Then & Now (M, cold)
Hiii, hope you like A LOT of hurt followed by 2-3 sentences of comfort lmao. This is Greyson fic - Grey is sick on a day he and Reed are supposed to have a date, and he's sure Reed is going to be angry with him because Trauma(TM). It's told in a flashback sort of format which I really enjoyed because I love writing blurbs of colds at different times in life lol. I hope you guys like it, please let me know what ya think, good, bad, or otherwise :)
CW: Male snz, cold, pneumonia mention, coughing, contagion mention, lots and lots of whump lmao. A little over 4K words under the cut.
Then & Now
Now
âMorning, Chef.â
âHuh-! HhITSZHH-ue!â
Elijah turned towards Greyson, who was doubled over into his hoodie sleeve, and gave him a sympathetic grimace. âCooks finally pulled you under, hmm?â
âUgh, like way fuckinâ under,â Greyson muttered, rubbing his eye and sucking in through his nose. âI feel like ass.â
âSorry, dude,â Elijah said, tossing his counterpart a box of tissues. âSucks.â
Greyson caught the box and pulled out a few just in time. âHITSZHZH-uhh!â This one, he managed to catch in the handful of tissues. He wiped his nose and shrugged. âYeah,â he said, tossing the used tissues. âMbostly because I was supposed to have a date tonight.â
Elijah smirked at his friend, who was pushing past the GM into their shared office. The two of them sat in unison. âDo you guys still call them dates? Youâve been official for, like, six months.â
âItâs our six-month anniversary,â Greyson said, his voice flattened by congestion. âWe were going to do EMP.â
âAwww, now Iâm depressed,â Elijah said. âAlso, why didnât you tell me earlier you were going to Eleven Madison? I still know people there.â
âSo does Reed,â Greyson said, massaging his temple. âThatâs why we were goigg. Fuck, mby fuckinâ head is pounding. Do we have any -?â
Elijah placed the ibuprofen in front of the chef before he could ask, along with a bottle of cough syrup and a decongestant. âYou know we have it all,â he said, pushing an old cup of water across the desk for Greyson to swallow his arsenal of pills. âAnd fair enough. Well that fuckinâ sucks, dude, Iâm sorry. Hey, at least you can leave early, right? Mattâs closing?â
âYeah,â Greyson said, unwrapping a cough drop and popping it in his mouth. âIâll head out once the rush is over. I still have to text Reee â hh...hhNTSHH-ue! HGTSHH-uhh!â Greyson doubled over, sneezed into his arm, and groaned. âIâmb gonna kill the guys when they get in,â he said, mostly to himself.
âDonât do that,â Elijah said, placing a hand on Greysonâs shoulder on his way out of the office. âThen youâll have to stay all night.â
Greyson huffed out a laugh and pulled out his phone. He clicked on his conversation with Reed, sighing. He did not want to have this conversation.
Greyson
9:31AM
hey babe. gonna have to cancel tonight, the cooks infected me w their plague :( im rly sorry.
The chef set his phone on the desk, prepared to either be ghosted or gaslit â two of Collinâs favorite pastimes whenever Greyson had had to cancel their plans during their relationship â and was shocked when the phone buzzed with a text almost immediately. He was almost afraid to look at his boyfriendâs response.
Reed
9:32AM
Oh, baby donât be sorry!! what time are you off? Iâll pick you up and take you home :) we can do a sick day little date night instead!
Greyson stared at the phone, stunned. He couldnât help it; he read the message again, then out loud said, âWhat the fuck?â
Then â Ten Years Ago
âChef?â
The Executive Chef looked up from his paperwork at Greyson and sighed. âWhat is it, Abbott?â
âI, um â hh! HTSHH-uh! HGXTSH-ue! Snf. Umb, I just wanted to see if it was okay if I⌠left a little early today?â Greyson asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His chef raised his eyebrows and put his clipboard down. Oh, no, Greyson thought.
