his arms above his head, tail curling lazily. "You’re being... extra twitchy today."

"Maybe you’re just being extra nosy today," Elex shot back, gripping the counter behind him to ground himself.

S7en grinned, but his eyes stayed sharp.

“Maybe.”

Elex’s heartbeat pounded in his skull.

He had to get away.

Elex needed space.

S7en’s eyes were on him—too sharp, too focused, too knowing. He could feel it, the weight of that gaze pressing into his skin, reading into every twitch, every forced breath. It made his stomach turn, made his hands clench uselessly at his sides, made the sick heat crawling under his skin even worse.

He needed to get away.

Elex pushed off the counter, muscles stiff, nausea curling at the edges of his senses, but he forced himself to keep moving. His pulse hammered against his skull, drowning out the soft sounds of the apartment, making it hard to think past the heat pressing against his temples.

The fever was getting worse.

His own body was turning against him, pulling at the edges of his control, but he had to keep going. Had to stay ahead of it.

If he slowed down, even for a second—if he let himself feel the exhaustion sinking into his limbs—S7en would see it.

And if S7en saw it, it was over.

Elex swallowed hard, his throat raw and aching, and forced himself forward.

By the time he made it back to the kitchen, his hands were already reaching for the disinfectant wipes, fingers trembling as they closed around the familiar plastic container. The motion was automatic now—habitual, necessary.

Clean. Fix it. Clean.

But it wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

His skin still crawled, his breath still felt wrong, his chest still ached with something he couldn’t scrub away.

And behind it all, the fever burned.

Rising. Tightening.

His head pulsed, sinuses clogging up, making every inhale a slow, labored pull through congestion that was only getting worse. He wiped his phone screen again, third time now, but the anxiety didn’t ease.

Nothing eased.

Because no matter how much he tried to erase the contamination, no matter how many surfaces he disinfected—

The sickness was still inside him.

And S7en?

S7en wasn’t letting this go.

Elex could feel it—the weight of his gaze, the way his energy had shifted from lazy amusement to something sharper, quieter, watchful. He didn’t need to turn around to know S7en was still tracking his every move, pupils just slightly too wide, ears just slightly too alert.

It was only a matter of time before he put it together.

Elex had to stay ahead of him.

So he moved. Kept moving. Forced himself into motion, into habit, into the kind of constant distraction that would keep him from thinking too hard about the fever pressing hot and heavy under his skin.

He had work to do.

He wiped down the counters. Again.

Ran a disinfectant wipe over the fridge handle. Again.

Checked his phone screen—again—and swiped a microfiber cloth over it until the glass shined.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

Because no matter how many times he scrubbed his hands, no matter how many surfaces he wiped down, no matter how much he cleaned and cleaned and cleaned—

The sickness was still there.

Thick congestion was already pressing hot and tight behind his eyes, his sinuses burning like someone had shoved a matchstick up his nose and let it smolder, each breath dragging through his throat like smoke, raw and unrelenting.

His hands were clammy, his breath coming in shallow pulls, but he kept moving.

He had disinfected the kitchen. Three times.

Cleaned his phone screen four times just in case.

Scrubbed his hands so many times the skin was turning red, peeling around his knuckles.

And yet, he still felt dirty.

Still felt contaminated.

He had made it this far, hidden it this long, but his body wasn’t listening to him anymore.

The warning signs had been too easy to ignore at first.

The slight chill at the back of his neck. The dull ache in his limbs. The tight, nagging itch in his nose that wouldn’t go away—

But now?

Now the weight pressing on his chest felt unbearable, his head ached so badly he could barely see straight, and his nose—

Fuck.

It twitched suddenly, sharply, the burning sensation flaring up out of nowhere, and his breath hitched hard.

No.

Not now. Not here. Not—

The first sneeze tore through him before he could stop it.

“H’USSHHhiew!—Hh’ehHTSCHHHh’iew!—h’UhtTSCHhhiew!!”

It wasn’t controlled. It wasn’t covered.

It was violent, raw, messy—

And out in the fucking open.

Elex barely had time to process the horror before the next hit, dragging him forward, shoulders snapping down as his entire body shook with the force of it.

“Hehh’EhDTSHhiew!—hh'ieXSHHH!—hdt’USSCHHIEWW!!!”

The sound ripped through the apartment, wet and unrestrained, and the second the fit was over, the panic set in.

Elex froze.

His pulse pounded in his ears, cold dread settling deep in his stomach as his fingers twitched—

His body locked up, hands hovering in front of him like they weren’t his own. He could see the germs—feel them clinging to his skin, crawling up his arms, coating every surface.

His heart pounded against his ribs, his breathing coming fast and wrong as his hands shook violently, fingers twitching as he lunged for the sanitizer.

The bottle nearly slipped from his grasp, but he caught it, shaking it so hard the liquid inside sloshed. His brain was fuzzy, fever-haze clouding his thoughts, but he had to get rid of it. Had to clean. Had to—

He pumped the sanitizer into his palm and scrubbed.

Once. Twice. Again. Again. Again.

It wasn’t enough.

His breath came faster, too fast, his lungs tightening as he fought against the feeling, against the sickening reality that he couldn’t take back what had just happened.

And Elex gritted his teeth, his pulse hammering in his ears as he braced himself against the sink. His whole body trembled, every inch of him screaming for relief he refused to give it. The fever was pressing in hard now, wrapping around his skull like a vice, but he kept moving.

Scrubbing.

Disinfecting.

Fixing what he had done.

Not clean. Not clean. Not clean.

The whisper crawled up his spine, slithered under his skin. He could feel it—feel the contamination clinging to him like oil, seeping into the air, coating everything he had touched. He wiped down the sink. The door handle. The light switch. The air—

A violent shudder ripped through him, and he choked back a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut.

Breathe. Breathe.

He couldn’t.

His breath stuttered, caught on the thick, unrelenting burn in his lungs, but he forced himself to keep moving. He was fine. He’d be fine. He had to be fine.

Then—

A voice.

"Elex?"

His blood ran cold.

He froze, heart seizing up in his chest.

Footsteps. Slow. Careful.

Too close.

His fingers clenched into the counter, nails biting into the surface as he struggled to keep himself together.

"S’fine," he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat, forcing something steadier. Stronger. "What? Need me to open a jar or somethin’?"

Silence.

Then, a quiet sigh.

"Cut the shit."

Elex’s jaw locked.

Shit. Shit.

His reflection in the mirror looked like hell. Damp hair clinging to his forehead, his face flushed with fever, red-rimmed eyes filled with exhaustion and something sharp—something desperate.

He turned the sink back on, pretended to be focused on washing his hands.

"I'm literally just—"

"You're sick."

Elex’s stomach dropped. A different kind of heat flushed through him this time—shame, dread, panic.

He forced a short, sharp laugh. "Wow, thanks for the update, doc."

A pause. A shift in the air.

Then—soft.

"You’re sick," S7en repeated, quieter this time. "And you’re hiding it from me."

His voice wasn’t amused anymore.

It wasn’t sharp with teasing or smug with victory.

It was hurt.

