The Building Inspector

[gingerberry]

Omg the cliffhanger! Cannot wait for the next bit!!

[Whoopdedoodle1478]

You write so well! I especially love the witty banter between Mark and Nate.

[MusicaDiabolos]

So this is a novel now 😀 congratulations xx

[treehouse]

16 hours ago, starpollen said:

As a proud but deeply weird 8 (okay, 6…) with my own tiny violin… I LOVE THIS. 🤩. Thank you, and I am so excited for more! 😊👍🏻

Omg I think (??) I figured out this individual reply thing lol — thank you! I have enjoyed you work enormously over the years and I appreciate this so much 😭

[treehouse]

7 hours ago, MusicaDiabolos said:

So this is a novel now 😀 congratulations xx

HahahaHA, I do normally write longer-form fiction so this really shouldn’t have surprised me 😅 And actually I did… write most of a novel length M/F sneeze story (well, like it’s 50k right now — NaNo novel, not pubbed novel) last month. It was the first part of this whole “Try writing just for yourself to see if that makes the creativity work again,” experiment. I have like one or two scenes left to wrap up there and then I have to edit it lol/sob but I’ll probably?? Eventually post it?? Assuming I don’t lose my nerve before then 😂

[SweaterWeather]

The sheer amount of times I 'AWW'd through reading this is honestly obscene. You really do have a way with words, this was such a fun read! And as someone who hasn't really felt like a fic... clicked with them in quite a long time, this one? Absolutely hitting it out of the park. Mark's search for Nate had me on the edge of my seat, and their reunion??? I was literally just as excited!! I'm thoroughly enjoying this and I really hope you know that you've got an awesome knack here. Waiting with baited breath - as is Mark lmao - for the next part! ❤️

[Privatedancer]

19 hours ago, treehouse said:

Oh.  My. God.  Can’t wait for more!

[Rick]

21 hours ago, treehouse said:

In front of him, Nate’s blowing his nose, one of the huge, honking blows that he was clearly holding back while they were pressed together.

I can so sympathise with that - sounds so much like me after I have to hold back the urge to really blow my nose in public sometimes!

[dragonko]

Holy crap, this story is incredible!

[thesneezyowl]

I have not loved a story like this in a looooong time!!! The banter, the sneezing, the chemistry of the characters … SO GOOD!!!!! 

[snifflechick]

I love this, and I'm SO invested in Mark and Nate. Thanks for writing this!

[thesneezyowl]

13 hours ago, snifflechick said:

I love this, and I'm SO invested in Mark and Nate. Thanks for writing this!

SOOOOOO invested!!!!! I haven’t stalked the forum like this in a looong time. 

[Hovercuke]

I would read this without the sneezes as a novel that’s how good the writing is, but the the sneezes… sooo sexy

[HideAndGoSneeze]

Oh... My... Lanta 

 

This is heaven. I love the writing, the voices of the characters playing in my head, the detail... It's all amazing! I hope you write more soon! 

[treehouse]

Hello again 👋 

Very brief housekeeping notes this time: just wanted to say thank you again for your wonderful comments, they are truly giving me life! Also, this chapter is over 8,000 words long, so I give up on trying to shoot for specific chapter lengths, lol. They’re just going to be as long as they’re going to be and that’s all there is to it. 

Okay, thanks again, hope you enjoy, wishing you all lovely weekends!

-TH

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

“Oh, fuck,” Mark breathes. 

He’s amazed, for a moment, that Nate hasn’t started sneezing already. Then he realizes that it’s because he’s hitching helplessly instead, his whole body moving with his desperate, itchy breaths, as though the sheer volume of the allergen has briefly caused him to short circuit. It’s a self-perpetuating problem — Nate’s nose is obviously trying to pull in clean air, but his flaring nostrils and huge gasps are succeeding only in drawing up more dust. 

Of course Mark enjoys seeing Nate sneeze rather more than he ought to, but he’s also started to genuinely care about Nate as a person, and it’s painfully clear that he’s about to have a really horrible time. Slightly amazed to realize it, Mark finds that Nate’s well-being matters more to him than his fascination with the inevitable allergy attack, and he catapults into action, no longer thinking about what will and won’t be perceived as over-interested.

“Outside, now,” Mark snaps, urgency and concern making him forget to suppress his natural bossiness. He shoves gently at Nate’s back, urging him forward. “Seriously, we’ve got to get you out of here — I don’t think things are done falling. Go!”

This seems to shake Nate out of it just enough to start moving; he slaps a hand to his mouth, pinching his nose between index finger and thumb, and stumbles forward, hurrying towards the garage door. He’s still taking heaving, hitching breaths, but at least he’s not actively standing in the dust cloud anymore. Mark follows just behind him, pointedly not thinking about the rat situation and keeping a nervous eye on the still-wobbling tower, increasingly certain it’s all going to come down. 

They make it outside, and as Nate stumbles away from the building Mark hastily grabs the rope attached to the door handle and yanks hard. The closing mechanism on the door, thank god, works more quickly than the lifting spring did, although Mark’s not at all sure that it’s supposed to; the sheet of metal slams down so fast he nearly loses a toe. 

Moments after it closes, Mark hears a huge crash from inside the garage. He winces, but looks away — whatever’s going on in there is not his main concern right now.

He turns around…

…and stops, captivated utterly by what’s in front of him. 

A few paces away, Nate is leaning heavily against the hood of Mark’s black Honda Civic, posted up just next to the driver’s side front wheel. He looks… wrecked. Allergic tears are streaming down his face, slipping steadily out of his half-closed eyes; his hitching breaths have increased in pace and intensity; his bright red nose is twitching so violently it looks like it’s trying to escape from his face. God, his shoulders are heaving — he’s lifting the hanky, visibly wet by now, to his nose — 

“No!” Mark exclaims, snapping out of his daze just in time. “Nate, don’t — it has to be covered in dust!”

In a moment that would be comical if the situation weren’t so dire, Nate abruptly flings the handkerchief away from him; it hits the garage door with a soft splat and slides sadly down to the driveway. But he’s clearly too far gone to find anything else to sneeze into — instead he spreads his legs, braces his hands on his knees, and arcs forward with a huge, uncovered “HAaAAAAaaaA-HAaAAaaAaaaH-HAAAAAAAAARSHOOOO!” that he directs towards the driveway. He stays like that, folded over, holding his weight on his knees, as more sneezes slam out of him with all the speed and ferocity of a hurricane: “HihHh-HHHHAAAAARRRRSSSHHHOOO! SHOO SHOO SHOO SHOO HAAARSHOO! HRAAAAARSHOOO! Heh-hEHH-HEHRAAAAAAAASHOO!”