âLeave...early? And leave your clean up and prep to whom, exactly? Me?â The Executive Chef huffed out a laugh. âThatâs rich, Abbott. Why the fuck would you need to leave early?â
âIâŚâ Greyson started, but his voice gave out on the single syllable. He attempted to clear his throat. âI just⌠I really feel like shit? I was hoping I could, like⌠sleep it off, I guess. I mbean, I wouldnât want to get anyone else sigck.â Greyson felt a cough bubbling to the surface; he tried to quell it, to no avail. The younger man collapsed into a coughing fit that felt like it lasted a lifetime.
The Chef remained unmoved. âMy guys,â he said, placing a hand on his chest as Greyson attempted to compose himself, âdonât get sick, Abbott. And if they do, I donât fucking hear about it. Understand? Because I really donât give a shit. If youâre here, youâre here. If you decide to leave early,â he shrugged, uncaring, âthen you leave for good. And Abbott, if you try to get a job after walking out of my kitchen, I promise you I will make it impossible. I know youâve only been here a couple months, but hereâs what you need to learn: put your head down and do your fucking job, and you can work anywhere in the world after this. Be a whiny piece of shit who tries to walk out on his shift, and youâll be working at McDonaldâs for the rest of you life. Got it?â
Greyson, too shocked to rebut, just bobbed his head up and down.
âLet me hear you say it,â the Chef said. Greyson cleared his throat.
âYes, Chef,â he said. The Chef nodded.
âNow get the fuck out of my office.â
Now
âElijah. Look at this text.â
The GM looked up slowly from the iPad where he was going over reservations for the evening. â...Why?â he asked, taking the phone from Greysonâs hand.
âJust look. Tell mbe thatâs ndot weird,â Greyson said, crossing his arms over his chest. Elijah looked down, confused, and read the text. He pinched his eyebrows together just a little, and read it again. âSee? Isnât that weird?â
âGreysonâŚâ Elijah said, handing the phone back. âThatâs not weird.â
âSeriously?â Greyson asked, reading the text yet again. âItâs bizarre. Heâs ndot even a little mad? Câmon. Thatâs weird.â
âHeâs being sweet,â Elijah explained, slowly, as though he were talking to a toddler. âDid you want him to be mad? Because thatâs bizarre.â
âNdo I donât want him to be mad. I jus â HTSZHH-ue! HRRSHH!â Greyson wrenched to the side to sneeze, which sent him into a fit of hacking coughs. âI just figured heâd want to, like, yell at mbe or something. For canceling,â Greyson finished, his voice strained against another cough. Elijah didnât respond, not at first, and instead pressed a hand onto the chefâs forehead.
âI think youâre sicker than we thought, because youâre acting fucking delusional,â he said as Greyson slapped his hand away. âGreyson, normal people donât yell at each other for getting sick, or having to cancel a plan. Thatâs, like, really twisted.â
Greyson rolled his eyes. âItâs ndot twisted, Lij you fuckinâ drama queen,â he said, then held up a finger. âOnesec â hh! Hh...hnn.â Greyson sniffled, a let out a little irritated cough. âLost it.â
âGo back to the kitchen,â Elijah said, pointing towards the swinging doors. âSit down. Rest. Let your medicine kick in. I donât want people seeing this -â he gestured to Greyson, as if to allude to his entire being â âwhen they walk past the restaurant. Alright? Text your boyfriend something nice. Not something unhinged.â
âOh, fuck you,â Greyson muttered, turning toward the kitchen, his phone still open to the conversation with Reed. He turned towards Elijah again before pushing through the kitchen doors. âI still say that this is the unhinged thing.â
âGo to therapy, Greyson,â Elijah said, not looking up from the iPad. Greyson rolled his eyes, pushed into the kitchen, and regarded his phone once again.
Greyson
10:07AM
thanks, babe. itâs ok, I can take care of myself. it wont be a long day, ill just grab some nyquil omw home and sleep it off. ill reschedule our rezo too, donât worry about that. im really sorry again for canceling. if I could taste the food id still go lol.
