Original Give It a Rest - A Romance. Part 2 / ? Updated Sept 10

[starpollen]

Had a Plot Bunny today, and was also itching to do some M/M.  Here’s the first part of what probably will be another epic multi-chapter novel a la starpollen.   

Trigger Warning: The main character of this story has clinical anxiety and OCD.   Because he’s still revealing himself to me, I don’t know how deep this might get.  At this time, I’m not wanting to delve heavily into the psychology but at the same time I don’t want to trivialize these conditions.  I know my own personal experiences but of course other people might not feel the way I do or experience things the same way.  I’ll do my best to try to maintain a balance that is true to the character but also respectful of the subject.  Please feel free to give feedback (PMs are welcome about this topic) if you need.

So.  Here goes...

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Bryce

 

I tapped my foot exactly 11 times.  Then did it again.  Focus focus you’re going to mess up this account you always fuck things up why are you even at work today you should have just stayed home because you’re not going to do this right you’re going to lose this job because all you know how to do is fail fail fail…

“H!-jeiGXndssht!” I pinched my nose between my thumb and forefinger, feeling the congestion in my head thicken due to the stifle.  Straightening, I smoothed down my tie 5 times and adjusted my suit jacket 3 times, giving a few closed-lipped coughs.  Waited for the thoughts to come back, waited for my brain to start spinning out - again.  But the words faded into the dull throb of the headache I was getting.  Sighing with relief, I turned back to my computer screen, breathing congestedly through my mouth while attempting to concentrate on the spreadsheet as I counted to 7 again and again.

Because prime numbers are perfect.  They help to calm me down.

It had all started in middle school: those panicked thoughts - that Voice - in my mind that immediately went to the worst-case scenario nearly every minute of the day and I started doing things to try to cope. I couldn’t pinpoint any exact incident that triggered it. My therapist, Mark, insists that there isn’t always one, that sometimes it’s simply chemical and more than likely it was awakened by puberty. But I do remember that before 6^th grade I wasn’t like this and by 8^th grade I couldn’t be anything else.  The Voice never left me alone.

Except…

In 9^th grade - two weeks before Christmas - I’d come down with a cold.  Not just your run-of-the-mill, ‘sniffly sneezy light cough, annoying but you make it through the day’ kind of cold.  No.  A Horrific Cold.  A truly Wicked Monster of a cold.  The kind where everything aches, you sneeze and cough your brains out, you can’t stand without getting dizzy, and you feel like you’ll never breathe through your nose again.  The kind where your brain is so muzzy you can’t think, you’re so sick. That kind of a cold.

For that whole week - 7 days - I couldn’t think.  I literally Couldn’t. Think.

The Voice was silent.  It was the best week I’d had in 3 years.

At the time, I wasn’t really sure what I’d discovered.  I got well and the Voice came back.  I was back in hell.  Then it happened again in 11^th grade, just after Halloween.  For 5 whole days – when I was sick as a damned dog – my brain was silent.

And then I knew.  This.  This was how I was going to get through the rest of my fucked-up life.

Because people are okay about someone being sick – it happens, right?  It’s normal – but people are not okay with clinical levels of crippling anxiety and helpless compulsions.  People are not okay with a kid who has to count to himself to walk down the hall, or line up exactly 5 pencils that are the same exact 5-inch length before every test, refusing to sit in any rows or seats that aren't the right numbers, or has to pick up and put down his lunch tray 3 times before taking a bite and chew each bite exactly 17 times…

So, starting when I was in 11^th grade, I became determined to be sick.  All. The. Time.

It’s harder than it sounds, actually.  Even though – now that I’ve been doing it almost 10 years – I’ve gotten pretty good at it.  I refused to take any kind of cold meds when I'm successful, no matter who urged me to.  Friends, family, lovers... I've always been someone who played for all teams, so I'd had my share of boyfriends and girlfriends and they-themfriends...  I still take my prescriptions for the mental stuff; I have to in order to get through the times between.  But nothing that would shorten or lessen being sick.

