Role Reversals

[RipleyToo]

Medan is so cute! I’ve missed reading more! I’m happy that he’s slowly becoming more comfortable with Viola every day. Hopefully that speech goes as “planned” 😜. 
 

Thank you for sharing this chapter! I can’t wait for more and I’ll be here until the next part comes out! As always, I really enjoy for writing and attention to detail, it makes it feel so real! 

[RipleyToo]

Hopefully you’ll be able to update this more frequently, it’s one of my favorite stories 🥰 

[funbusej]

I really love how chill and self-aware Medan is.  He knows what his shortcomings are, and he just accepts them, he doesn't apologize for them, nor does he feel bad for them. 

[Privatedancer]

Love this story too.  I look forward to seeing Medan both learn to enjoy being taken care of and enjoy going out of his way for Viola.  The fact that he does so much for his mom despite her being a b&%*h and that he is so in tuned to others needs and emotions shows he will be an exceptional caretaker. 

[Lunaconner]

i love this story!!! i would love to see viola sneeze and see how he would react as well as her!! 

[sprinkles287]

Oooh the idea of Medan being so good at reading Viola and her trying to hide a sneeze is making me smile.

[ichixshiro14]

This is great, looking forward to the next part! 

[marzipan]

As ever - thank you all for reading and for your patience re: how slowly I write. 😅 And oooh, the idea of Viola hiding a sneeze made me smile as well. You can count on seeing that in the next installment from Viola's POV (however long that takes me to write! 😬). I so enjoy reading your comments and seeing your thoughts about Medan and Viola!

And without further ado... here's the next installment, from Viola's perspective. 

 

Work, as ever, was a whirlwind, so I didn’t have a window of opportunity to stop by Medan’s office first thing in the morning, as I had originally intended. I didn’t see him until late afternoon, when he was exiting the elevator I was entering. It was clear he’d been back to the basement - the streak of dust faintly visible on his cheek and the grayish scuff marks on his trouser knees told a tale of in-depth sleuthing. The chafed pinkness of his still-quivering nose also suggested that whatever meds he was on weren’t fully suppressing his allergic reaction. Still, he was nothing if not dedicated and immersed - sleeves rolled up, glasses pushed up to the top of his head, and carrying a shocking quantity of archival-grade storage boxes.

Given the combination of tall boxes, no glasses, allergic distraction, and being lost in thought, he didn’t notice me until I spoke. “Good morning, Medan! Wow, that stack of boxes doesn’t look like a lot of fun. How’s it going?” 

 I was embarrassingly delighted that, as soon as he heard my voice, Medan broke into a quick smile, shifting the boxes slightly so he could see me over them. “Well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Very, very well.” I hesitated, uncertain about how much was too much to say too soon. However, Medan’s general attitude of blunt honesty inspired my own. “I’m just really happy from… everything yesterday. It’s just… really nice to see you.”

“I’m glad to h-h…” When his voice caught, a crease appeared as he wrinkled his nose to exasperatedly stave off the looming itch to the best of his ability, hands-free. A brief moment of tension, clear in his taut lips and the careful, measured rise of his shoulders in a deep breath, seemed to do the trick. “I’m glad to hear it.” 

“Are you feeling any better?” He looked a little brighter than he had yesterday. The circles around his eyes seemed less pronounced, at least, so hopefully he had gotten a little more uninterrupted sleep. However, the flushed redness of his nose suggested that, while things might be clearing out of his sinuses, they weren’t going quietly. 

He shrugged, quietly non-committal. “Antibiotics are tiny miracles, so I daresay improvement is on the horizon, at any rate. Regardless, I, too, am experiencing a marked improvement in mood and general outlook based on… shall we just call it ‘recent events’?” The soft pitch of his voice, carefully making sure no stray passersby could catch his words, made my stomach flutter. 

I lost track of time passing, overly preoccupied with staring into Medan’s eyes. Seeing his face temporarily unmediated by his glasses still seemed novel to me. I could get a clearer impression of his eyes’ subtleties - the intricate patterns in his irises made his gray eyes look almost like swirling smoke. Given my absorption, I jumped when the elevator doors started to shut. Medan quickly stuck his foot into the gap to forestall their closing, and the doors creaked back open with a low groan of apparent protest. “I should be mostly well in a few days, anyway. Would you like to go out for dinner this Saturday?” 