Figuring that sounded at least relatively normal, Greyson hit send. He sat down at his desk once again and placed his head in his hands. No way heâs not pissed, Greyson thought, and he really believed it. In all his years of dating, heâd never met anyone who would respond that way; theyâd at least have a snippy remark about the last-minute nature of the cancellation.
Greysonâs phone pinged once again, and he couldnât help but grab it right away to assess the damage.
Reed
10:08AM
honey, please donât apologize, seriously. youre sick, it happens, its no biggie :) I already moved the reservation to next week but if we need to ill move it again. james at emp said to tell you feel better btw.
Greyson blinked, dumbstruck. He started typing without thinking.
Greyson
10:10AM
you REALLY arent mad? seriously?
Reed
10:10AM
im really not mad. who gets mad at someone for being sick� is someone at work mad at you? am I supposed to be mad..? lol
Greyson
10:11AM
I mean its a last minute cancellation. id understand if u were mad.
Reed
10:11AM
welllllâŚ.im not. is that ok? haha
Reed
10:15AM
grey� you believe me, right?
Reed
10:21AM
greyson..?
Then â Seven Years Ago
He was moving through molasses.
Greyson placed a sluggish hand to his own forehead â you canât check yourself for a fever, dumbass â and blinked painfully. Heâd made it to work, heâd made it through the day, and heâd made it back home, against all odds. Now, he was stuck on his couch, unable to even crawl to the bathroom for a thermometer.
It had all compounded on him, was his guess. The endless fourteen hour days for the better part of two years at his thankless sous chef job. The shitty Chicago-suburbs apartment with no heat, where he froze for the few hours a week he slept. The near-constant drinking. Sure, he was only twenty-five, but what was it they said about this industry? It ages you in dog years. Yeah, that was it.
âHh-! Hh...ITSZHH-ue! HTSHHH-ue!â Greyson sneezed helplessly into the blanket heâd wrapped around himself, and groaned. This was not what heâd imagined when he moved here from Minnesota. Heâd thought it would be glamorous, working as a sous chef at a high-end hotel in a big city. He thought heâd have friends, or a girlfriend, or something. Instead, he was trapped on his couch, benched by a sinus infection and seasonal depression that seemed to last the whole year round. Fuck this, Greyson thought. He couldnât get off the couch, but he could reach his phone; Greyson pulled up Indeed and changed his search parameters.
Actively searching for work. Location: Any.
Now
âUm⌠Chef? Whatâs, uh⌠whatâs going on?â
Greyson paused for a moment, a crate of spoiled food held on his shoulder. He turned towards Matt, keen to answer, but instead held the crate tighter and wrenched to the side. âHRTTSHH-uh!â
âBless you,â Matt said, an automatic reaction. Greyson nodded, turned towards the dumpster, and dumped the food in before beginning the cycle anew: pick up crate. Turn to sneeze. Dump old food. Matt wasnât sure if he should help his boss, or go inside for backup.
He chose the former, picking a crate filled to the brim with rotten tomatoes off the ground and hoisting it into the trash. âYou gonna tell me whatâs up?â he asked as the two of them continued gathering and tossing.
Greyson sighed, pulled a hand down his face, and shook his head. âI thingk Reed and I are over,â he said, voice soft and throaty. Mattâs eyebrows shot up.
âWhat? Seriously? What did you do?â Matt asked, prompting a stuffy laugh from his boss.
âI just donât thingk itâs going to work,â Greyson said, shrugging. âI⌠I donât want to, like, play gambes. I canât do that again, ndot after Collin.â
âChef,â Matt said as he gathered and tossed the last milk crate, âwhat are you talking about? Reed is, like, the most straight-shooting guy Iâve ever met. How is he playing games?â
Greyson, left without anything to occupy his hands, just shrugged and pulled out his phone. He handed it to Matt without explanation, and the sous quickly read through the text conversation Greyson and Reed had going. Matt furrowed his brow.
âI donât get it,â he said, handing the phone back. âHe wants to take care of you, whatâs the problem with that?â
âHe doesnât want to take care of me, he wants to have the upper hand,â Greyson explained, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and sitting on the step just outside the back door. âWant one?â
âSure,â Matt said, sitting beside his boss. âI mean, you shouldnât be smoking if youâre -â
âHTSHH! Hh-! ITZSHH-ue!â Greyson turned into his elbow, taking a long moment to gather himself before handing Matt his cigarette.