The hazy fog of a truly terrible suffocating head cold is better than any drug.  I would know - I’ve been on so many prescriptions since 6^th grade - but none of them worked as well as this.  When the Voice is gone and I can truly relax, even if I'm physically miserable.  The mental break is worth it.

I know what you’re thinking: a lot of people with OCD have a fear of germs, so why don’t I freak out about getting sick?  I couldn't tell you; for some reason the germs thing never really surfaced with me.  The negative thoughts about myself – the Voice - are worse than thinking getting sick would kill me.  And, after all, there are things worse than death: constant fear of failure – the unending terror of utter humiliation, the bullying and rejection - those are way worse.

Raising my handkerchief, I let the tickle ramp up in my clogged sinuses again: “H!’MgxttSH-kyyCHhd!-ugh”  I always clamped down on these monster cold sneezes, trying to keep the germs in my packed passages for as long as possible.  Dabbing my streaming nostrils and counting to 13, I refused to blow even though everything was threatening to drip.  

It was Day 3. True silence wouldn’t come until later tonight but it was on the way; I could tell.  And I welcomed it.  Especially on Day 3.  When it happened on Day 2 or 3 - prime numbers are perfect - I knew it was going to be a ghastly goooood cold.

“Bless you,” a deep voice floated from the desk on the other side of the partition. 

“Thagks,” I croaked, feeling warmth bubble up in my chest.  Jason Summers.  He’d started working in my office a little over 3 months ago and I hadn’t been able to get him out of my mind.  Jason: with his light green eyes, wire-frame glasses, floppy reddish-brown hair, and cute dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks.  Jason: who was taller than me by nearly a head, who had pecs and shoulders and legs for days.  Who made me almost wish I could smell because I just knew he’d smell as delicious as he looked.

“You feel as miserable as you sound, Bryce?” he asked gently, that gorgeous face appearing over the half-wall, corded arms folding on top as he looked at me with soft jade eyes.

Mentally I was feeling better by the minute, aware that my body was steadily getting worse.  But you can’t tell people that: then they think you’re even crazier than anxiety and OCD.  Mark insists that I don't use that word - crazy - but sometimes I can't help feeling it.  Instead of saying what was in my head, I gave Jason a practiced weak smile.  “It’s dot so bad.  Today’s Friday,” I rasped, dabbing once more at my drippy nose.  “I’ll sleep bost of the weeked ad I’b sure I’ll be better by Mbodday.” I gave in to a few throaty coughs that I knew sounded awful.  I also knew it was a lie.  If I played my cards right I’d be able to stay sick until next Saturday, at the least.  Until the following Monday if I was really careful about it. 

Most people were over a cold in 7 days, but I was a pro at this.  11 days or 13 days was always my goal.  I’d never made it as long as 17.  The longest I’d ever managed to keep a cold had been 14 days, but I’d ended up with bronchitis and that shit is no fun at all.  After your head clears up and the brain kicks back on and that Voice is back spewing poison into thoughts that won’t stop spinning out of control… and you’re still coughing and your lungs burn and you can’t sleep because you can’t fucking breathe?… no, thanks.  I needed the clogged head, not the clogged chest.

I should have known that one wouldn’t end up being a good cold: I hadn’t reached brain-numbing silence until Day 4.

But right now Jason was looking at me with tender concern in that handsome face, and that was great.  I wasn’t one of those guys who got all stoic when they were sick: I reveled in it.  During college I’d discovered that some people – guys and girls – had a thing for caretaking and it had blown my mind.  Having someone put their hand on my forehead while I burned with fever, or rubbed my back when I couldn’t stop coughing, who held me while I slept fitfully, who passed me tissues and blessed me every time I sneezed…

I craved it: that shit made every second of blissfully silent sickness even more incredible. 

And the sex…

“—hh!-GDXmbsht-uhh … sorry?” I asked from the folds of my damp hanky.  Jason had said something and I’d missed it.  That was something else: people forgave you if your attention wandered when you were sick.  They weren’t so understanding when the reason you tuned out was because your own brain wouldn’t shut up long enough to focus on the conversation.