The sound of it made something deep in Elex’s chest twist painfully.

"You were gonna keep hiding it, weren’t you?" S7en asked. It wasn’t really a question. "Even after—" A breath. "After everything."

Fuck.

Elex squeezed his eyes shut. His throat burned. His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palm.

"You think I don’t know what you’re doing?" S7en’s voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of frustration beneath it. "I know you, Elex. I know how you get when you’re freaking out."

"I'm not—"

"You are."

S7en stepped forward. Close enough that Elex could feel the warmth of him at his back. "You're scrubbing the air, El."

Elex flinched.

He hadn’t even realized.

His fingers were still clenched around a disinfectant wipe, moving in circles over the countertop.

Over. And over. And over.

He felt sick. Sicker. Not just from the fever. Not just from the way his whole body ached—

But because S7en was right.

Because he was contaminated. Because he had ruined everything. Because if S7en got sick again—if his lungs gave out again—if he was the reason—

His breath hitched sharply.

Not again. Not again. Not again.

He had to fix this.

He reached for another wipe, but before he could grab it, S7en caught his wrist.

Firm. Unyielding.

Elex jerked, but S7en didn’t let go.

"Stop."

His voice was gentle. Not commanding, not forceful—just there.

Elex swallowed, his hands still twitching, fingers clenching uselessly against the air.

"It's okay," S7en said softly.

Elex shook his head. His breath stuttered, uneven, wrong. "It’s not okay," he rasped. "I—I sneezed—I fucking—contaminated everything."

His voice broke.

S7en’s grip tightened.

"You didn’t contaminate anything," S7en said. "You got sick. That’s all."

Elex shook his head again, panic tightening like a noose in his chest. He tried to pull away, but S7en wouldn’t let him.

"Elex." His voice was steady. "You're okay. You're just sick."

Elex felt his legs tremble beneath him. He hated this. Hated the way his body felt—weak, out of control, vulnerable. Hated the way S7en was looking at him.

He wanted to run. To hide. To scrub his skin raw until he felt clean again.

But S7en didn’t let him.

"You're okay," he repeated, softer this time.

Elex clenched his jaw, his whole body trembling.

His breath came too fast, too uneven, each inhale catching in his throat, clogged and raw. His fingers still twitched where S7en held them, like his body couldn’t decide whether to pull away or clench tighter, hold on.

He felt filthy. Exposed. Wrong.

His skin burned under his hoodie, his fever too high, but none of it compared to the way his stomach twisted, the guilt gnawing at his ribs.

He wasn’t supposed to let this happen.

S7en had just gotten better. He had just started breathing normally again. Elex had watched him nearly cough his fucking lungs out, had sat there through every long, awful night where every breath had been a goddamn fight. He had been so sick. So weak.

And now?

Now, Elex had ruined everything.

Now, he was the threat.

He shook his head again, harder this time, but S7en still wouldn’t let go.

"You don’t get it," Elex croaked, voice wrecked. "I—I can’t—" He squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders shaking, panic twisting tighter in his chest. "I can’t—I can’t be the reason you get sick again."

S7en’s grip tightened.

His voice came soft, steady. Unshakable.

"Elex—"

"You almost fucking died, S7en," Elex snapped, voice cracking straight down the middle. His throat burned, his whole body shaking like it was coming apart, but he didn’t care. "You were in the hospital, you—you couldn’t fucking breathe, and now—now I’m just supposed to sit here and act like it’s fine if I make that happen again?!"

S7en stilled.

Elex could feel it. The way his breath caught, the way his hands tensed for just a fraction of a second, the way his pulse jumped beneath Elex’s trembling fingers.

Guilt crashed into S7en’s expression like a storm.

But before Elex could sink too deep into it, before he could pull away, S7en moved.

He shifted closer, stepping into his space like he was trying to anchor him, like he was afraid Elex was about to tear himself apart right in front of him.

"You didn’t do anything to me," he said, voice rough, thick with something Elex couldn’t name. "You didn’t contaminate anything. You didn’t ruin anything. You just got sick. That’s all."

Elex let out a harsh, shaking breath, his hands still twitching like they needed to be doing something, like he still had to fix this.

"I should have been more careful," he muttered, eyes dropping to the floor. "I—I should’ve—I should’ve stayed away from you, I should’ve—"

"Stayed away?"

S7en’s voice went sharp.

Elex flinched.

And fuck, he was too exhausted to hide it.

S7en exhaled hard, raking a hand through his hair, tail flicking behind him in agitated, frantic movements.

"Elex," he said, gritted out like it physically hurt to say, "you can’t—you can’t just keep me in a fucking bubble every time you get sick."

Elex’s jaw clenched, but before he could argue, S7en kept going.

"Do you even hear yourself?" S7en demanded, his voice raw, frustrated, but not at him. Never at him. "You—you’re not some fucking diseased animal, Elex! You’re a person! You get sick, I get sick, it happens! I can’t just—I can’t just live my whole life in fear of that, and you can’t either!"

Elex’s breath hitched.

Because he wasn’t just scared.

He was terrified.

Because what if?

What if this was the one time it went wrong again? What if S7en got sick and couldn’t bounce back this time? What if it was Elex’s fault?

"I—I can’t—" Elex’s voice cracked. His hands balled into fists, but S7en caught them.

S7en held him.

Didn’t let him pull away.

Didn’t let him run.

Instead, he squeezed, firm but gentle, grounding him.

"You were there for me," S7en said, softer this time, steadier. "I needed you, and you were there. You didn’t leave me when I was falling apart. So don’t ask me to leave you now."

Elex felt his chest tighten.

His eyes burned.

He wanted to fight it. Needed to fight it. But he was too tired. Too drained.

And S7en was too close, too warm, too real.

So instead of fighting—he let go.

A slow, shaky exhale.

His shoulders slumped, tension bleeding from his muscles like air from a punctured tire.

S7en didn’t move.

Didn’t push.

Just held on.

S7en could feel the second Elex gave in.

The fight bled out of his body all at once, his shoulders slumping, hands no longer twitching with the urge to clean, to fix, to escape.

But he was still shaking.

Still burning up.

Still fucking wrecked.

And S7en—who never knew what to do with his hands, who never hovered, who never worried the way Elex did—suddenly didn’t care if it made him clingy or annoying or anything else.

He wasn’t letting go.

Not now.

Not after Elex had spent days breaking himself apart trying to keep this from him.

So S7en did what Elex had done for him not so long ago.

He held on.

Gently, carefully, he guided Elex toward the bed. Not rushed. Not forcing. Just moving, just keeping him close, keeping him steady when his knees nearly buckled.

And Elex—Elex let him.

He didn’t protest.

Didn’t crack some awful joke just to deflect.

He just followed, leaning against S7en’s side, his whole body too hot, the fever finally winning.

S7en eased him down, pulling the blankets up, keeping his touch gentle, steady, careful—the way Elex had done for him a few days ago, when he had been the one fighting for breath, fighting against his own fragile fucking body.

And when Elex exhaled, slow, wrecked, exhausted, something in S7en’s chest ached.

Because he recognized that sound.