Mark feels for him, of course he does, but he’s also only human. He watches Nate rapturously for a moment, his thoughts fractured and hazy, before he jerks back to himself just enough to remember something. It’s a struggle, but he forces himself to tear his gaze away from Nate to round the car, unlock the passenger side door, and grab the box of tissues he keeps in the footwell.

Nate doesn’t even seem to notice he’s moved; when Mark returns, he’s in exactly the same position, his enormous, messy sneezes misting all over the pavement. They sound almost rhythmic just now, as though his nose has gotten stuck in a loop: “EHHHTCHOO! EHHHHTCHOO! EHHHHTCH, EHHHHHTCH, EHHHHHTCH, EHHHHHHHTCHOOO! EHHHTCHOO! EHHHHTCHOO! EHHHHTCH, EHHHHHTCH, EHHHHHTCH, EHHHHHHHTCHOOO!”

Mark leans back against the car beside Nate, the tissue box tucked up under his arm, and considers his next move. He doesn’t think there’s any point in offering Nate the tissues right now — it’s clearly going to be a second before he can stop sneezing long enough to blow his nose, and god knows Mark doesn’t care if he covers them or not in the meantime — but he wants to do something. Eventually, feeling a little guilty about the pleasure he knows he’s going to get from it, he puts a hand on Nate’s back, hoping that it will prove comforting. 

“HUH-HUuuUUUUPTCHOOOOO,” Nate sneezes, practically the second Mark touches him. Mark can feel his back heaving with it, which is just — good, he thinks fuzzily, too absorbed to bother reaching for a more interesting adjective. Nate, naturally, keeps sneezing, but he doesn’t pull away from or try to shake off Mark’s hand, which Mark is going to take as permission enough to leave it exactly where it is for now. 

He loses himself in the sensation for a minute, the way Nate’s canvas jacket feels beneath his palm, the sound of each trembling, overwhelmed, “HiHhh-hIHH-HIiiHhhh-HIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSHHIEW,” crashing over Mark like a fresh wave. At some point, he realizes that he’s started rubbing slow circles on Nate’s back; he notes this dispassionately, as if from far away, too enraptured in what’s happening to worry about whether he should stop. Nate’s sneezes are unrelenting and all-consuming, and they makes it hard for Mark to muster up his typical neuroticism.

Time slips away from Mark briefly, but after a solid five minutes of more or less non-stop sneezing, reality returns enough for him to gather himself, assess the situation, and say, “Listen, dude, sorry to interrupt your visit to the absolute bowels of Hades, but are you like, okay in there? It would be really annoying if you died on me after all this build up, I’m just saying.”

Nate, of course, replies to this with, “Hah-HAAAAAAAAACHEW! HAAAAAAASHIEW! EHHH-EHHH-EHHHHHH-ETCHOOO!” which Mark really should have expected.

He tries a different tactic: “Yeah, okay, that’s my bad; let’s try this again. How about… raise two fingers if you’re obviously not okay, because you’re having like, just an insane allergy attack — sorry about that, and bless you, by the way, oh my god — but not like, a life threatening allergy attack, if you see what I’m saying here? But only raise one finger if this is more of a like, invite the ambulances to the party situation.”

Nate, still sneezing one “EHHHHSHIEW,” after another onto the driveway, raises an arm in the air as if to answer, then pauses. After a second, he spreads his fingers and shakes his open hand slightly, in the universal gesture for, “Man, what?” 

“That’s fair,” Mark says faintly. “Sorry, the babbling in critical moments thing: it’s a curse. Two fingers for, ‘Just give me a minute,’ and one finger for ‘Take me to the fucking hospital, you idiot,’ how’s that?”

Nate throws up a peace sign immediately, accompanied by a vicious, “HeEehHHH-HAAAAARSHOOO!” Then, as he builds up to and releases four more identical sneezes, he reaches his hand down to pat vaguely at Mark’s leg, as if to say, ‘It’s okay, man, don’t freak out on me.’ 

Mark laughs, and says, “Okay, then. Good. Just checking.” Realizing it’s probably his best opportunity, he removes his hand from Nate’s back, grabs three tissues out of the box, and places them against Nate’s open palm, saying, “Kleenex?” as he does.

Nate’s fingers clench around them like a drowning man’s around a life raft. He clings to them tightly, clearly waiting for his opportunity, through his next eight sneezes: “HehHh-HETCHOO! ETCHOO! EHHHHHHHSHIEW! AAH-aAHh-AAAAAAASHIEW! AAASHIEW, AAASHIEW, AAASHEEEE! AAAASHIEW!” After this he gets a second to breathe; he frantically raises the hand holding the tissues to his nose and starts blowing. He’s interrupted after about 30 seconds by a particularly thick-sounding, “RRRRRRRRSHHHHHHOOOO!” that he looses directly into the tissues, and then keeps blowing as though he never stopped. 

Mark drops the hand holding the tissue box down low, where Nate will be able to see it despite remaining in his folded-forward position. Nate snatches several more tissues, replaces the first set, and immediately sneezes into the fresh ones, as though the single second pause in blowing was too long for his nose to wait: “HATCHOO! AAAAAATCHOO! EhHHh-HAHETCHOO!” He starts blowing again, and then repeats this cycle with not one, but two more sets of tissues before he finally gets a moment of relief.

Nate takes a few deep breaths, then sits up, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders are shaking, and he’s making a soft, hard-to-identify noise. For a truly panic-stricken second, Mark thinks the sound is crying, and Nate’s having some kind of unexpected emotional breakdown that Mark is definitely not equipped to handle right now. Then it gets louder, and Mark realizes abruptly that it’s laughter.

“That was — so stupid,” Nate gasps, mirth spilling into his voice around the ongoing congestion and hitching. “I was just — so sure I wasn’t — a-allergic — HAAAAASHOO! HAHSHEW! Jesus Christ, this is — r-ridiculous — HEHHHHHHHHSHIEW! HehHh-hEHHhhh-HAAAAAAAAATCHOO!” 

“There is, I have to admit, a somewhat farcical element to the whole thing, yes,” Mark says, glad to see Nate’s at least in okay spirits about it. “But hey, who among us hasn’t found ourselves in a farce once or twice, right? It’s practically the human experience. Can I make a suggestion, though?”

“Sh-sh-shEEEEEEEEEESHOOO!” Nate replies, and then, sniffling heavily and grabbing a fresh tissue, says, “Ugh, shoot.”

“I promise this isn’t, like, a come-on in your moment of struggle or whatever,” Mark says, wincing a little at how awkward it’s going to be to say this, “but — I do kind of think your jacket and shirt are covered in dust now? And that’s probably not like. Helping? The situation? And you should maybe — again, in the most, you know, respectful and non-objectifying way possible — uh. Consider taking them off?”