“That would be… lovely. Yes. Please.”

He nodded, although he looked a little distracted - he crinkled the bridge of his nose again, shifting his weight uncomfortably. When he tilted his head back, eyes glassy, lips just slightly parted, tongue pressing hard against the roof of his mouth, I immediately knew the moment of delay to ask me the question had cost him his ability to suppress exponentially multiplying allergic urgency. Abandoning the elevator, I sprung forward to steady the precariously teetering boxes as they shifted against the rise and fall of Medan’s chest.  

“Hnnn-hheeeh…n—hheeeh—” Despite my securing the swaying boxes, Medan seemed determined to fight off the impending onslaught, for reasons unknown. If it was obvious even to me that he was engaged in a losing battle, I’d think he - given his intuitive powers - would have rapidly come to the same conclusion. “Nhh—hehhh…” Even when he froze into almost-perfect stillness, tightening into what I was growing to recognize as his habitual pre-sneeze posture, his shoulders and chin were still shaking with the effort to repress whatever was coming. “Hehh–uuuhhtshuuuh! Uhhh’shuuuh! Heh’eh-tchuuuh! Eiiihhh’tshuuuh!” 

It took him only a split second to collect himself and fix his gaze back on me after those intense, uncovered, unstifled sneezes. It took me a few more moments to collect myself. I was sure I’d been staring at him like I’d just witnessed a revelatory wonder the like of which the world had never seen. My mouth was uncomfortably dry, and the presence of the flimsy boxes separating us was extremely unwelcome. While it was undeniably a little mortifying to experience even a flash of enviousness toward the now slightly sneeze-damp cardboard pressed against his chest, I’d be a liar to say I didn’t feel one. “...bless you?”

When he responded with a simple, casual “thanks,” like he hadn’t just more or less blessed me with an exquisite moment of sheer bliss in the midst of the usual monotony of a usual afternoon on a usual workday, I couldn’t help but giggle. Medan, seemingly surprised but pleased, broke into a responding grin, perfectly attuned to my own response. If we hadn’t been standing in a hallway, the vague sounds of buzzing phones, clicking keyboards, and droning conversations an insistent reminder that we were, in fact, at work, I could have kissed him then and there as we shared in the exhilarating moment of our own delicious secret. 

 

Medan texted me on Friday to ask if I had a restaurant preference, which, predictably, I didn’t. He picked a place I’d never heard of before, so I arrived just a little bit ridiculously early to scope the place out before Medan arrived. It was always reassuring to have a sense of what a new space was like. Fortunately, I didn’t seem to be over- or under-dressed; the vibes seemed to be a definite step up from business-casual into the realm of “semi-formal,” an ever-nebulous and confusing dress code. I’d chosen a dark red floral dress that reminded me pleasantly of a dress Eva Marie-Saint wore in the movie North by Northwest - full skirt, high neck, low back. I had pinned my hair back with bobby pins that I hoped and prayed would remain faithfully in place in spite of the cool breeze. 

 As soon as I saw Medan’s car pull up, my stomach erupted with butterflies. His immediate, glowing smile in response to catching my eye was unexpected - it was a giddy sensation to realize that he was as pleased to see me as I was to see him. I walked over to greet him as he got out, but words failed me, hence my quietly awed “...hi.” He was wearing a dark gray three-piece suit with a pale green dress shirt, his only concession to casualness being carrying his jacket instead of wearing it. 

I impulsively got onto my tip-toes to kiss his cheek. Even with my high heels on, I had to stretch to reach. He looked at me for a moment, a smile just touching his eyes, and then cupped my cheek with his hand, carefully brushing back an unruly curl escaping a bobby pin. When he leaned down to kiss me, each slight adjustment, each slight movement as we found our mutual rhythm, was slow and deliberate. It helped that he kept one hand gently against the small of my back, supporting my weight as I stretched up eagerly to deepen the embrace. When I softly stroked my index finger down the line of his spine, I was rewarded by his perceptible shudder and feeling his lips curve upward into a smile, still pressed against my mouth. He pulled away slowly before replying, “...hi. Shall we?”

He took my hand as we walked in. Medan had made the reservations, and I was relieved to be able to hang back and let him handle arrangements. I was pleasantly surprised when the server led us through the restaurant and out the backdoor into a courtyard, lit with soft yellow string lights. There were a few other couples at nearby tables, probably partway through their own dates, but unlike the chatty clamor indoors, the only readily audible sounds were birds chirping and leaves rustling. A deliciously aromatic bread basket was already on our table.