â-sick,â Matt finished. The older man shrugged, and Matt plucked the lighter out of Greysonâs hand to light both of them up, not daring to push his boss any closer to the edge. For a moment, they smoked in silence, only Greysonâs sniffles and coughs interrupting the quiet.
âBoss,â Matt said, finally, âI think you need to talk to Reed.â
âI did,â Greyson said, stubbing out his cigarette. âYou saw.â
âNo, I mean actually talk to him,â Matt said. The two of them stood, looking at each other â a face-off without the malice. Matt continued. âNot ignore his texts and clean out the walk-in.â
Greyson scoffed. âMatt, just because you have sombe fairy-tale love story doesnât mbean everyone else does, too. Okay? If itâs over between me and Reed, itâs fine. Iâmb better off alone, anywaa â hh! Hh⌠Hhhii-!â Greyson stood with his elbow poised at his face, stuck in pre-sneeze agony for what seemed like an eternity. While he was incapacitated, Matt took his phone and typed out a message that his boss couldnât see. Finally, Greyson lowered his arm and sucked in, fruitlessly, through his nose. âThe fugck are you doigg?â he asked, snatching his phone back from his sous.
âIf youâre not going to talk to Reed,â Matt shrugged, unapologetic, âI will.â
Greyson looked down at his phone, which buzzed twice in his hand. Reedâs face popped up on the screen. Call from: reed <3
Then â Three Years Ago
âHTSHH! Huh! ETZSHH-ue! HRTTSHH-ue!â
âBless, bless, bless you. Allergies?â Collin asked, not looking up from his phone. Greyson sniffled in vain, and coughed painfully.
âNdot exactly,â he croaked from the doorway to Collinâs living room. âBaby, do you thingk you could drive mbe to urdent care, actually?â
Collin looked up and slowly raised an eyebrow. âFor what?â he asked, obviously annoyed. Greyson swallowed as best he could and placed a hand on his throat.
âI thingk⌠I mbight have strep. Or bronchitis, or sombething. I, uh⌠Iâve had a fever for like. A week.â Greyson had to stop to close his eyes and grab onto the door frame, a sordid attempt to keep from hitting the floor like a rotten sack of potatoes. Collin rolled his eyes.
âYouâre such a drama queen. You seemed fine when you came over last night.â
âYou were asleep whend I came over,â Greyson said, his eyes still closed. âDid you ndot notice that I havenât been over in like five days?â
Collin shrugged. âI mean, yeah, but I figured you were busy with work. Youâre always busy with work,â he said, the venom in his voice making clear that he wanted to fight.
Greyson, physically incapable of fighting at that moment, just slid slowly to the ground and nodded. âYeah. Youâre right,â he said. âNdow Iâm paying the price. Please, baby. Can you please just take me? I⌠I really donât feel well.â
It was pathetic. He knew it, but he couldnât stop himself; he was fairly sure he was moments from passing out. Collin turned and made himself comfier on the couch.
âIâll call you an uber,â he said, pressing some buttons on his phone. âYou barely make time for me, and now youâre asking me to be your chauffeur? Please, Greyson.â He showed his ailing boyfriend the phone. âHeâll be out front in five minutes. Better make your way down.â
âOkay,â Greyson said, pulling himself slowly to his feet. âThangk you.â
Collin didnât say a word as Greyson let himself out of the apartment. He made it downstairs, and into the uber, and into the waiting room at urgent care. He made it out by himself, too, with a laundry list of prognoses â strep, sinus infection, walking pneumonia â and a handful of prescriptions. When he texted Collin later to fill him in, his boyfriend didnât text back.
Greyson fell asleep on his shower floor and awoke to freezing water pounding on him, and a courier pounding on his door. When he toweled off and answered it, chicken soup from the local bodega and a note that read feel better -c sat at his feet. Greyson breathed a sigh of relief; at least he had been forgiven.