“Oh m-my god,” Nate says, laughter starting up shakily again as he runs a hand over his face. “I didn’t even — eveHhhhhhn — EHHHHSHIEW! EHHHHSHIEW! God. Even think of that.”

“I have some stuff you can borrow, if you want,” Mark says, still thinking, Don’t be weird, man! Don’t make it weird! at the top of his mental lungs.  “I mean, it’s not like, great stuff — I’m a lot smaller than you are, so the only clothes I have that will fit you are kind of in the ‘Free t-shirts and wrong-size orders I never got around to returning,’ genre — but it’s got to be better than being covered in allergens, is my theory.”

“Y-yeah,” Nate agrees, and then his eyes roll back into his head and he sneezes again, this high-pitched and somewhat exasperated, “AaaaiiiIiiiiissssHhOoOO!” that bends him back down towards the driveway. Straightening, he immediately takes his coat off, dropping it on the hood of the car and then abruptly releasing a messy and clearly unexpected, “RAAAAAASHOO!” all over it. 

“Jesus Christ,” Nate moans, his cheeks turning a deep red that matches his nose. He snatches several more tissues and holds them to his face as he says, “Sorry, that was so —heHH — g-gross. Oh, god, I think — hiHHh — I t-think I’m gonna — sn-sneeze — again — hEHhhH-HEHHHHHHHHSHIEW! EHHSHIEW EHHSHIEW EHHH-EHHH-EHHHHHHSHIEW! Oh, AAAAASHIEW! ATCHOO! HeEhH-HEHHHISSHHIEW!

“It’s fine, Nate, oh my god. And bless you, obviously,” Mark says, reaching out to put a hand on Nate’s back again. It seems more comforting than pointing out he just brazenly watched Nate sneeze uncovered onto the driveway like a hundred times, or arguing that it’s not like it’s Mark’s jacket Nate sprayed. Luckily, it appears to be the right move, because Nate’s shoulders relax marginally as Mark resumes rubbing slow circles, before bunching up again as he sneezes twice more. 

Mark waits while Nate honks into the tissues, then says, “Hey, dude, by the way, how many times am I going to have to tell you I don’t mind about your allergies before you stop apologizing for them? I mean, I’m happy to keep saying it, I’m just looking for a rough estimate. Ballpark me.”

Nate laughs weakly, blows his nose, and then says, “P-people always mind, eventually. People I d-date, anyway. It’s — it’s just too much — hAAAAAAAASHOO! ASHOO! God, excuse me.”

“Too much what?” Mark demands.

“Just — too much,” Nate says, waving a hand. “To… deal with, or whatever, I guess.” He grimaces briefly, and then sneezes again, catching it in his now ragged tissues. “Ugh, excuse me. That’s more or less what everyone s-says, anyway.”

“I’d like to round up this ‘everyone’ and visit some unfriendliness upon them,” Mark says darkly, gesturing towards Nate with the box of tissues almost automatically. As Nate grabs several fresh ones, Mark continues, “Anyway, I told you; I know what it’s like. ‘Sorry, Mark, it’s just that you’re always all sick when I want to go dancing.’ ‘Sorry, Mark, but your stupid colds have interrupted my unlicensed production of Wicked for the last time,’ — I get it, believe me. But I’m not like that, because I’ve put a lot of thought into it, and I’ve decided those people are raging assholes.” He pauses, and then, in the interest of honesty, adds, “I’m not saying I’m not, like, just an incredible bitch a lot of the time, because I am, and I’ve made my peace with that. But I strive, in all things, not to be a raging asshole.”

Nate’s looking at him now, his reddened eyes warm and surprised before, to Mark’s hopefully hidden delight, they start to glaze. “You’re — HUSCHOOO! — succeeding in that mission, I thih-ihHhhhhHh-ISSHU! ISSHU ISSHU ISSHU ISSHU! Christ, it just — it n-never — ehHhnds — HAAAAAASCHOO! HAAEHHSCHOO! Ugh, I gotta get this s-stupid shirt off.” He starts to fumble awkwardly with his buttons, one hand still clutching his now somewhat balled up brace of tissues, but he doesn’t even manage to undo the first one before his nostrils flare and he has to stop to catch an urgent, “IHHHHHHSHIEW!” He wipes his nose and resume trying to unbutton his shirt, only to be interrupted again before he can undo a single one: “EhhHh-ehTCHOO! ETCHOO, ETCHOO!”

Mark watches this little tableau of allergic misery play out three more times before his patience and self control shatter. “Oh, for the love of god,” he says, pushing himself up off the car, putting the tissue box down on the roof, and moving to stand in front of Nate. “Let me — “

“No!” Nate says quickly, and Mark pauses with his hands halfway to the buttons and looks up into Nate’s red, half lidded eyes. “I might — m-might — HAAAEEHHHHSHOOOO!” This sneeze is particularly enormous, and he twists away from Mark to release it, pressing the whole handful of tissues against his face hard to keep it contained. He takes a few hesitant breaths before he lowers the tissues, sniffling, and in a weary, See what I mean?sort of tone, finishes, “S-sneeze on you.”

“I’m aware of the risks, yes,” Mark says dryly, but he drops his hands, not interested in simply steamrolling past Nate’s objections. Not that Mark can’t steamroll with the best of them, but Nate seems… worth taking the time to be patient. He grabs a handful of fresh tissues instead as he says, “I’m amazed you think that would even rank for me, in terms of unpleasant things that have happened in the last half an hour. There were rats, Nate. That’s rats, plural! Plural rats! They’re living in my garage, dude, okay, and now I’m probably covered in their… their fucking rat cooties! And yes, I know that I sound insane, but in my defense, I just lived my nightmare. In comparison being sneezed on is so, like, whatever. Who cares?” He thrusts out the tissues, determining — too late, as always — that it’s probably well past time to stop talking. “Anyway, here; so long as you cover them, I’m sure you won’t get me, regardless.”

Nate holds up a finger, eyelids fluttering, and turns his head to catch another, “HAH-HAHHH-HAAAAEHHHHSHOOO!” in his current handful of Kleenex. This sneeze seems to take a lot out of him; he dazedly says, “Hoo, wow,” when he’s done, his deep, congested voice a little raspier than it was, before he blows his nose hard a few times. Then he balls the tissues up, pockets them, takes the fresh ones Mark’s offering, and smiles. “Sorry, but — rat cooties?”

“Spoken like someone who didn’t read a haunting book about the Black Death at age nine and get scarred for life,” Mark says tartly. At least, he tries to say it tartly; the sight of Nate’s warm, slightly teasing smile under his now brick-red nose influences Mark’s tone somewhat. It comes out oddly flirtatious for a statement about the Black Death, but Nate doesn’t seem to mind. “Anyway, plague aside, you must be freezing — just let me deal with the shirt already so we can go into the house, okay? You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” Noticing Nate’s hesitation, he adds, “Please? I want to be where the rats are not.” 