It was the same sound he had made when Elex had been taking care of him, when he had finally stopped trying to act like he wasn’t drowning in it.

"You okay?" S7en asked, voice softer than usual.

Elex huffed—a weak attempt at amusement.

"Would be bore okay if by dose wasd’t fugki’g closigg up od be," he muttered, sniffling thickly, his voice a wrecked mess of congestion and fever.

S7en snorted. "Yeah. No shit."

Elex groaned, dragging his hands over his face. "Fugk, by head..."

S7en didn’t even hesitate.

He shifted, fingers moving to Elex’s temple, rubbing slow, soothing circles, the way Elex had done for him when his fever had been the one stealing the air from his lungs.

Elex froze.

And S7en knew—knew he wasn’t used to this, wasn’t used to letting someone else do the caring, the fixing, the hovering.

But he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t try to brush it off.

Instead, he let out a slow, shaky exhale and sank further into the pillow.

S7en didn’t stop.

Didn’t tease him about it.

Didn’t say anything at all.

He just kept going.

Because he knew—knew what it felt like to finally let someone else take over, to let the weight of it lift, even just a little.

And if Elex could have that, even for just one goddamn night?

S7en would make sure he did.

No matter what.

Elex had gone quiet.

Not in the way he usually did—when his mind got too loud, when he was pulling back into himself, into the places S7en wasn’t allowed to reach.

No, this was different.

This was exhaustion, fever-heavy and all-consuming.

S7en could feel the heat rolling off him in waves, his body shaking despite the thick blankets S7en had pulled over him. His breath hitched with congestion, thick and shallow, and every few seconds, his nose twitched like he was fighting off a sneeze.

Elex never let himself lose control.

But now?

Now he was losing.

S7en frowned, shifting to grab more tissues before pressing them gently into Elex’s hand.

Elex made a weak noise of protest, half-asleep, barely there, but S7en wasn’t having it.

"Blow your goddamn nose," he muttered, voice softer than the words. "You sound like you’re drowning in it."

Elex groaned, cracking one tired, red-rimmed eye open.

"Bossy," he rasped, but took the tissues anyway.

S7en watched as he struggled to sit up, his movements sluggish, hands barely steady.

Before he could make it worse, S7en reached out, bracing him with one arm, guiding him up easily, gently, carefully.

Elex let him.

Didn’t even fight it.

That scared S7en more than anything else.

Elex wasn’t a fighter in the traditional sense, but when it came to himself—his health, his own well-being—he was a goddamn battleground.

And now?

Now he wasn’t even arguing.

S7en swallowed the tightness in his chest and let Elex slump into his side as he blew his nose, harsh and miserable, before immediately dropping back against the pillows like the effort had wiped him out.

"That bad?" S7en asked, trying to keep his voice light.

Elex just groaned.

"Everythigg hurts," he muttered, hoarse and wrecked. "I thidk by skid is bad at be."

S7en snorted. "What, like, personally?"

Elex huffed, half a laugh, half a cough.

"Yeah," he grumbled. "Betrayal. Treacherous little bitch."

S7en rolled his eyes but kept his hand on Elex’s back, rubbing slow, grounding circles like Elex had done for him when he was the one breaking apart.

Elex exhaled, deep and slow.

Then, quieter—

"You should stay away from me."

S7en stiffened.

For a second, he thought maybe he’d imagined it.

But no.

Elex’s voice was softer now, raw and strained, but dead serious.

"I’m serious," he murmured, not looking at him. "You just got better. I can’t—I can’t be the reason you relapse."

S7en exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face.

"We’re really doing this again?" he muttered.

Elex didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

S7en could feel it, the way his body had tensed, the way his fingers had curled into the blanket, like if he just held on tight enough, he could stop this from happening.

S7en shifted, leaning in closer, pressing their foreheads together, letting Elex feel the solid weight of him, the warmth that was still there, still strong, still okay.

"Listen to me," he said, steady and sure. "You didn’t get me sick. And if I do get sick? It’s not your fucking fault."

Elex swallowed, eyes fluttering shut.

"It would be."

"No," S7en said, firm. "It wouldn’t."

Elex huffed, a tired, miserable noise.

S7en rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, what are you gonna do, Lex? Lock yourself away for the rest of your life? Walk around in a hazmat suit just in case?"

Elex made a weak, stubborn noise, burrowing further into the blankets.

S7en shook his head. "You don’t get to keep doing this. You don’t get to tear yourself apart over shit you can’t control."

Finally, finally, Elex cracked his eyes open.

"Yeah?" he muttered. "Like you didn’t do the same thing?"

S7en froze.

Because fuck.

He was right.

Elex had held him up when he was at his worst, had been right there through all of it. Had never let him fall alone.

And now?

Now S7en was supposed to just walk away?

Like hell.

S7en scoffed, shoving Elex’s hoodie-covered shoulder.

"That’s different," he muttered.

"How?"

S7en sighed, running a hand through his hair, thinking for a second before saying, "Because I don’t give a shit about me. But I do give a shit about you."

Elex went still.

Completely.

Like his brain had just blue-screened.

And before he could overthink it, before he could ruin it—

S7en reached for the thermometer, shoving it into Elex’s hands.

"Now shut up and put this under your tongue," he muttered, ears flicking back. "Before I shove it somewhere else."

Elex snorted.

Another weak laugh.

Another win.

And as he finally, finally relaxed against S7en, letting the weight of the fever take him under, S7en just sat there.

Holding him up.

The way he always would.

Elex had given in.

Not all the way, not completely—but enough.

Enough that he let himself sink into S7en’s warmth, let the weight of exhaustion pull him under, let his body finally stop fighting.

And S7en?

S7en wasn’t going anywhere.

Not after all the bullshit avoidance, not after watching Elex tear himself apart, not after hearing him whisper that he couldn’t be the reason S7en got sick again.

Like he hadn’t just spent the last week watching over him.

Like he wasn’t allowed the same thing.

Like S7en getting sick again was some earth-shattering, world-ending event instead of just...life.

S7en swallowed hard, shaking off the lingering weight of that thought, and pressed the back of his hand against Elex’s forehead again.

Still too hot.

Still burning up.

S7en’s ears flicked with frustration.

He didn’t know how to do this.

Didn’t know how to be gentle, how to be soft in a way that actually mattered. He only knew how to watch and wait and be there when shit hit the fan.

But Elex deserved more than that.

So S7en did what he could.

He tucked the blankets tighter around Elex’s shoulders, making sure he was warm enough but not too hot.

He grabbed the cool rag from the nightstand, folding it before pressing it lightly against his forehead.

Elex made a soft noise, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper, his eyelashes fluttering but not opening.

S7en’s chest tightened.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady, casual. "I know. I’m a fucking saint."

Elex didn’t answer.

Just let out a slow, exhausted exhale, his body melting further into the blankets.

S7en watched him for a moment, fingers absently brushing the cooling strands of his hair back, his mind drifting.

He still remembered the way Elex had sat at his bedside just days ago, quietly rubbing circles into his back when he was struggling to breathe, wiping him down when his fever had spiked too high, watching him with the kind of focus that felt too much, too intense, too raw.