 As soon as we sat down, I blurted out “I’ve been looking forward to this all week, and this is perfect.” Medan’s responding, wordless smile before looking down at the menu was endearingly shy. I wondered how long he’d thought about what restaurant I might like. I felt sure he’d given the matter a good deal of attention - an assumption that solidified as I looked more closely at the menu and realized the whole thing was vegetarian. This man. A memory like a steel trap. 

We were both quiet as we looked at the menus. I think we were both just catching up with the moment, letting ourselves fully be present. I know I, at least, was still buzzing with the realization that this was actually happening. I was here, on an honest-to-goodness date, with someone I was falling for so quickly and completely it was astonishing to me that we hadn’t actually done the whole formal, for-sure-a-date, going-out thing before. 

I was startled from my scrutiny of the day’s soups and salads by the scraping sound of chair legs on patio flooring, as Medan swiftly pushed himself back from the table, steepling his hands over his nose and mouth with a throaty and urgent gasp. His reflex to slide away from the table when he felt a sneeze coming on appeared to be well-rehearsed enough to be automatic. I wondered, a little breathlessly, how often he tuned in to the subtle fluctuations of his pinkening nostrils just in time to realize he was about to cross the border from “quiet and reserved” to “struggling to maintain decorum.” “Httttcht! He’h’eh…tchhht! Tchhxxt’huh, hehh’eh’eeeh’tcchht-uh… oh my God - txxxchht! Tchht’uh!” 

Another inhalation, this one rougher and congested with a distinct rasp. He hadn’t had the opportunity to reach for a handkerchief, and my mind flitted to a brief but vivid impression of how damp and slick the palms of his hands must be. I then wondered what he was reacting to; I didn’t see anything obvious nearby, like a stand of flowers or a dusty old corner. The fit didn’t seem to be letting up, and although I couldn’t help but feel my face flush and tingle with each itchy, desperate, mostly-smothered expulsion, I also couldn’t help wanting him to be able to calm his nose enough that he could relax sufficiently to enjoy the evening. 

So, I reached into my purse and extended a kleenex. I always carried them just in case, but it seemed like “just in case” would be happening more regularly the more I saw of Medan. I was too embarrassed to direct his attention to it, but he was too distracted by whatever tickle was apparently taking up semi-permanent residence in his sinuses to see it. Anyway, he couldn’t open his eyes more than the tiniest bit before they fluttered closed again, dark eyelashes quivering and eyebrows knitting together as he took in an unsatisfactory, congested half-breath that caught in his throat before the next “httccccht-uuh!” Each stifle was followed by trembly, exhausted exhales that sounded both resigned and aggravated to my sympathetic ear. 

I still couldn’t bring myself to say the word “tissue” aloud to Medan, as he took advantage of a moment of reprieve to knuckle-rub his streaming eyes before returning his long, dexterous fingers to his septum. He grimaced at the resulting wet, squelching noise, whereas I made an embarrassingly involuntary sound halfway between a whimper and a coo.  “... are you okay?” My voice was shaky and uncharacteristically high-pitched. He just rolled his eyes, pointing vaguely upward toward the flowering magnolia stretching above us in a pink-and-white bower. “Oh. Do you want to go inside? That’s completely okay with me, you know.”

Medan shook his head firmly, taking a deep breath through his mouth - I guessed air wouldn’t be traversing his nasal passages until he was about six kleenexes deep in blowing his nose. “N—no, I’m fine. I took - tchhht! - more medication j-huuuh’-just - tcchhht’uh! - an hour and a half ago. It should be kicking in shortly. Anyway, the weather is too beautiful to sit inside. Let’s just hope I can -hnn…hn’txxcht! - manage to stop doing this long enough to order.” He blinked, finally focusing on the still-extended kleenex in my nervously outstretched hand. “Is that for me?” 

“...if you want it.” 

He nodded before he curled forward, nostrils flaring as he hyperventilated into a ticklishly prolonged “h’ee’hhh’eeeeeh’’eschh!” Despite being temporarily unable to open his eyes, when he reached for the kleenex, his fingers wrapped around it without my prompting or aid. He turned away a little more to blow his nose, a softly gurgling but sultry noise. His subsequent, unsuppressable sigh of relief made me feel like I should splash some cold water on my face to recommit my attention to more appropriate-in-public directions. 