Now
Reed had dated plenty of men is his thirty-five years of life, and had found that there were two general categories when it came to sick men: there was the Baby, and there was the Donât Look at Me.
Greyson though, an enigma since the moment they met, seemed to fall into a third category, a category that was, to Reed, yet undiscovered: the You Hate Me.
Reed was good with the first two categories; the Donât Look at Me, you left medicine outside their room and texted them funny memes. The Baby, you laid in bed with them and spoon-fed them soup. Easy. Understandable. Truthfully, this was one of his favorite things about men: they were easy to crack. He figured Greyson would likely fall into the Baby category, which was fine by him â there was nothing heâd like more than to look after an ailing Greyson, to be honest. This third category he seemed to embody, though, was not something Reed knew what to do with.
âHe didnât answer when I called him,â Reed said into the phone receiver. âI just want to know whatâs going on, I mean, did I say something wrong?â
On the other end of the line, Elijah sighed. âNo, you didnât do anything wrong. This is just⌠itâs just Greyson being Greyson.â
Reed wasnât about to take this lying down. âHey, are you guys super busy tonight? I mean, I donât want to be that boyfriend, but, like, can I come get him? We really need to talk, and if what Matt said is true he probably shouldnât be, like, working anyway, right?â
While Elijah paused, Reed pulled the phone away from his ear and once again re-read the text Matt had sent from Greysonâs phone: hey reed, itâs matt. grey is sick as hell, so DO NOT take any of the crazy weird shit he says seriously, k? his temperature needs to lower by like 5 degrees before you do this, but u guys need to actually talk. heâs being stupid.
âPlease,â Reed heard Elijahâs tinny voice on the other end and put the phone back to his ear. âPlease, come and collect him. Iâm begging.â
Reed stood from the couch and grabbed his keys. âGive me twenty minutes. Iâm on my way.â
Then â Two Years Ago
âHeyyy, baby, cand I buy you a dringk?â
The girl leaned back, her face marked by disgust. âNo, thanks. Save your money and get yourself some NyQuil,â she said, disappearing into the crowd. Greyson huffed out a sigh and coughed into his hand â a long, crackling sound that made the other bar patrons inch their chairs away.
âSheâs right, you know,â the bartender â Skip, Greyson had learned his name was a few weeks back when he had started coming in every night â said, filling Greysonâs shot glass yet again. âYou need to go home.â
âAnd yet you pour mbe another drink,â Greyson said, knocking back the shot. âThe duality of mban. NGTXSH! HTSHH! Huh-! HRRSHH-ue!â Greyson covered his mouth lazily with one hand, wiped it on his pants, hand held the glass up to indicate âanotherâ.
âBless you,â Skip said, not pouring the shot. âGreyson, seriously: go home. You sound fucking awful.â
âAre you cutting mbe off?â Greyson asked, his rheumy eyes meeting Skipâs over the bartop. âBecause unless you are, Iâmb staying.â He coughed again, into his elbow; the cough was quickly becoming a problem. Heâd had a cold two weeks ago; the symptoms had been mild, but the cough had hung around. When he caught whatever-the-fuck this was two days ago, the cough had turned from an annoyance to a pressing issue; he should go home. He should go to the doctor, he should take a day off, he should, he should, he should.
But he wouldnât. He would stay, and he would drink until he was kicked out, then heâd pass out on the train and not make it home to sleep. Heâd go to work at seven AM and stay until midnight and do it all again.
âIâm not kicking you out,â Skip sighed. âIâm just saying⌠you should take care of yourself.â
Greyson blinked slowly. He could feel his lungs, heavy with fluid, gearing up to cough again; his head, pounding in spite or because of the alcohol; his heart crushed into a million, Collin-sized pieces. Take care of yourself. It felt impossible, when youâd never been shown how.
âThis is mbe taking care of myself,â he said, clearing his throat. âIâll have another.â
Now
Greyson rested his head on a case of lettuce in the corner of the walk-in. He knew he should be continuing his madness of cleaning, but heâd accidentally sat down on his fifth trip into the refrigerator, and now he wasnât sure heâd be able to get up again.