“It’s not — ISSSHU! — that cold,” Nate protests, but he doesn’t actually say no to Mark’s request, and after a second, he nods and lifts the fresh tissues up to cover his mouth and nose, ensuring he’ll catch any surprise sneezes. 

Mark steps forward and starts undoing the buttons on Nate’s blue plaid flannel, revealing the white undershirt beneath. Nate’s chest is rising and falling with his still-hitching breaths, and Mark does his best to save his feelings about how hot this experience is for a more appropriate time as he says, “Oooh, are you one of those guys? The ‘I don’t even feel the cold’ type? I always did like a man whose sweatshirts I could borrow; so handy to have around. You never have to carry one for yourself.”

“You’re describing — hIhHh — a coat rack — iHHhhh — but you’re welcome to my sw-sweatshirts,” Nate says. He’s panting with an approaching sneeze, and clearly trying to hold it off while Mark’s so close to him. He sniffles hard and then, sounding right on the edge of losing control, says “Oh g-god, I — I th-thiiIhhHnk you sh-sh-should huHH-HUHHH — h-hurry…”

Mark would like nothing more than to remain close for whatever’s to come, but, mindful of how horrified Nate would be in the situation Mark’s envisioning, he hastily undoes the final button. Stepping cleanly away, he says, “There! Done.” 

Nate immediately jackknifes forward with a wild, explosive sneeze: “HAAaaaAaaaaRAAAAASSSSSSHOOO!” He takes a few huge breaths into his tissues after this, only for his nose to drag him under again, into a fit of sneezes so harsh that even listening to it is a little exhausting: “HehHhhhh-HEHHHSHOO! HREHHHHHHSHOOO! HETCHOO, ETCHU, HAH-HAH-HAAAAAAARSHOO! HAAAAAARSHOO! EHHHHHCH, EHHHHHCH, EHHHHHHCHIEW! EHHHHHCHIEW! EHHCHIEW EHHHCHIEW AAAAAAASHIEW!”

“Oof, Nate, bless you,” Mark says, wincing. “That… sounded like it hurt.”

“It — wasn’t great,” Nate agrees breathily, and then lets out one last, wretched, “HAAAAAAAASHIEW!” before he sighs and blows his nose. “God, it’ll probably be like this all d-day now. Teach me to think I can — take the winter off — from the — the — theEEEEEEEEECHEW! Jesus Christ. From the meds.”

This comment puts Mark squarely at his second crossroads of the afternoon. On the one hand, he wants to bring Nate inside, throw him into whatever clean clothes he can find that will fit, and enjoy the hell out of his allergies for as long as circumstances allow. But on the other hand, Mark had completely forgotten Nate said he wasn’t taking meds for the winter — he obviously needs to get an antihistamine in him ASAP. Plus, he probably wants like… a shower, and maybe a good long nap. He must be absolutely exhausted from such an intense reaction; god knows Mark would be wiped out from sneezing half as much.

You have a shower! You have a bed! says the part of Mark that has been behind most of his more questionable choices in life. But the rest of him, rather more emphatically, says, C’mon, man, look at the poor guy. You need to take him home. 

Which: yeah. Nate looks bad. Or, well, he looks great to Mark, itchy and red and seemingly permanently poised on the edge of a sneeze, but there’s no missing the slump to his shoulders, or the deeply weary look in his eyes as he tips his head back and gives way to another, “AaaAAAaaaaSsHIEW!” only to sniffle and moan briefly in annoyance. He must be terribly uncomfortable, and Mark decides as he watches Nate wrestle his way out of the dust-coated flannel that easing that discomfort is his primary goal. His self-interest puts up a brief, final struggle against this idea as Nate drops the flannel onto his jacket, leaving him in nothing but his white t-shirt and jeans, but even those large, well-muscled arms don’t break Mark’s resolve. 

“Listen — why don’t we forget about going inside,” Mark says. “I think you should get in the car instead, and I can…” He trails off — Nate’s face has fallen dramatically. Panicked that he’s going to hear, I’ve just realized you’re really weird and bossy and I don’t know what I was thinking these last few months, Mark says, “What?” 

“Oh, just… I thought… never mind, it’s — HAAAACHIEW! AAAACHIEW! — ugh, sorry, excuse me. I understand. It’s — it’s too much — oh, god, HAAAAAAASHIEW! AHHH-AHHH-AHHHHHTCHOO! ATCHOO, ATCHOO, ATCHOO, ARRRRRRSHOO! Shit, s-sorry again. Let me just blow my n-nose, and I’ll go.”

It takes Mark a second to parse this. Then, realization dawning, exclaims, “Oh my god, dude — this isn’t me trying to get rid of you!”

Nate pauses mid-nose blow to stare at Mark over his tissues. “It’s not?”

“Of course it’s not,” Mark says, rolling his eyes. “This is me seeing if I can give you a ride to your place, because it seems like you’re having — and stay with me here — an extremely miserable time. I’m no expert, but I kind of think your meds and a long shower are going to do more to help than even my finest ‘Race for the Cure,’ t-shirt.” He puts a hand on one of Nate’s now-bare biceps, enjoying the warmth under his fingers as he adds, as kindly as he can, “You didn’t really think I was going to let you drive anywhere like this, did you? Nate, come on. Even if you could stop sneezing, you must be exhausted — you might fall asleep at the wheel and drive off a cliff or something.”

“Right, sure, the n-neighborhood cliff,” Nate says, but he’s smiling again, at least. “Well, that’s — really thoughtful of you, but I wouldn’t — I wouldn’t want to put you to any — any — t-t-trouble. I’m sure I can — d-drive…“  He pauses, scrunching up his nose, and then says, “God, M-Mark, hold on, I — I really need to — to — RAAAAAAAASHOO! HuHhH-HuHHhRAAAAAAAAASHOO! RAAASHOO, RAAASHOO! HehhHH-HEhhHH-HUUUUUUURAAAAAAASHOO! Ah, fuck, that one h-hurt.”

“First of all, bless you,” Mark says, squeezing his arm and then letting his hand drop. He grabs the box of tissues and offers it to Nate, who pulls out a few fresh ones with a weary nod as Mark says, “Secondly: no, you could not drive. How are you supposed to go out with me next week if you crash your Jeep into a tree, Nathan? Answer me that!” Then, without giving him the chance to, Mark opens the driver’s side door, leans in without sitting down, turns his key in the ignition and cranks up the heat. Popping back out, he adds, “Wait — is your full name Nathan? I’m just running on vibes, here.”

Nate laughs, tired and somewhat raspy, but real. “It’s Nathaniel, technically, but nobody ever c-calls me that. And I can’t believe you — you still want to — hIiiHh — go out with me, after — aHHHfter — aAaAACHEW! ESSSHEW! EhH-ETCHOO! Ugh, god. After all this.”

