Pluvial (M, Boyfriend to Death, Lawrence Oleander)

[Starry_Screamer]

Heh, I meant to post this a while ago. The idea got into my head and wouldn't leave till I wrote it!

Shorter than most of my stuff, buuuuut... I think that's part of what makes this particular ficlet good. One of my favorite things that I've written in a while!

Anyways, enjoy!

Warnings: Some mildly disturbing commentary in narration; slight mess. Bit of language near the end. Not much!

 

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About half an hour ago, Lawrence wondered if the rain would ever stop. Now he’s wondering if his sneezing is ever going to stop.

To be fair, this cold of his isn’t really that bad, and it’s frustrating to think that a not-so-bad cold is causing him this much grief. He’s been lowkey coughing and sniffling for a few days, but that’s about it. No fever. No chills. No aches, fatigue, sore throat, or migraines. Certainly one of the least crappy colds he’s ever had. When he started to cough a bit more intensely a few hours ago, it seemed like it would be a good idea to turn to a method that’s helped him in the past: a walk in the icy nighttime air.

What he didn’t count on was the heavens opening up and hitting the streets with a downpour. He’s never really been all that into checking the weather forecast.

“Ihh–! IhhssSHOOO! Heh–ehhtschHHUU!”

Because his cold hasn’t been that terrible, he didn’t even think to bring tissues. This was supposed to be a fairly short walk. Now he’s huddled under the awning of The Jackalope, after being disappointed that it was already closed. Of course it was closed by the time he got here, though. It was well after the pub’s 2:00 A.M. last call when he sought shelter, and now it’s almost 3:00. For over thirty minutes, Lawrence has had to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his jacket – which, to be honest, is kind of not exactly a winter coat. Although he’s tried to stifle his sneezes to keep them from getting too messy, that just seems to make his nose run more. Ugh.

“Hhh–! HhnxxGSHHOO! Heh–nxgssSHHIUU! Hih–nxxGSHHOOO!”

Now this little cold that was barely bothering him has turned into something that’s really starting to get to him. His bones are rattling around inside his skin thanks to his constant shivering, his head is starting to pound, and his joints are stiff. His throat’s scratchy. He’d be sure his skin was completely aflame if he couldn’t see that, no, he’s not even a little on fire. Every attempt at sniffling even a little just makes him feel more congested.

“Hehh–ehhISSHIEUU! Hih–’schhHHOOOO!”

And the rain is still coming down. It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon – the clouds still look dark and angry, and the water is still assaulting the street in what seems like bucketfuls. The sky might have just rattled with thunder, in fact. Lawrence feels like crying, if only because now he wants to go to sleep more than anything. He can’t sleep huddled against the door of a bar at nearly three in the morning. He’s dangerous and he can handle himself, but he’s too angry at and scared of the rest of the world. Curling up to sleep right here at a late hour like this would leave him too vulnerable. Who knows what kind of people might come along?

“Ihh–! IhhHSHHOO! Hehh–etschhHUUU! Eeh–etsschhHHIIUU! Heh–! Hhhhhh–––––!”

His nostrils twitch wildly as the last sneeze of his current fit struggles to stay just where it is. He’s so damn stuffed up that it shouldn’t tickle as badly as it does, yet here he is, his breath hitching desperately as he waves one hand in front of his face. (As if that’s going to help! And he knows it’s not! Stupid habit.) His other arm is poised with the sleeve pulled over his hand, ready to catch the sneeze if it ever actually comes out. A series of quicker breaths tortures him for a moment before suddenly, a raindrop plops down onto the tip of his nose. Apparently that little prompting is all he needed.

“Heh–hehh– ihh– HIHHH! HIH–––––ITSCHHOOOOO!”

Fuck. If there were anybody around right now, the volume would embarrass him. As it is, he just sniffles pitifully against his thin sleeve and starts to cough. He doesn’t want to pull away, because that was wet, and disgusting, and.. and just… just fuck. It feels like it drained the last bit of energy that was left in him. It soaked through his jacket sleeve, and the action of dragging his nose along his arm to ward off any further tickle leaves a slightly darker grey, damp line.

Blue eyes flutter shut with a groan once he stops coughing. He can feel his cheeks burning red with fever as he leans back against the pub’s window, tilting his head back in a fruitless effort to clear some of his congestion.

The rain keeps going, a soft soundtrack to his discomfort. It’s probably going to be another hour’s wait before he can leave without getting utterly drenched. With Lawrence Oleander’s spectacularly terrible luck, he’ll be able to get back to his apartment just as the sun rises.

At least then it’ll be time to go to bed.

Edited October 18, 2017 by Starry_Screamer

[WolfPack]

Wonderful work as always! Keep it up