“I said,” he cocked that auburn head, one corner of his beautiful mouth coming up in a lazy half-smile.  “That I’d told myself this was the week I was going to ask you out.  That I was going to somehow get you to have dinner with me tonight.  But you definitely don’t need to be out in this weather.”  The half-smile became a slight grimace.

Uh, what?...  Sluggish thoughts tried to piece themselves together in my increasingly sick-slow brain.  Jason – GQ model worthy Jason Summers – wanted to go out with me?? … and, something about the weather… Glancing at the window, I suddenly noticed that this morning’s gray clouds had become an icy drizzle dripping from the branches of the tree just outside. 

Inwardly, I gave a shiver of delight.  This day was just getting better and better…

For the past 3 months I’ve been watching Jason intently, sending hints and clues his way as innocently and wickedly as I knew how, even though the Voice kept telling me I didn’t stand a chance.  I learned that Jason is most definitely a caretaker: he’s always the one staying behind in meetings to clean up and push in the chairs, always the one who remembers someone’s birthday and gives them their favorite coffee as soon as they walk in the door…

And Jason had been very attentive each time I’d come down with a cold.  This would be the 5^th since his arrival, and each time he had fixed me hot tea in the afternoon, asked if I was warm enough, and even once brought me some homemade soup.  Caretaker.  If he wasn’t intimidatingly gorgeous, I would have made a move on him a lot sooner. 

Deep down I was thanking whatever secret gamer god who played with the universe that Jason had asked me today and not yesterday.  Yesterday the Voice wouldn’t have let me say yes.  But today that part of my brain was powering down, ghosting away.  My gut was uncoiling, my shoulders drooping, sick exhaustion settling in my bones like a lover coming home.  Today was also Friday, the 5^th day of the week - also November 11th (11/11), and Day 3 of my burgeoning cold.  Today was fucking fantastic.

Puffing myself up, I let him visibly see me trying to pull myself together.  I gave him my patented see, I’m not that sick grin. There was no way I was passing this up. “I’d love to. Didder souds great.”

He brightened into a full-on smile, and I was glad I was sitting down because – wow – he melted my bones with it. “You’re sure? You don’t feel too bad to go out?”

“I dod’t feel that bad,” I assured him with my own shy smile and a thick sniffle.  “I soud worse thad I feel."   At the skeptical quirk of his brows, I continued, "If I start to feel worse while we’re oud, I’ll let you dknow.  I bprobise.”

“Okay,” his bone-melting smile turned a little shy, one hand going up to rub the back of his neck.  If the gorgeous full-smile could liquefy calcium, this dazzling thing could implode stars. I swallowed down a suddenly thick throat. “It’s almost 5:00.  I’ll just finish up a few things and we’ll head out?” he asked, still sounding hesitant.

“Souds p’ehh!-- …PBmXkcht-shieu!” that one got a little away from me. I shook my head in annoyance.

“Bless you.”

“Thagks,” I wiped but didn’t blow, giving a tired grin and settling blissfully into the soothing sensations of becoming super sick.  “Souds perfect.”

Edited September 11, 2021 by starpollen

[EveP]

Wow! I already love these two! 

[Juto]

Interesting premise. Love that the caretaking is a huge thing for him. Beautifully written as always. Interested to see where this will go… 

[starpollen]

Not sure how y'all are liking this... ok?  not so ok?    

Anyway, this part is short but I hope it gives a glimpse of what is to come for these new boys... 

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Jason

 

I rushed to finish the few tasks remaining, keeping one ear tuned to Bryce on the other side of the partition.

Bryce Hudson had gotten my attention the moment I stepped into the office 3 months ago.  3 months ago today, actually, though I didn’t expect Bryce to know that.  It wasn’t the shorter man’s soulful brown eyes, or his sandy blond hair, or the delicious curve of his lithe swimmer’s body that I just knew would fit so perfectly against mine.  No. 

It was the fact that Bryce had been in the grip of a truly terrible cold.  One he seemed never to completely shake for more than a week or so at a time.