“Of course I do,” Mark says, and, unthinkingly, adds, “More than before, even.” At Nate’s startled look, Mark crosses his arms over his chest and demands, “Oh, what? I know more about you now than I did when you were just a hot guy in an elevator! Now you’re a hot guy who can build things, and will stand between me and a rat, and — and cares about his friends’ adorable one-legged animals! And then you have to go and throw in that your sweatshirts are up for grabs; like, I’m sorry, but what did you expect? I’m only human.” This, of course, is too much to say by a wide margin, but that’s a common enough experience for Mark that there’s little point in worrying about it. 

“Can’t say I’ve ever had someone want to date me for my s-sweatshirts,” Nate says, but he looks thrilled, and so amazed that it breaks Mark’s heart a little. He decides, making a mental note of it for later, that someday he’d quite like to have a nice long chat with whoever made Nate so afraid his allergies would scare guys away. Mark’s money is on the shitbag ex-boyfriend, but he’s prepared to make more room in his heart for hatred if it turns out someone else is responsible.

At this point a snowflake, thicker and fluffier than the ones that have been falling so far, lands on Nate’s nose. He shivers and then sneezes, a soft, “HuhHhhshIEW,” that seems to surprise him, and which distracts Mark from all thoughts of vicarious vendettas, at least for now.

“Get in the car this instant,” he demands, pointing towards the passenger seat. “You’ll freeze out here, whatever you say. I’m just going to put your clothes in the garden shed for now, if that’s all right? They can go to the dry cleaner with my sweater, if you want, so you don’t have another attack washing them — oh, wait, that reminds me.” He pulls off his hat and then peels out of his beautiful, cherished, and wonderfully warm knit sweater, which is certainly also covered with dust and can’t come into an enclosed space with Nate right now. Mark misses it the moment it’s gone, and he shivers as he says, “Holy fuck it’s cold — dude, seriously, why are you still out here?”

Nate hasn’t moved at all. He’s still leaning against the hood of the car, and for once he doesn’t seem to be preoccupied with an approaching sneeze. He’s staring at Mark instead, his eyes tracing hungrily over his narrow shoulders and wiry, tattooed arms, the ink only visible now that Mark is down to a t-shirt.

“That’s really cool work, man,” Nate says quietly, his gaze fixing on Mark’s tattoos. He reaches out as if he’s going to pick up one of Mark’s arms, take a closer look, but he’s cut off by his nose halfway through the motion, turning at the last second to avoid splattering Mark with a wet, “Ehh-eHHHhh-EHHHHESSHIEW! Christ, excuse me.”

“Bless you, and thank you, and get in the car,” Mark says through chattering teeth. It’s not that he’s not deeply gratified, or that there isn’t a coil of heat burning inside of him from Nate looking at him that way — he’s just so cold. A vague memory of leaving a hoodie in the trunk a few weeks ago trickles back to him, and as Nate finally nods and heads around to the passenger side, Mark goes to check for it. It is, thank god, still back there, and Mark shrugs it on, shuddering for a moment within the chilled fabric. Then he grabs Nate’s jacket and flannel, hangs them inside the garden shed with his own sweater and hat, plucks the tissue box from the Civic’s roof, and climbs into driver’s seat. He drops his cane into the backseat, and the tissues onto Nate’s lap, before he even buckles his seat belt. 

“Okay, you were right; I was cold,” Nate admits, plucking out a few fresh tissues. “I was fine in the flannel, but just the t-shirt — not so m-much. The heat in here? It’s my new best friend.” He sniffles, and then catches an almost cartoonishly classic sneeze in the Kleenex: “Ahhh-AHHH-ATCHOOO! Ugh.” He slumps a little against the seat, closing his eyes, and says, “And I think I… probably do need to go home. It really — reAAAHHlly — AAAAASHIEW! EH-EHHHAAAASHHIEW! ASHEW ASHEW HEH-HEH-HAAAAARSHOO! — god, excuse me. It takes a lot out of me, is what I was going to say. To s-sneeze so much, I mean.”

“Shocking,” Mark says. It comes out far too fond, but just… whatever. He doesn’t care anymore. If Nate comes to the conclusion that Mark is overwhelmingly, embarrassingly into him — way, way too into him for how long they’ve known each other — well, it’s not like he’ll be wrong. “I’m shocked. Who could have foreseen this?”

“Ass,” Nate says, but he’s smiling, and he sounds amused. Well, okay, he mostly sounds congested, and like he’s scraped his throat somewhat raw, but underneath that Mark’s pretty sure he’s entertained. “You’re sure you don’t mind ta-ta-tAAAAAASHOOOO! HAAAASHOOO! Ugh, taking me? I could g-get an Uber — “

“Oh my god, can you imagine?” Mark says, horrified. “I make you come over here to clean my garage, said garage is so disgusting it quite literally assaults you, and then I, what, send you off into a car with a stranger, half-dressed and having an allergy attack? No. I’d never be able to brag smugly about my hospitality again. If I ever realized my dream of meeting Ina Garten, I’d have to avert my gaze from her resplendent herb gardens in shame. Shame, Nate! Now: where do you live?”

Nate, who started laughing around the time Mark said the words ‘Ina Garten,’ abruptly falls silent. He blinks red eyes at Mark from the passenger seat, looking startled, as in a low, wondering voice, he says, “You want to know something wild? I — completely forgot you wouldn’t know my address. Which, I mean, of course you wouldn’t! But it feels like I’ve known you — known y-y-you — oh, I gotta — sneeze —  hiiIiiiiiiShIEW! ISSSSHIEW! ISSHIEW ISSHIEW EHH-hEHH-HISSHIEW! HehHh-hheHhh-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAISSSHEW!” Nate has to pause to blow his nose after this one, wincing as he lowers the tissue — things have clearly reached the painful chafing stage. “Wow, excuse me. It feels like I’ve known you a lot longer than, uh, basically a few hours, is what I was trying to say.”

“I — know the feeling,” Mark admits, sure that he’s blushing, and they smile at each other. The snow outside is coming thicker now; it’s casting soft, flickering shadows over Nate’s face through the windshield, barely visible in the thinning afternoon light. He’s looking at Mark like Mark’s some rare, exquisite thing, a lost Matisse balanced carefully across the driver’s seat, instead of a scrawny, neurotic misanthrope who never knows when to stop talking. It’s… unfamiliar. Unprecedented. Intoxicating. 

For a hanging second, Mark thinks Nate’s going to lean across the gearshift and kiss him. But then the next fit of sneezes rips out of him instead, only covered at the last second, a vicious-sounding, “RAAAAASHOO! ARRRRRSHOO! AAARRSHOoo! UH-HUHH-HURRRRAAAAAAASSSOOO! Ugh, fucking ow.”