Now S7en was the one watching him.

Noticing every shallow breath.

Every twitch of discomfort.

Every exhausted tremor in his fingers.

It wasn’t fair.

Not that Elex was sick—that happened.

But that he had felt like he had to go through it alone.

Like he had to hide it.

Like he had to carry it on his own shoulders just to protect S7en from something he had no control over.

And S7en hated that.

Hated that Elex had been suffering in silence, scrubbing his hands raw, avoiding him, trapping himself in his own head just to keep from being a burden.

Like S7en wouldn’t drop everything for him in a heartbeat.

Like S7en didn’t already know what it felt like to be in this exact position.

His fingers curled tighter around the edge of the blanket, jaw clenching, tail flicking in agitated movements before he forced himself to breathe.

Not the time.

Elex had stopped shivering.

That was progress.

S7en exhaled slow, shifting so he could tuck the blanket higher over Elex’s shoulders.

That’s when he felt it—

The smallest, barest hint of movement.

Elex’s fingers, still curled into the fabric of S7en’s hoodie, tugged.

It wasn’t intentional—not really.

More of a half-conscious reaction, a barely-there plea for something S7en wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been paying attention.

But he was.

So he didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t question it.

Just shifted closer, letting his weight settle against the mattress, letting Elex press against his side, forehead brushing S7en’s shoulder, his whole body giving in.

S7en just held him.

Didn’t make a big deal of it.

Didn’t say anything at all.

Just breathed.

Because Elex was finally letting himself be taken care of.

And S7en wasn’t about to ruin it.

The end ✨

22 notes · View notes

aller-geez · 10 months ago

Text

A Hehh— Head-On Approach

A minific (>2k words)

Written & Illustrated by: allergeez

Another Remi snz fic (oooh, big surprise, right? 🤡) Only >2k words, but trying to get past my writers block with something easy~ Loooooooots of snz, some description of mess but nothing super explicit. Based off of @hhhyacinthgreen ‘s suuuuper old snzario prompt that can be found hereee~ Pls enjoy 😇😇

“Hh—! ….. SNxxxgff!”

A low, familiar growl of frustration filled the otherwise still, crisp autumn air before a gruff hand slammed the heavy wooden front door of their cabin open with a jarring bang. Remi’s large body shoved through the doorway less than gracefully and he was wrapped in a thick coat, a fleece scarf wrapped around his neck and hanging loosely from his broad shoulders. His piercing green eyes had dulled just slightly, and his sharp nose had already begun to take on an angry, pink hue. Behind the characteristic scowl, the exhaustion was readable clear as day across his features as he stormed into the otherwise quiet house. As soon as it came into view, the wolf carelessly tossed his worn black backpack on the couch and more or less stumbled back towards the back bedroom which he shared with his mate.

Levi, who had taken a trip with Draeko, was due back in another hour or so, and until then, the house was eerily quiet, at least momentarily.

As the large canine clumsily made his way through the bedroom doorway, he stretched his nostrils back and forth, attempting to will away the maddeningly persistent tickle that had lodged itself within his sinus cavity all damn day.

Remi stumbled into the bedroom with a huff, his boots thudding heavily against the wooden floor. He made a beeline for the bed, plopping down on the edge and leaning back onto his hands with a groan. The constant pressure behind his nose and forehead had been driving him insane all day, and he was ready to just lie down and try to sleep it off.

“SNnxxxgtff!” Remington attempted another unproductive, waterlogged sniffle that did nothing but ignite the tickle from the tip of his nose, snaking down into his raw sinuses. Frantically, the wolf scrubbed at the sensitive appendage with his palm as his breath hitched desperately, despite his attempts to stave off the inevitable.

“Shit—” he muttered under his breath, knowing it was too late. The sneeze barreled through him with unexpected force and volume, echoing loudly off the walls of their small bedroom. “HI’DTSCHIEW!” His broad shoulders shook as he fought to contain the onslaught of sneezes that followed in quick succession. “Hh'IISHH! —hd’ISCHhh!! —h’dtTISHh! —hhh’ISCHih!….ghuhhh..”

“Mby fukgigg god…” he grumbled finally, wiping at his leaking nose with a frustrated growl. He could feel a headache building behind his sinuses and he rubbed at them with increasing agitation.

However, for the first moment all day, he could breathe. And he couldn’t deny how good it felt to just sneeze freely after holding them back all day.

Remi’s green eyes narrowed slightly at the tissue box on Levi’s side of the bed as an idea rang off in his head.

—what if he tried to sneeze out the cold that was most definitely slowly setting into his body? Just to get it over with, y’know? He was alone for now, and what was the worst that could happen?

With a soft, soupy sniffle, the wolf snatched a tissue from the box that sat next to the bed on the nightstand and rolled the corner into a point between his fingers.

With a shaky inhale, he raised it to his reddened nostrils that already seemed to quiver in fear away from the tool, and inserted it slowly into the entrance of the right one.

As soon as the tip of the tissue grazed the raw, sensitive walls of his nasal passages, his breath hitched desperately, his tongue sliding to rest just behind his bottom row of teeth as his jaw fell slack. It didn’t take much wriggling of the tissue before the tickle bloomed into an overwhelming sensation and another loud, unrestrained sneeze came tumbling out.

“Hd’IZTSsHHhhh’ih!” The sneeze bent him in half from the force, and a long string of mucus connected the tissue to his nostril that still trembled from the overwhelming buzz. But— pressure behind his eyes had decreased significantly, and he could at least move air through his right nostril.

Remi gritted his teeth and felt the cool air rush into his head, washing over the intricate maze of his nasal passages, making him shiver. But it also felt so good to finally breathe without the oppressive weight of the congestion bearing down on him.

Sniffling again with determination, Remi drug the back of his hand across his leaking nose before crumpling the old tissue that was beyond soaked after just one, tossing it to the side. The wolf grabbed a fresh tissue from the box, twisted it to a point between his fingers again and this time inserted the tip into his left nostril.

The intense sensation took him off guard, causing him to cough a few times, but instantly his eyelashes began to flutter over his cheeks as his eyebrows knit together on his forehead.

With a sharp intake of breath, Remi snapped forward again.

“Hh-Huh-haaahh...Hdt’ISCHHh’ih!," he grunted, trying to work up the courage for another sneeze while keeping the tissue in place. His nostrils flared open wider and wider, sucking in more air as he held it there.

He couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of mess he looked like now - all scrunched up on his side, sweat beading on his brow as he tried to will away this insufferable cold.

Without much warning, another round of sneezes rumbled through him like thunder in the distance, shaking the bed beneath him. "Hh'ISCHHHh! —hhEhh-! HhEHh’IITShh’IIEW!! —ihH’ktdSHhh!!!”

Remi breathed heavily as he recovered from the latest round of sneezes, his whole body shuddering.