I was a caretaker; I’d known that since high school.  I had this deep-seeded need to provide, to soothe, to protect.  My first boyfriend, Kaden – and, damn, it still stabbed my chest so hard to think about him – had battled leukemia, finally succumbing 5 months into our senior year. We’d been together since 10^th grade so I’ve always equated attraction with caretaking.  The sight of Bryce with those brown eyes droopy and that sandy hair a little sweat-rimmed and his voice deep and raspy as fuck as he stubbornly coughed and sneezed his way through a workday?

Gone.  I was just gone.

“hk’KXjDSsch!” Bryce swallowed back another vicious sneeze, and the congested way he tried to breathe after made my chest ache.  In the time I’d been his office-neighbor, this was the 5^th nasty cold he’d had – or the 5^th relapse of the 1^st? – and I’d never once heard the man blow his nose. He sounded like he was fucking drowning over there.  I’d also never seen him take any kind of liquid or pills, even though he seemed to appreciate the tea I made him.  He just powered through work each day – occasionally taking maybe 1 or 2 days off, but not often – and suffered in agonizingly sexy silence.

I was desperate to bundle him up in blankets, to feed him mugs of tea and soup and stroke that sandy hair while he slept.  To ease him, to heal him.

The way I hadn’t been able to do for Kaden.

And, yes, I’m sure I’ve got some sort of PTSD shit where that’s concerned: I defy anybody to have their first love die on them and not come out emotionally scarred. 

But that wasn’t the reason I’d finally asked Bryce out.  As co-workers and practically desk-mates I’d really grown to like him over the last 3 months.  Bryce was sarcastically funny, witty, and wicked smart.  What he could do with numbers was seriously mind-blowing.  He also had this quiet way about him, sometimes retreating into himself in a way that made me feel like deep things were going on in his head that he couldn’t talk about.  All of that combined with his physical attractiveness and his shitty immune system?… and I was toast.

I’d had other dates – other boyfriends – since high school.  I even went through a phase where I tried to find exactly the opposite of Kaden: robust, healthy Herculean specimens of men who were even taller than my 6’ 2” frame and whom I’d let dominate me because they needed it.  But it hadn’t worked.  And now I knew what I needed.

Right now that was a lithe, lean, listless wreck of a man who was sick as a dog.  Again.  Perpetually, it seemed.

When I’d fired off my last email, I stood up to gaze at Bryce over the half-wall separating our desks, unable to control my pounding heart.  “You ready?”

He raised that cold-weary sandy head, gazing up at me with adorably exhausted dark eyes.  If I could, I would be whisking this irresistable man off to my apartment for a long weekend of TLC.  But because this thing between us was so new, so unknown, I couldn’t.

“Yeah,” he croaked, his expression a beautifully vulnerable picture of strength and weakness, of stubbornness and surrender.  “I’m geddig huggry.”  It was becoming harder to understand him through the congestion, but I didn’t mind.

I kind of… liked it.

Edited September 10, 2021 by starpollen

[EveP]

34 minutes ago, starpollen said:

Not sure how y'all are liking this... ok?  not so ok?    

I'm not liking it, I'm LOVING it!!! 😍

[Juto]

Jason’s PoV is *chef’s kiss* <33 

[NotWho]

I love your writing so much! I cannot wait to see where you take this story!

[Kolen]

🤤🙃🤤😎❤😎

wOt iS diS? Another @starpollen work of art? Amazing as always

👨‍🍳😘

[Privatedancer]

Loving this

 

[DLC]

I like how Bryce and Jason each have some "problem" or issue from their pasts that they're still dealing with, because of how they will deal with them - and each other - once all the cards are laid out on the table.

[Jettous]

Wow! I love this. The internal monologue for each character is just amazing. Excited to see how this progresses and can’t wait to get to the hurt/comfort caretaking goodness. 

[aggedy_ann]

I am falling in love here

[funbusej]

OHHHHHHH, this is gearing up to be my favorite starpollen story!!!! I seriously love the premise, the characters,😍 and the possibilities!!

[Kolen]

*screams in sad*

@starpollen🥺

[RavenWatson]

Love this.