“Bless you, Nate,” Mark says, imbuing the words with as much sympathy as he can. “And give me your address, or I’m going to have to find a way to steal your wallet. I think you really need those meds.” 

Nate gives him the address, and Mark plugs it into his phone; it’s about 20 minutes away, on the other side of town, and he drives them there a little faster than he normally would in snowy conditions. Mark’s been a very cautious driver since the accident that damaged his knee, even though it’s not like careful driving would have prevented the bastard in the Lexus from running that red and t-boning him. Still, it makes him feel more comfortable to be wary, with an eye on the speed limits and a bordering-on-paranoid awareness of other drivers. Better safe than sorry. 

But the situation is urgent, and the roads aren’t bad yet; Mark puts on a little extra speed where he’s able. Nate’s moaning lightly after each sneeze now, coughing almost every time he blows his nose, and while the attack has clearly slowed down considerably, it definitely hasn’t stopped. He sneezes about once every 30 seconds for the first ten minutes of the drive, running through tissues as he and Mark chat easily about largely inconsequential things. Nate, who grew up on this side of town, points out attractions and restaurants between sneezes — a lot of them are spots Mark already likes, and the rest are places he hasn’t managed to find on his own in twelve years of living here. 

When they’re about halfway through the trip, Nate groans. “Jesus Christ, I’ve used the whole b-box of — of — tiiiHHHHHSHUUU! ISSSHU ISSHU ISHOOOO! Oh my god, excuse me. Tissues.” 

Mark glances over, suppressing a shiver of pleasure at this desperately hot announcement. Out loud, he says, “I mean, it was half-empty to begin with from my stupid cold, so. Speaking of that cold, actually, I should still have a handkerchief or two stashed in the glove compartment. You’re welcome to them if you need them.”

“God, thank you,” Nate says, bringing the final tissue to his nose. “I don’t think I could make this last another ten minutes.” He blows his nose into it, and then opens the glove compartment. Letting out a small snort of laughter, he says, “Mark, uh. I think there’s like… ten handkerchiefs in here. And a couple of boxes of Dayquil? And a really big bottle of Excedrin, for some reason.”

“Oh… yeah,” Mark says slowly, a hazy memory washes over him. He’s slightly ashamed of himself, but it seems like the sort of situation where telling the truth is his best play: “I mean, the Excedrin just lives there — I stare at a screen all day — but the rest… does not. I sort of? Remember? Putting it in there? I think maybe I had a fever; it’s a little rough around the edges.” He drums his thumb on the steering wheel briefly, trying to bring the fuzzy memory back up. “I do recall it felt very important, at the time, that I be prepared for a situation in which I got trapped in my car before I got better — I think I had a nightmare about it or something. God, and now that I think of it…” He reaches down into the driver’s side door pocket with one hand, keeping his eyes on the road, and feels around until his fingers close around something. He picks it up and laughs, passing it over to Nate. “I don’t know why I was so sure that I’d need a jar of peanut butter in a survival situation, but there you go.”

Nate chuckles too, sets the jar of peanut butter down in his own door pocket, and selects a handkerchief from the glove compartment before closing it. Mark’s amused to note it’s one of the plaid ones, though he looks quickly back to the road as Nate says, “Peanut butter’s not a bad call, actually, as feverish survival instincts go. Nutritiously dense. But you really want a space blanket, a couple of gallons of water, some meal replacement bars, and a — a good multi-tool — oh, god, here it — comes — a-again — hAAAAAAAACHIEW! AAAAACHIEW! HeHHh-HAAAAAAACHEW!” He blows his nose, and lets out a little moan, although this one sound more pleased than pained. “Oh my god, it’s crazy how much gentler that is on my nose. Tissues always r-rub me raw, it’s — one of the w-worst things about — about bad a-allergy days — HAAAAAAAASCHOO! AAAAASCHOO! Ugh.” He wipes his nose and then, a little sheepishly, says, “God, sorry. I don’t mean to be like — TMI, or whatever.”

“Apology not accepted,” Mark says cheerfully, “on grounds of not being owed. I love information, as a rule. And anyway, yeah, tissues’ll fuck you right up — that’s why I try to keep hankies around. Well, that and you can’t, like, run out of a handkerchief at an unfortunate moment?” Mark pauses, considering the statement, and is forced to add, “Well, okay, I mean, you can definitely get one to the point where it’s not what I’d call a great time to use. But it’s not going to straight up disintegrate on you, which I think is a real asset.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely a p-positive,” Nate agrees with a sniffle. “I guess I never really thought about it.” He sighs, and adds, more quietly, “Honestly, all this allergy shit just came on so — s-so — hIhhh-HISSSHU! HAAAISSHEW! God. So suddenly. And I was just sort of… trying to get through it, I suppose. I didn’t think about things like this; stuff I could do that might, I don’t know. Mitigate the damage, or whatever.”

“It’s hard to work through mitigation strategies when you’re in fucking triage, dude,” Mark says with a shrug. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Anyway, you should keep that hanky, and take the others, too, if you want them.”

“Mark, I couldn’t — c-couldn’t accept that, th-these are — too nice,” Nate gasps, and then a particularly wet-sound sneeze overwhelms him: “HihhHH-hUuHHH-HAAAAARRISSHOOO!” He blows his nose immediately after catching this one, his honks even louder and heavier than usual, and ruefully remarks, “I mean, I’ll obviously take this home and wash it, oh my god, but — “

“No, seriously, I’d love to get rid of them,” Mark says, keeping his eyes on the road. What he’s saying is the truth, but god, he hopes his voice doesn’t betray even a hint of how unspeakably hot he finds the very idea of Nate using his handkerchiefs. “I’ve got this friend who’s a textile artist — she does these huge, abstract installation pieces about like, queer experience and the aesthetics of gender in the 20th century American west? I don’t know, it’s amazing work but they’re really hard to explain; I’ll have to take you to see one sometime. Anyway, she uses a lot of this really nice, brushed cotton flannel, in different colors and patterns. She makes handkerchiefs as test swatches, and out of scrap, and sends them to me gratis; in exchange I take care of her graphic design needs. I literally have boxes of them.”

“Are all your friends a-amazing aHHHrtists?” Nate says. When Mark glances over at him, he’s lifting the hanky with both hands to hold tented over his nose, clearly in wait of a sneeze to come. 

“Of course not,” Mark says, grinning slightly as he pulls to a stop at a red light. “Some of them are only mediocre artists. I’m afraid these are the hazards of going to art school.”