He wasted no time in snatching up a new tissue once he had soaked his previous one and rolling it to a sharp point like the others, finally starting to feel some relief behind his building congestion. Reinserting it into the quivering raw passageway, he could feel it starting to tickle and burn, like someone had lit a match within the tip of his nose.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to plunge the tissue deeper into his pinkened nostril, feeling it scrape against the sensitive lining and causing his breath to catch within his throat instantly. With trembling fingers, he held it there—his whole body trembling now as he waited for the inevitable release. Just a few more seconds...

“Hhh—! … hHeHH—! ighEHhh—! hh—hEhTXSSHhh’ih! hh'IETSH’UE! Hh—! HI’DTSCHIEW! heh’iTTSHH’iEW! ihh- Hihh—! ih’TTSSHH’UE!”

His eyes squeezed shut under his wrinkled forehead as his head reeled, and he could feel the wetness of his cheeks against his closed lids. He took a deep breath to steady himself, snatching another few tissues from the box and tenting them over his nose before he filled them with a thick gurgle.

As he lowered the soggy mass from his face, he gave a testing sniffle, that much to his surprise, was completely clear of congestion.

His nose was definitely still buzzing, but that same soupy, wet cement feeling that was once packed into his head had disappeared, leaving the wolf with a triumphant smirk on his face.

Remi - 1, Cold - 0.

Just as he began to collect the soggy tissues that decorated the bed, he heard the front door gently click open, followed by the weary sigh of his mate as the feline began to set down his bags.

The raven haired man quickly disposed of the evidence into the bedside trash can before rising to his feet.

“Kitten?” He called out, the lack of congestion in his voice rounding out his consonants only furthering the confidence in the smirk drawn across his lips.

The wolf went about his night as usual, talking with Levi about his trip and and finishing the night with a lighthearted movie before they both crawled into bed and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

The next morning, Remi woke up feeling even worse. His nose was clogged, his head pounded, and his body ached as if he'd been hit by a truck. He felt like he could barely move. The sheets were tangled around him, and his mouth was dry as the desert. As he lay in bed, the sun streamed through his window, warming his skin but not quite enough to dispel the chill that seemed to seep into his bones. He knew he should get up, but the thought of moving just made him want to curl up tighter under the covers and disappear. So instead, he stayed put, trying to will away the cold that seemed to be taking over his body.

“Hh— Hehh—! hhEhh-! HhEHh’IITShh’iiEW! Hihh’ISSHh! ihH’ktdSHhh!!! HEHH—! IH’tSSH!” He sneezed loudly, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room. It felt like a bomb going off inside his head, followed by an explosion of thick goop dripping down his philtrum.

Ugh, this cold was already no joke.

With a groan, he pulled himself up to sit against the headboard and took a sip of water from the glass on his nightstand. It tasted cool and refreshing against his parched tongue but did little to quench the thirst that seemed to linger deep within him. He reached for another tissue from its box on the table and blew his nose, wincing as it scraped against the raw lining of his nostrils.

Okay…

— Maybe his calculations yesterday were a little off…

Maybe it wasn’t Remi - 1 , Cold - 0 after all…

63 notes · View notes

aller-geez · 4 months ago

Text

Sneeze The Day!

Vaelyn’s pilot fic 🖤

A platonic snz/sickfic ❤️

For the anon who is already excited for Vee content 🖤 here’s nearly 5k words, set before the venue fire that Vaelyn accidentally caused while he’s part of Rexar’s band, Toad Biscuit, which caused him to go into hiding, and this is before rexar and Remi got close. For more context, please view Vee’s backstory here, or just enjoy the fic without context 🖤

The tour bus jolted lightly over a pothole, causing the stack of crumpled tissues on the edge of Vaelyn's bunk to slide off onto the floor. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, feeling the steady throb of congestion hammering behind his eyes. The small, enclosed space was suffocating, not from the size but from the pounding ache in his skull and the relentless itch that refused to leave his nose alone.

"Vee, you okay over there?" Rexar's voice cut through the low hum of the bus engine, his usual teasing tone laced with genuine concern.

"I'm fine," Vee replied hoarsely, his voice cracking in betrayal. A fiery scratch clawed at his throat with every syllable. He sniffled wetly, swiping at his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "Just—" His words hitched mid-sentence, and his breath caught. "Hihh-hhh!—"

Rexar barely had time to look up from tuning his guitar before Vee snapped forward, sneezes erupting from him in rapid succession.

"Eh'ishh!-ishh!-ISHH!-…….. hhHIEESHHuh!"

The force of the fit bent him nearly in half, the final sneeze roaring out of him with a volume that made even Kriia, who was organizing the merch table in the back, poke her head around the corner with a raised eyebrow.

"Bless you," Rex said automatically, pausing to glance at Vee. His freckled face was creased with worry. "Damn, Vee. You sound like hell."

"Thanks for the observation," Vee muttered, grabbing a tissue from the crumpled pile next to him and blowing his nose. The sound was gurgling and wet, doing little to relieve the overwhelming congestion. He slumped back against the wall of his bunk, his blue eyes bloodshot and watering, framed by a puffiness that only made his misery more evident.

"Seriously, dude," Kriia chimed in, moving closer with her arms crossed. "You should sit tonight out. You’re barely upright, let alone stage-ready."

Vee bristled at her suggestion, his pride flaring despite his sorry state. "I'm not sitting out," he snapped, though his voice cracked again, undermining his attempt at defiance. "This is the last stretch of the tour. I'm not letting another damn cold bench me."

Rexar raised his eyebrows, leaning back in his chair. "No one’s gonna think less of you, man. Well, maybe you will, but the rest of us have seen you push through enough. You’ve got nothing to prove."

Vee didn’t reply immediately, instead grabbing another tissue and burying his nose in it for a moment, massaging furiously at his inflamed nostrils. Despite his efforts, his breath hitched again, his body tensing.

"Hh’EISHh!-ISCHh! !—ISCHh-isch! …….. Hh’iSSSHHHuhh!" His sneezes tore through the bus with such force that Rex instinctively held up a hand to shield his guitar.

Kriia sighed, shaking her head. "Okay, that’s it," she said firmly. "If you’re gonna be stubborn and play, at least let us help you. We’ll figure something out to make it easier."

"I'm fine," Vee grumbled again, but the pitiful rasp of his voice and the deep flush on his fevered cheeks said otherwise. Still, his determination was unshakable, and Kriia exchanged a resigned glance with Rexar.

Vee’s protests were half-hearted at best, and even he seemed to realize it. Every time he tried to straighten up and shake off the misery, another sneeze or a fit of coughing would drag him back down. His fingers trembled slightly as he fumbled to open his guitar case, the weight of the instrument feeling heavier than usual.

Kriia moved closer, watching him with quiet concern. “Vee,” she said gently, crouching next to him as he perched on the edge of the bus seat, “we’re serious. Let us help you. You don’t have to keep proving how tough you are. We already know.”

Rex, now sitting cross-legged on the floor tuning his guitar, chimed in with a teasing grin. “Yeah, dude, we get it. You’re the ultimate badass. Now how about letting your body catch up with that ego of yours before it spontaneously combusts?”

Vee gave them both a side-eye glare, his lips twitching into the faintest ghost of a smirk. But before he could reply, his breath hitched sharply, and he instinctively turned to the side, pressing his wrist against his face.