Fucking Reed, Greyson thought as he allowed the cold salad box to sate the fever he had burning in his brain. Why canât he just be up front with me? If youâre mad just say it, donât fucking torture me.
Perhaps deep down, he knew he was being ridiculous; Matt and Elijah were most likely correct. The simplest answer â that Reed truly was just a good guy â was probably the right one. But he just couldnât get out of his mind all the times heâd reached out, needed help and asked for it, and been shot down. He certainly couldnât allow himself to believe that the person he was dating was truly good; he knew heâd never deserve that.
âGreyson?â
Speaking of Reed, that sounded a lot like him â was Greyson hearing things? Had he, in his fever-addled state, conjured a hallucination of his boyfriend to have a fight with? Bizarre, Grey, he thought to himself. Thatâs really fucking bizarre.
âGrey? Elijah said you were in here but I donât â oh!â
Either this was a really crazy hallucination, or that really was Reed standing over him, in the walk-in. Greyson blinked hard, then blinked again, and suddenly Reed was on the ground next to him.
âBabe...itâs really cold in here. Do you think we can, um, leave?â
Greyson furrowed his eyebrows together. âLeave⌠and go where?â he asked, his voice cracking. âI have to⌠work. What are you doigg heeee...HRTSHH-ue! Huh -! HTSHH! NTSHH! IGXTSH!â Greyson attempted to stifle over and over, until Reed gently took his hand and pulled it away from his face.
âThat has to hurt,â Reed said, his voice quiet and calm. âYou can just⌠sneeze, you know. Like, regular.â
âTryigg ndot to get you,â Greyson croaked, his eyes glazing over once again. âYoubettermov â HRRETSZCHH-ue! ITSZZHH-ue! Fuck â NGTSHHZ-ue!â Greyson sneezed into his lap, then coughed until his lungs felt sore. Reed didnât move; he came closer and rubbed Greysonâs back.
âBless you, baby,â Reed said, eventually.
âThangks. Sorry,â Greyson murmured, pushing his hair out of his face and turning to look at Reed. âWhy are you here?â he asked, levity out the window.
Reed let out a little laugh. âUmm, why do you think?â he asked. âYouâve been ignoring me since this morning. I got worried, since Matt said you were super sick â no lie detected, by the way, you sound truly awful ââ
âSorry,â Greyson said again, wiping under his nose. âI kndow, itâs gross.â
âPlease, Grey,â Reed said, taking both sides of his boyfriendâs face in his hands and looking him in the eye. âPlease. Stop apologizing. Itâs okay to be sick. I donât understand why you think Iâm angry at you. Iâm not.â
Greyson swallowed, painfully, and gave a little nod. âOkay,â he said, finally.
âOkay,â Reed repeated. âAnyway. I called Elijah. He said to come and collect you.â
At this, Greyson couldnât help but cough out a laugh. âCollect mbe?â he asked. Reed smiled a little.
âYeah,â he said. âHis words, not mine.â
They both laughed, softly at first, then ramping up to near-hysteria. They only stopped when Greyson started coughing again and couldnât seem to stop.
âLetâs go get you some water,â Reed said, helping his boyfriend to his shaky feet. Greyson allowed himself to be pulled out of the walk-in, and given a bottle of water that was sitting on his prep station. Greyson drank until the fit subsided, then regarded Reed once again.
âSo⌠you really arenât mbad?â he asked, rubbing his goosebumped arms up and down. Reed shook his head and shrugged off his windbreaker. He draped it over Greysonâs shoulders.
âIâm really not mad,â he insisted. Greyson nodded, seemingly satiated. Reed sighed through his nose and slipped his arms around the chef.
âLifeâs done a number on you, huh?â he asked, quietly enough that it couldâve just been to himself. Greyson huffed out a sad little laugh.
âLike you wouldnât believe, baby,â he murmured, pressing his hot head into Reedâs hair. âLike you wouldnât believe.â
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