“HiHhhh,” Nate replies. Mark, free to look away from the road while they wait at this red, glances over just in time to see Nate fold forward into the hanky with a shaky, torturous fit that sounds like it’s being dragged out of his nose: “HiHhhhhHhh…. hIhhhhHh? Hehh… hIhhnHh… hiHhh-hIiiHH-hiiiiIiiiiiSSsSShhhu! Hiiisshoo, hiiiSHOO, heh-hEhH-HEHESSHIEW! EhhHh-eHhhh-ehhhHHH-ESSSHIEW! Ugh, this stupid — tiHhhhckle — just won’t — let up — AAAAASHIEW! HA-AAAASHIEW! HehHhh-HEHTCHOO!” Nate moans lightly after this one, wiping his nose on the hanky and lowering it. “Christ, this is so annoying. I just want — to stop — sn-sneESSSSHOO! ESSHIEW! Ugh, sneezing.” 

“Bless you,” Mark says gently, reaching over to put his right hand over Nate’s left and squeeze. “And I don’t blame you. I’m not sure if I’ve said this yet, but I’m really sorry my garage did this to you; I promise to have it tried for its crimes as soon as possible.”

This makes Nate laugh, but there’s a dragging edge of exhaustion even in his mirth. “No, n-no; it was my own f-f-AAACHEW! Fault. No need to involve the c-courts.”

The light changes, and Mark squeezes Nate’s hand again and then returns his own to the wheel. “Well, at least take the handkerchiefs, yeah? Make me feel less guilty about the whole thing.”

“I really c-couldn’t,” Nate starts, and then he gasps and dissolves into an intense, clearly unexpected fit: “HAAASHEW! ESSSHU ESSSHU ESSSHU ESSSHU ESSSHU ESSHU ESSSHU ESSHOOO! Oh my g-god, AAAAAAASHIEW! HAAAAAASHIEW! EhH-eHhhh-EHHHHCHIEW! EHHCHIEW, EHHHHHCHIEW, EHHHHHISSSSSSHOOO!” He blows his nose with particular fury after this bout, and sighs wearily when he pulls the handkerchief away. “God. You know what? Maybe I could. But you’ll have to let me, I don’t know — pay you, or something.”

“Bless you again, and I get them for free,” Mark points out. “More or less, anyway. Plus, I’d feel wrong about making a profit off of Mathilda’s work.” Innocently, hoping to trick Nate into accepting them without further argument, he adds, “How about you take me out to dinner sometime instead?”

“I was going to take you to dinner anyway,” Nate says, in a tone that suggests he’s onto Mark’s game, but at least he opens the glove compartment. He pulls out the stack of handkerchiefs, contorting himself into a strange position in order to shove them into his back pockets. “Thank you, seriously. I’m leaving you two, though, for emergencies.”

“Seriously, don’t thank me,” Mark says, though he’s honestly a little touched by Nate being thoughtful enough to leave a few behind for him. He’s used to taking care of people — he does it automatically — but he’s not nearly as familiar with having the favor returned. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I have boxes of the damn things; you could take 40 more and it wouldn’t even make a dent. I’ve told Mathilda to stop sending so many, but her work generates a lot of scrap fabric and she really hates waste, so. Here we are.”

He means it metaphorically, but then he realizes his next turn is approaching, and it’s onto Nate’s street. A little sad that the ride is drawing to a close, Mark turns down the road as Nate takes a hitching breath, then collapses into his hanky again with an exhausted, “HaaaAaaaShieW!” 

“Bless,” Mark says absently, looking around the little street with interest. It’s nice — the houses are much closer together than in Mark’s neighborhood, many of them strung up with fairy lights and Christmas decorations. There are people out in their yards, chatting with their neighbors, walking their dogs, playing with their kids; it has a community feeling that Mark’s street just doesn’t. He’d avoided this kind of area when he was house hunting, of course — Mark, as a rule, is not really the type to attend block parties and barbecues simply because the other guests happen to live nearby — but he’s surprised to find he’s charmed by it. It suits Nate, somehow, this cheerful little road that’s slowly but surely whitening under the snow.

Mark slows the car after a moment, confused. The GPS on his phone says they’re pulling up to Nate’s house, but the number on the large farmhouse-style home they’re approaching is a digit off from the one Nate gave him. “What…?”

“Oh, r-r-right,” Nate says, obviously right on the edge of another sneeze. He pinches his nose inside the hanky with one hand as he waves with the other: “Just turn into this — AAAAATCHEW! — this — HAAAAAASHIEW! HAAAASHIEW! — oh my god, this d-d-drivewAAAAAAASCHEW! ASCHEW ASCHEW ASCHEW ASCHEW AAAAASHIEW! Christ, driveway.“ He blows his nose as Mark follows these directions, and then adds, “Just keep pulling back; I know it looks like there’s nothing there, but I promise, there’s two houses on this lot.”

Mark does as he’s told, and, despite Nate’s promise, gasps a little in surprise when the driveway curves and reveals a second, smaller, squatter version of the farmhouse, painted a crisp white, with red shutters. “Holy shit! There is another house back here!”

“Sam owns the lot,” Nate explains, as Mark parks the car. “She and her family live in the big house, and she gives me cheap rent in this one, so she doesn’t have to deal with wrangling a tenant. Plus, I help out with the kids a couple — of nights a — a week — hehHH-HEHHHHSHOOO!” Wiping his nose, he smiles ruefully and adds, “They think this allergy shit is the most hilarious thing that’s ever happened; I might as well being doing stand-up comedy.”

Mark laughs. “How old are they? Or, wait — you said the Roger Raccoon fan is six, right? She’s got good taste.”

“Jillian? Yeah, she’s very discerning,” Nate says, rolling his eyes. “Until you make the mistake of asking her to eat anything green. Her brother Chris is — he’s — HAAAAAASHOO! HAAAASHOO! HhAhh-hAAAhh-HAAAAAAAARSHOO!” Nate moans and blows his nose again, before continuing, a little more subdued, “Chris is four. God, Mark, I’m so tired — I want to ask you in, but I’m genuinely afraid I’d fall asleep on you the second I sat down.”

“I could walk you to the door?” Mark suggests. The truth is, he doesn’t want to step more than a foot from the Civic’s heating vents, but it would be worth a bit of a chill to steal a few more moments with Nate. “You know, as a precaution. In case you fall asleep on the way.” 

“Very — v-very — HUSCHOO! Ugh. Very considerate of you, but p-please stay in this nice warm car,” Nate says, rubbing the underside of his obviously still itching nose with a hanky. “You already d-drove me all the way here, and you should get back b-before the weather gets any w-worse. I — HAAAAASCHOO! HAAAAASCHOO! My god. I was going to say I’m sure I’ll manage, but maybe I shouldn’t — be so — optimistic — HAAAAAAAAAASCHOO!“ He releases a little growl of annoyance, then cracks his door open and hisses, shutting it again. “Christ, I forgot how cold it is out there.”