“ISSHhuh! — Hdt’ISHh! —ISCHhh! — Isch! ish! ………. Hhh—hhHIESSHHhuhh!”

The sneezes were so forceful they nearly knocked him forward, his long hair swinging into his face with each convulsive motion. His guitar case wobbled precariously on the bench next to him as he leaned forward, gasping for air.

“Bless you,” Kriia murmured, her brow furrowing.

Rex winced as if the sneezes had been his own, strumming a chord absently before adding, “Man, if you sneeze any harder, your nose’s gonna file for worker’s comp.”

Vee sniffled miserably, swiping at his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Hilarious,” he rasped, though his usual venom was dulled by exhaustion. His voice cracked, and he winced, clutching at his throat.

Kriia reached out, resting a hand lightly on his knee. “You’re really not okay, are you?”

“I’ll live,” Vee muttered, though the congestion thickened his words into a near-whimper. “Just… let me get through tonight. I can’t—I won’t sit this one out.”

Kriia sighed deeply, her expression a mix of exasperation and affection. She stood, patting his shoulder lightly before glancing at Rexar, who was now silently watching his friend with a worried crease in his brow.

“Alright,” she said finally. “But we’re keeping an eye on you, Vee. The second you look like you’re about to pass out, I’m dragging your stubborn ass off that stage myself.”

“Good luck with that,” Vee muttered, though the corners of his lips curved upward in a faint, wry smile.

Rex chuckled, grabbing his own guitar case as he stood. “If she doesn’t, I will,” he said. “But hey, if you faceplant mid-song, I’m totally posting it on the band’s account.”

Vee scoffed weakly, though the sound melted into a wet sniffle. “Do it,” he challenged hoarsely. “Maybe it’ll go viral and sell some albums.”

“Always the optimist,” Rex said dryly, offering him a hand up.

Vee stared at it for a moment before reluctantly taking it, his movements sluggish as Rex hauled him to his feet. He swayed slightly, his tall frame trembling with the effort of staying upright, but he steadied himself against the wall of the bus. His chest heaved as he tried to take a deep breath, but the effort sent him into a harsh, barking cough that left him hunched over and gasping.

Kriia bit her lip, exchanging a look with Rexar. “Let’s just get through soundcheck,” she said softly.

Rex nodded, clapping Vee on the back as they made their way off the bus. “One step at a time, man. One step at a time.”

By the time they arrived at the venue, Vee was visibly worse. His usually confident stride was reduced to a sluggish shuffle, his shoulders hunched under the weight of his exhaustion. His guitar case dangled limply in his hand, and every few steps he would stop, gripping the edge of a nearby table or wall to steady himself.

"Maybe just... don’t die before we even get to the stage," Rex joked half-heartedly as they set up for soundcheck.

"Noted," Vee replied, his voice muffled as he turned away, his breath hitching once again.

"Hh—hhuhh! Hhh- I’mgonnasneezeagain—Hh'IESHHh! Hehh- IESHHh!! ISSHH! ISHhh! ……………… HhIESHHhuh! "

Each sneeze wracked his tall frame, bending him forward at the waist. He swayed slightly, blinking dazedly as he clutched his guitar for support.

"Bless you," Rex said again offhandedly, tuning his guitar without looking up. "You sure you’re not secretly auditioning for ‘World’s Loudest Sneezes?’ I think you’d win."

Vee managed a weak chuckle, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "Ha... ha," he muttered, though there was no venom in his voice. If anything, he seemed too drained to muster up his usual sharp sarcasm.

The roar of the crowd vibrated through the walls of the venue, a pulsing wave of energy that usually gave Vaelyn a thrill. Tonight, though, it only added to the pounding in his head. He leaned against the side of the stage, his guitar slung over his back, the strap digging into his shoulder. His chest rose and fell with shallow, wheezy breaths as he tried to psych himself up.

"You got this," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible over the chaos. He sniffled wetly, his nose red and raw, the medical tape across its bridge looking almost neon against his flushed complexion. "Just a few songs. Then you can crash."

Rexar stepped up next to him, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You sure about this, man? You can still bow out. No shame in it."

Vee shook his head, his long, disheveled hair falling into his face. "I’m fine," he rasped, though his hoarse voice betrayed him. "Let’s just... let’s do this."

Rexar hesitated for a moment, studying his best friend’s pale, fevered face before giving him a small nod. "Alright. Just don’t push yourself too hard, okay? I’ll cover if you need me to."

With that, Rex stepped out onto the stage, greeted by deafening cheers from the audience. Vee followed a few steps behind, plastering on a faint, forced smile as he waved weakly to the crowd. The bright stage lights felt like daggers in his already pounding head, and he had to squint against their intensity.

The first song started, a fast-paced, heavy metal anthem that usually got the crowd hyped. Vee’s fingers moved over the strings of his guitar with practiced precision, but his movements were sluggish, his timing slightly off. His congested breathing echoed in his ears, drowning out the music.

He made it through the first song, but barely. His vision blurred at the edges, and he could feel the heat radiating off his own skin. He sniffled constantly, trying to keep the relentless drip from his nose under control, but it was a losing battle. By the second song, his sneezes returned with a vengeance.

"Eh-hh! eishh!-ishh!-ish!-’shh!... —ISSHHhew! HH—……HHEISSCHHuhhh!"

The fit bent him double, his guitar hanging limply at his side as he sneezed violently into his elbow. He barely managed to recover in time to join in on the next chorus.

The blaring lights and deafening roar of the crowd felt like a distant echo to Vaelyn, his fever-addled mind barely able to register the chaos around him. His knees buckled slightly as he fought to stay upright, his long fingers fumbling with the strings of his guitar. His grip faltered, and a discordant twang cut through the heavy bassline of the song. The crowd didn’t seem to notice, but the slip was enough to send a fresh wave of frustration washing over him.

By the fourth song, his vision blurred, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead and stinging his bloodshot eyes. His chest burned with every shallow breath, and his nose—raw, red, and swollen—itched relentlessly, taunting him with an impending sneeze he couldn’t hold back.

From across the stage, Rexar’s sharp grey-red eyes flicked toward him, narrowing in concern. Kriia, stationed at the merch table, bit her lip, her own purple eyes darting between Vee and Rexar as if silently urging him to do something. But before either of them could act, the fifth song began, and it was clear Vee had reached his limit.

The opening chords of the song had barely begun to resonate when Vee’s body betrayed him. His breath hitched violently, his nostrils flaring as his head tilted back in desperation. He gripped the strap of his guitar like a lifeline, his chest heaving with uncontrollable gasps.

“Hhh—HHhh—HHHIIISSSHHHHHHHhuhh!”

The first sneeze erupted with a ferocity that bent him forward at the waist, his messy, sweat-dampened hair obscuring his flushed face.

“Hhh-HHHHIIESSSCHHHHheww! HhhhIISSSCHHHhew!”

The second and third sneezes tore through him just as violently, leaving him staggering. His knees gave out briefly, and he barely caught himself on the edge of the drum riser. The strap of his guitar slipped from his shoulder, hanging limply at his side.