Despite how quiet, restrained, and polite Medan had kept his allergy attack up to this point, our server had noticed his fit and came over to hover, clearly uncertain about how to proceed. “Uh…bless you… a lot, sir. Do you need a different table?”

Medan straightened up quickly, folding the flimsily inadequate kleenex into his pocket and taking out a handkerchief to tidy himself up. It, too, was pale green - I wondered if he had selected it to match his shirt as a set. It seemed like he'd be the sort to pay attention to details like that.

If it weren’t for his still-fluttering nostrils and a slightly inconsistent rhythm to his speech that hinted at the ebb and flow of a pollen-induced tickle, I wouldn’t have known he’d been completely incommoded mere moments before. “No, thank you.”

“...you sure?” Dubiousness absolutely radiated off her.

Medan’s reply had the crisp, authoritative tone he often spoke with in the office - even when clouded by lingering congestion, it still packed a wallop. “Yes, thank you. I assure you, I’m not in the habit of speaking when I’m not, in fact, quite sure. Viola, are you ready to order?”

I managed to make my brain temporarily connect with my mouth long enough to order. Medan had to break off once to smother a stubbornly intrusive sneeze, but also managed. Blowing his nose seemed to have helped, although I’m sure we were both still flushed and warm - although for quite different reasons. 

As our food arrived, conversation flowed easily. We’d known each other - sort of - for ages, since our parents were friends. However, in so many ways we had so many basic, just-now-getting-to-know-you questions to catch up on. I didn’t know his favorite book… or movie… or song. I didn’t know if he had hobbies outside of work (although I initially rather suspected he didn’t). Even just trading our answers (for me… Sense and Sensibility, My Neighbor Totoro or Minari, and Louis Armstrong’s version of “Moon River”; for him, The Mysterious Stranger, Metropolis, and Alessandro Scarlatti’s cantatas) felt both like a first date and a pleasantly settled, deep-in-the-relationship chat. I was surprised to learn that he enjoyed west coast swing dancing as a hobby and was an amateur violinist, and immediately felt guilty when I mentioned that my hobby was gardening and he, as if the mere word was a trigger, crunched forward into a fittish flock of constrained sneezes that blended into each other so seamlessly I couldn’t keep count. 

When he straightened up, gasping a little as he reclaimed his breath and brushed the allergic tears from his eyes, he tilted his head at me inquisitively as he reached for another kleenex. “Would you rather I didn’t do that?”

“Didn’t do what?” I couldn’t imagine what he was asking about, given that he was ‘in the know.’ Surely he was aware that my heart sped up to fast breakbeats with each and every hitching breath. 

“Stifle them.” 

“...I…” I was lost for words. It would be difficult to communicate how each and every permutation of his sneezing, each nuance and subtle variation, still managed to be wholly without flaw. It would be especially difficult to communicate this, given that my brain seemed to have stumbled to a full halt. “It’s all… really… um…good. For me, that is.” 

“What do you like about it?” With such a direct question, I almost choked on my bite of linguine. Given my clear stupefaction, Medan quickly amended his question. “You don’t have to answer, of course. I was just curious.”

“I… don’t know if I can give you a really cogent answer. It’s… um… kind of an…ineffable thing.” 

He reached out to take my hand, squeezing it tightly before replying. “Viola, I promise I’m not looking for your definitive logical proof on the subject. I simply want us to both fully appreciate this quite spectacularly fortuitous hand of cards we’ve been given.” His sincerity gave me the courage to squeeze his hand back, after which he murmured, “To paraphrase and hopefully improve upon the common trope re: wishes and demands - our desires are our directives.” Words of greater shared promise had never before been spoken to me.

[RipleyToo]

I’m so excited for this installment!! I loved it so much! Hopefully the next one won’t take too long! If it does, I’ll be here waiting patiently

[Catsgotyourtounge]

Omg I love this so much 

[sprinkles287]

I would very much like to squish them both and marry them. They are perfection. 

[orange]

I love this story ! please continue thank you

[Sneeziestofthemall]

I love this so much 😍 thank you for sharing

[Lunaconner]

this is soooo cute i’m so exited for her sneezes and to see how he’ll react!!!!