“Wait,” Mark says, holding up a finger and then twisting himself around to reach into the backseat. “I thought I remembered earlier — when I had that fever — ha, I knew it!” He pulls out soft yellow throw blanket and stares at it in irritation. “God, I’ve been looking for this thing for weeks. Anyway, you can borrow it; we can do a hostage exchange later for your clothes.”

Nate doesn’t even bother protesting, or insisting he can’t put Mark to any trouble; Mark’s already getting to know him well enough to recognize that as a sign of how truly terrible he must feel. The poor man’s nose looks actively angry now, badly chafed from so much blowing and sneezing, not to mention the dry, wintery air. Exhaustion’s almost radiating off of him, and seeing it yolked across his shoulders breaks some wall within Mark. It’s load bearing, the part of him that falls, meant to sure up a number of structures he’s painstakingly built to soften and normalize his personality, and as it crumbles Mark feels the beginnings of an avalanche start to rumble within him. If he’s not careful, he will be swept away in the depth of his feelings for this beautiful, good-hearted man — carried off into something irretrievable and permanent, from which he will never recover.

For once in his life, Mark doesn’t want to be careful.

He reaches across the gearshift and, a little awkwardly in the cramped space of the car, drapes the blanket over Nate’s shoulders. He doesn’t look at Nate’s face; he doesn’t engage with the part of his brain screaming that what he’s doing is weird, overwhelming, too much. He just does it, tucking and smoothing the fabric into place, pulling and rearranging the soft chenille until it covers most of Nate’s arms.

“There,” Mark says, pleased it only comes out slightly shaky with nerves, when he’s finished. “That’s better, right?” He sits back in his own seat, looks at his hands for a second, and then forces himself to look up at Nate.

And the look Nate’s giving him — it’s so warm, so genuinely tender, that Mark’s breath catches in his throat. The emotion in Nate’s eyes is every bit as intense as what’s raging inside Mark’s chest, and that’s such an exhilarating realization that it loops around into being a little terrifying. It makes this real, somehow. It means that whatever ends up happening between them, one way or another, it’s going to change Mark’s life.

“Thanks, Mark,” Nate whispers, and then he’s moving, and Mark’s eyes are closing, and any moment now they’re going to — 

“HAHEHHHHSHIEW,” Nate sneezes wretchedly. Mark’s eyes slam open to see Nate hunched over in his seat, nose and mouth buried in his handkerchief; he must have pulled away just in time. “HaHh-HAAAAAEHHHCHIEW! EHHCHIEW, EHHHCHIEW, EHHHSHIEW! HiHhh-HiHhh-HIIIIIIIIIISHIEW!” He groans into the hanky, without lifting his head, and says, “Oh my god, please excuse me. I’m so sorry.” 

“Bless you, Nate,” Mark says, and reaches out, just for a second, to run his fingers lightly through Nate’s thick, dark hair. It feels soft and luxurious under his hand, and Nate makes a small, pleased noise before Mark pulls away. “And seriously — don’t worry about it. We’ll just have to try that again when you’re feeling a little better, okay? Maybe like, several times. You know, for… science.” 

“Well,” Nate says, finally lifting his head and smiling at Mark, “if it’s for science. Listen, before I go — can I call you later? Or will it, ah, disturb and unsettle the garage?”

“Who cares if the garage is unsettled?” Mark says, somewhat more gleefully than he probably should. “Honestly, after that shit today, it’s no less than it deserves. Call whenever you want, so long as you get some rest first.”

“D-d-deAAAAASHIEW! HAAAAAASHIEW! Oh my god, deal,” Nate says. He blows his nose one last time, then smiles at Mark as he opens the door. “Thanks again, Mark. For… uh, everything, honestly. It was really incredible to see you again, and I hope we do it again soon.” 

“Same,” Mark says in a squeaky voice that mortifies him to the depths of his soul. 

But Nate, at least, seems to like it; he shoots one last grin over his shoulder before he tightens his blanket around himself, says, “Text me when you get home, okay? It looks like the snow’s getting worse. Drive safe!” and shuts the door.

Mark waits in the driveway until Nate’s gotten his front door open — stopping to sneeze twice in the process — and waved to him to him from the doorway, before he sighs and starts backing his car out. He regrets it more than a little, driving away from Nate, but it might be for the best; another few minutes like that and Mark probably would have simply died from sheer pleasure, which, really, would be a waste.

As he’s pulling onto the street, he notices a tall, broad silhouette watching him from a downstairs window of the front house. He can’t make out a face, but he’s in such a good mood that he waves cheerfully to it, and smiles to himself when it waves slowly back, as if confused. As far as Mark is concerned, today is a magical day, the sort of day you only get once or twice in a lifetime, and even a confused wave from a mysterious figure seems like a positive sign. 

He flips on the radio and, humming to himself, makes his way home. 

[GoldenOwl]

Oh my god! SO CUTE. And SO HOT. I love both of these characters. Love the setup for future sneezing from Mark, and love the enormous sneezes from Nate....really truly, everything about this is fantastic. Welcome to the forum!

[thesneezyowl]

“Exhaustion’s almost radiating off of him, and seeing it yolked across his shoulders breaks some wall within Mark. It’s load bearing, the part of him that falls, meant to sure up a number of structures he’s painstakingly built to soften and normalize his personality, and as it crumbles Mark feels the beginnings of an avalanche start to rumble within him. If he’s not careful, he will be swept away in the depth of his feelings for this beautiful, good-hearted man — carried off into something irretrievable and permanent, from which he will never recover.”

Ummmm … excuse me! Someone has already said it, but it’s true … I would read this novel with no sneezy goodness in it. You write REALLY well. I’m so in love with this story!

[Evian]

Really nice sneezes 

[Rick]

8 hours ago, treehouse said:

He blows his nose immediately after catching this one, his honks even louder and heavier than usual, and ruefully remarks, “I mean, I’ll obviously take this home and wash it, oh my god, but — “

Love that he immediately starts to blow his nose even louder once he gets hold of a cloth handkerchief - I can so relate to that myself!!

[EveP]

This "writing for yourself" is working. I'm eagerly waiting for the next part.

[treehouse]

@SweaterWeather I don’t know how I missed this comment the other day but THANK YOU, I’m SO glad this story is captivating even in the non-sneezing parts! 

And @Hovercuke @thesneezyowl @HideAndGoSneeze, thanks so much for saying such lovely things about my writing! I haven’t been able to get a single word onto the page for a couple of years, so I’m thrilled to be producing anything lol, but hearing that it’s compelling is truly, truly wonderful for me 💜

[Hajo]

Wow, just wow! Cant wait for the next chapter!

 

 

[starpollen]

❤️

[lighthousegirl]

I'm in love with this. 

[Evian]

This is so good