As the sneezes subsided, Vee’s body wasn’t done punishing him. A harsh, rattling cough clawed its way up his throat, his chest convulsing with the force of it. His breath came in short, wheezing gasps, and his eyes widened in panic as he clutched at his throat. The edges of his vision darkened, and the world tilted precariously around him.

Without a word, Vee turned and stumbled toward the back of the stage, his long legs nearly tangling in the amplifier cords. His guitar thudded against the stage floor, forgotten in his hasty retreat.

Kriia reacted instantly, abandoning her post at the table to follow him. Her boots clacked sharply against the stage as she darted after him, her red hair streaming behind her. Rexar glanced over his shoulder at the commotion, his freckled face creasing with worry, but he didn’t miss a beat. Grabbing his microphone, he launched into an impromptu solo, his raspy voice commanding the crowd’s attention while his fingers danced over the strings of his guitar.

Kriia found Vaelyn slumped against a wall backstage, his trembling hands clutching a wad of tissues to his raw, twitching nose. His face was a mess of feverish redness, and his drenched shirt clung to his heaving chest.

“Vee,” she called softly, kneeling beside him. “That was incredible! Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer at first, his head tilted back against the wall as he gasped for breath. Finally, his tired, watery blue eyes flicked toward her, and he managed a hoarse, congested laugh. “Y-you... dod’t h-have to... lie...” His voice cracked painfully, his words interrupted by another hitching gasp.

Kriia frowned, reaching out to brush his damp green hair away from his flushed face. “No one’s lying, Vee. You’re sick as hell, and no one expects you to kill yourself over a show. You should’ve stayed on the bus.”

He shook his head weakly, his fingers tightening around the tissues. “C-could’t... d-do it. T-two tours... I’b dot...”

“Not weak,” Kriia finished firmly. “You’re a shifter…. And I’m not LION…..,” she added with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Another coughing fit seized him, and she rubbed his back gently until it passed. “Come on,” she said finally, standing and offering him her hand. “Let’s get you back to the bus. Rex can handle the rest of the show.”

Vaelyn hesitated, his pride warring with his exhaustion. But as another coughing fit wracked his body, leaving him slumped against the wall and gasping, he finally nodded. “F-fide...” he croaked, accepting her hand.

Kriia slung his arm over her shoulders, supporting his taller frame as they made their way out of the venue.

As Kriia guided Vaelyn toward the venue doors, her arm bracing his trembling frame, a sudden spotlight snapped on, bathing them both in its harsh glow. The roar of the crowd dulled Vaelyn’s sluggish senses, his feverish mind unable to comprehend why they had been caught in the spotlight.

"Alright, folks," Rexar’s familiar voice boomed over the microphone, steady and commanding. Though his tone remained light, there was an unmistakable sincerity in his words. "Vee’s gotta check out early tonight. He’s not feeling great, but he powered through as much as he could for you guys. Let’s give it up for him, huh?"

The crowd erupted in cheers so loud it felt like the building itself shook. Claps, whistles, and shouts of encouragement filled the air, merging into an overwhelming cacophony of support.

"Feel better, Vee!" someone yelled from deep within the crowd.

Vaelyn froze mid-step, his fever-ridden body stiffening as his head turned toward the stage in disbelief. His bloodshot, watery eyes blinked rapidly, his flushed face lit with a mixture of shock and confusion. The weight of the noise pressed against his muddled thoughts, and for a moment, he could only stand there, trembling as he tried to process what he was hearing.

The crowd wasn’t angry. They weren’t disappointed. They were cheering for him.

Kriia paused beside him, her hand resting gently on his back, sensing the emotional storm brewing beneath his exhausted exterior.

Vaelyn’s gaze swept the mass of faces, each one lit with excitement and genuine care. He was used to applause. He was used to being seen on stage, larger than life. But this—this was different. The cheers weren’t for the music. They were for him.

Something caught in his throat, and it wasn’t congestion this time. His chest tightened, and for a fleeting second, he thought he might break down entirely. But instead, he straightened as much as his trembling legs would allow, his lips parting in a hoarse, breathy rasp.

"Love you guys," he managed to croak, the words scratchy and barely audible but filled with raw gratitude. He brought both hands up in a shaky peace sign, pausing to his fingertips before throwing the gesture toward the crowd.

The cheers grew louder, the sound swelling like a tidal wave, and for a brief moment, Vaelyn felt the oppressive weight of his illness lift.

As he turned back toward the exit, his steps were still heavy, but his spirit was lighter. The warmth of the crowd’s support lingered in his chest, a reminder that even in his weakest moments, he wasn’t truly alone.

Kriia glanced at him with a small, knowing smile, nudging him lightly with her elbow. "Told you they love you," she teased softly, her voice cutting through the lingering roar of applause.

Vaelyn chuckled weakly, his voice little more than a raspy whisper. "Yeah... guess so."

And with that, he pushed open the venue doors, stepping out into the cool night air. Behind him, the sound of the crowd’s adoration continued to echo in his ears, a balm to the rawness of the night.

The night air hit Vaelyn like a wall, cool and crisp against his feverish skin. His breath fogged in the chill, and for a moment, he paused at the bottom of the tour bus steps, steadying himself. His head still spun from the combination of the fever, the sneezing fits, and the overwhelming moment on stage. Kriia stood beside him, her shadowy presence calm and supportive, as always.

“Need help getting in?” she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

Vee shook his head, swaying slightly as he gripped the railing. “I’b good,” he rasped, though his congested voice betrayed his bravado. Slowly, he climbed the steps, each one feeling like a mountain under his unsteady legs.

Once inside, the familiar warmth and dim lighting of the bus greeted him, though the space felt like it was spinning. Vee stumbled toward the small kitchenette, gripping the edge of the counter to steady himself.

Kriia followed closely, watching him carefully. “Sit down before you fall,” she said, her tone firm but kind.

Vee sighed heavily, dragging himself to the couch and collapsing onto it with a groan. His long legs stretched out awkwardly, his hair sticking to his damp forehead. He sniffled miserably, scrubbing at his red, irritated nose with the back of his hand.

Kriia disappeared for a moment and returned with a cold bottle of water and a small towel. She handed him the bottle and draped the towel over his shoulders. “You’re a mess, Vee.”

“Thadks for the vote of codfidence,” he muttered, cracking the bottle open and taking a small sip. His throat burned with the effort, and he winced, swallowing slowly.

For a while, Kriia sat next to Vee in silence, her presence steady and grounding. The gentle hum of the bus engine and the faint vibrations of the road beneath them created a sense of calm that seemed to ease some of the tension in the air. Vee sniffled quietly, tugging at the edge of his hoodie sleeve and staring blankly at the fabric bunched in his hands.

“You know,” Kriia began softly, breaking the silence, “it’s okay to let yourself be taken care of sometimes. Doesn’t make you any less of a badass.”

Vee huffed a weak laugh, though it quickly devolved into a wet, rattling cough. He doubled over slightly, his shoulders trembling as he struggled to catch his breath. Kriia instinctively rubbed small circles on his back, waiting patiently until the fit subsided.

When he finally straightened up, his face was flushed and glistening with fever sweat. He scrubbed at his nose with a crumpled tissue, his breath still uneven. “You beed readigg self-help books or sobethigg?” he muttered, his voice thick with congestion but laced with his usual dry humor.

Kriia smirked, leaning back against the seat. “Nah, just good at reading people,” she teased. “And right now, you’re screaming, ‘I need soup and a blanket.’”

Vee snorted weakly, though the sound caught in his throat, triggering another round of coughing. He waved her off with a shaky hand, gesturing toward the small kitchenette at the front of the bus. “I’ll… get it myself,” he rasped.

“You’ll sit your ass right here,” Kriia countered firmly, standing and heading toward the kitchenette. “Let me guess: chicken noodle or… chicken noodle?”

“Dealer’s choice,” Vee replied, his voice barely audible. He leaned back against the couch, his head tipping to the side as his eyes drifted shut.

By the time Kriia returned with a steaming mug of soup, Vee’s breathing had evened out slightly, though his chest still rose and fell with a faint wheeze. She nudged his shoulder gently, coaxing him to sit up.

“Drink,” she instructed, holding the mug out to him.

Vee blinked at her groggily before taking the mug with both hands. The warmth seeped into his chilled fingers, and he sighed softly as he took a tentative sip.

“Thadks,” he murmured after a few moments, his voice low and genuine.

“Don’t mention it,” Kriia said lightly, settling back into her seat. She watched him quietly for a moment before adding, “You’re lucky to have people who care about you, you know. Fans included.”

Vee’s gaze flicked toward her, his blue eyes glassy with fever. He looked like he wanted to argue, but the memory of the cheering fans replayed in his mind. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah… guess they’re alright,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

The hum of the bus engine became a soothing backdrop as the night wore on. Rexar returned after finishing the show, his presence filling the bus with warmth and easy energy. He dropped his guitar case by the door and headed straight for Vee, his sharp grey-and-red eyes scanning him critically.

“You look like hell,” Rexar said, sitting on the edge of the couch.

“Feel like it too,” Vee admitted, leaning his head back with a sigh.

Rexar reached over, ruffling Vee’s disheveled hair. “You did good, though. Pushed through, even if you shouldn’t have. You’re stubborn as hell, but I respect it.”

Vee let out a weak laugh, coughing slightly as he did. “Guess I cad’t let you have all the glory, huh?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Rexar replied with a grin. “Now, get some rest. We’ve got two more shows, and if you’re still like this tomorrow, I’m chaining you to your bunk.”

Kriia chuckled from her spot nearby. “You should listen to him, Vee. You should know Rex doesn’t joke about stuff like that.”

Vee rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. “Yeah, yeah. Go play babysitter sobewhere else,” he muttered, though there was no real venom in his tone.

Hours later, the tour bus was steeped in silence, the only sounds the low hum of the engine and the occasional creak of its frame as it rolled along the highway. Most of the band had long since retreated to their bunks, leaving Vaelyn stretched out alone on the couch. The faint glow of the TV flickered across his flushed face, his hair falling messily over his damp forehead.

A battered box of tissues rested precariously on his chest, threatening to tumble with every shallow breath. Beside him, a half-empty bottle of water leaned against the floor, condensation pooling around its base.

Though his sneezes had slowed, the relentless tickle in his nose refused to grant him peace. He sniffled softly, his raw, swollen nostrils flaring as he tried to stave off the inevitable. For a fleeting moment, it seemed like he might finally drift off to sleep.

But then the telltale hitching breaths began again.

“Hhh… fugk.. hhh-HHhh—! ..godda.. sneeze!…. Eh-hh! EISHHh! —ISSHHh! ISHH!-ish!-’shh!... HH—……HH’EISSCHH’uhhh!”

The sneezes ripped through him, snapping his body forward like a coiled spring. The tissue box toppled to the floor with a dull thud as he pitched forward into the crook of his arm.

He groaned miserably, his head thumping back against the couch. His hand fumbled blindly for the fallen tissues, his movements sluggish from fever. When he finally grabbed a handful, he blew his nose with a loud, congested honk that echoed through the quiet bus.

“Bless you,” came Rexar’s low, groggy voice from the direction of the bunks.

Vaelyn jumped slightly, wincing as his sinuses protested the motion. He turned his head to see Rexar standing there, hair mussed from sleep, wearing a loose hoodie and flannel pajama pants.

“Thought you were asleep,” Vaelyn mumbled, his voice thick and gravelly.

Rexar chuckled softly, ambling over to the couch and sitting down on the opposite end. “Kinda hard to sleep when it sounds like you’re trying to sneeze the bus into a ditch.”

Vaelyn huffed a weak laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. “Sorry. My dose is such a draba queed and deeds to be … loud.” He punctuated the sentence with a sharp sniffle, dabbing at his nose with another tissue.

“Nah, don’t sweat it,” Rexar said, his voice light. He leaned back, crossing one ankle over his knee. “You sound like hell, though.”

“Gee, Thadks,” Vaelyn muttered, rolling his eyes but unable to suppress a smirk. “Y’dow, I feel like I’ve heard that a few tibes today.”

Rexar leaned forward, grabbing the water bottle and holding it out. “Drink. You’re gonna shrivel up if you don’t.”

Vaelyn eyed him for a moment before taking the bottle, his fingers brushing against Rexar’s. He took a sip, the cool water soothing his burning throat, before setting it back down.

“You dod’t have to babysit be, y’dow,” Vaelyn said, his voice quieter now, almost sheepish.

“Who said I’m babysitting?” Rexar shot back, his grin lopsided but warm. “I’m just making sure you don’t drown in your own snot. Plus, the couch looked comfier than my bunk tonight.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the only sound the soft murmur of the TV. Vaelyn’s breath hitched suddenly, and he scrambled to bury his face into his elbow just as another fit overtook him.

“Hhh—!! Fugk, i’b g-godda… Eh'ishh!-ishh!-ISHH!-shh!!……..Hh-HHEIISCHHhhew!”

Rexar handed him another tissue without a word, his expression amused but tinged with concern.

“Bless you,” Rexar finally said again, patting Vaelyn’s shoulder once the fit subsided.

“Thadks,” Vaelyn croaked, wiping at his nose. His head lolled back against the couch, exhaustion pulling at his features. “I’b such a bess.”

“Dude,” Rexar said, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. “You were practically dead on stage and still managed to give the crowd a hell of a show. That’s badass, not a mess.”

Vaelyn glanced at him, his fever-bright eyes softening slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Rexar said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

For the first time all day, Vaelyn felt the tension in his chest ease. The memory of the crowd’s cheers and Rexar’s unwavering support lingered in his mind, soothing the ache in his body and spirit alike.

As his eyes fluttered closed, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Thadks, Rex.”

“Anytime, man,” Rexar replied, his voice soft as he pulled a blanket over Vaelyn’s shoulders.

In the quiet glow of the TV, Vaelyn finally drifted off, his breathing evening out despite the sea of congestion threatening to flood his lungs.

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