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"Thith ith dumb," he says, for the sixth time. Actually, it comes out "dub."
"We've established that." You sigh, looking at him. He's pink around the eyes and nose, his lids puffing as if he's slept after an hours-long crying jag. He's congested all to fuck. "Whose decision was it to come visit me for fucking Christmas with no notice knowing my house is full of cats? Whose brilliant stroke of genius was it to totally fail to pack his goddamn cetirizine? Or rescue benadryl or whatever? --Fuck." You get up, sigh. "I guess I can't blame you for the snow."
Sollux gives you the world's most mournful look, and you squash the desire to snap: poor guy really is feeling like ass, and there's not much in your spartan medicine cabinet that could do him much good. You've already looked through all your pockets and bags and shit and found him a fossilized Benadryl which doesn't seem to have done much other than make him feel queasy on top of having his sinuses explode.
"'th nod your fauld," he acknowledges, and sort of gasp-heaves, and you wonder if something else is wrong with him, and then his screwed-up face gives you the clue you need.
"...shit, is it stuck?"
He nods, and does the gasp-hitch thing again, and then seems to relax. "Jesus fuck, Captor. I'd wrap you up in blankets and shove you out onto the goddamn porch if it wasn't covered in two feet of snow. What can I do?"
Sollux gives another abortive gasp and just droops. "Nothig," he says. "Thit'th beyod eved your legeddary control, Vantath."
One of your cats--Sekhmet, the more friendly of the two, stretches and jumps down from her perch on the windowsill, heading toward Sollux with the typical cat's instinct for bothering people who dislike them. You scoop her up and toss her, gently, yowling in protest, into your bedroom, and shut the door. Horus is still at large: you suspect him of sleeping on top of the fridge. Sollux droops even further, and you are moved to go get a clean blanket from the linen closet and drape it over his shoulders. "I'm sorry, man."
"You dod't god do be thorry," he tells you, adenoidally, and snurfles. "You're righd, id'th by fauld."
Oh goddamnit, you cannot handle Captor in self-pity mode. Then he gasp-hitches again, and you actually know that one, that horrible pain-pressure-tickle in the middle of your face when you need to sneeze and it isn't fucking happening. You never understood why it hurts in that sudden smear of pain, before you get the actual need to sneeze.
"You gonna be okay?" you ask him.
"Gonna hab do," he manages, and gasps again, and you feel completely useless sitting beside him and rubbing his back.
"I could open the windows anyway? Would cold be less shitty?"
He shakes his head. "Nobe, id'th ogay. I'b fine."
"You are obviously not fine, you asshole. Ugh. I just." He hitches in another gasp, and squinches his eyes shut, but there's no explosion. "You gotta get that out or your brains are gonna backfire and end up dribbling out your ears and I don't want that shit on my couch."
"Full barkth for ibagery," Sollux croaks. "Brig be your horrible fugging gat."
You have to pause to parse that, and then shake your head. "No way am I making this worse for you."
"Godda ged worthe before id gedth bedder. Pleathe, Karkad. I'b beggid you."
You can't handle that red weepy look. "Fuuuuck. Okay, but if you go into, like, a crazy seizure or some shit I don't have magic helicopters to come rescue your ass."
"Dod't be ridiculouth," Sollux says. "Cad. Now."
Sekhmet is only too happy to be released from her exile in the bedroom, and oils her way over to leap onto Sollux's lap and bash her hard little face against him. She's purring ecstatically at the opportunity to rub her head against his face. You can practically see his eyelids swelling.
Thank fuck it doesn't take long. He gasps in a long shuddery breath and finally, fucking finally, sneezes with enough force you expect to see brains on the floor. Sekhmet yowls in outrage and launches herself from his lap, and you come over with the box of tissues and put a hand on his back to steady him. It's...okay, you expected a gigantic sneeze, hahaha, right, and then he'd blow his nose and you'd be back to discussing how to get him the fuck out of here before he drowned in histamine, but it didn't stop at one. He's...it looks painful, gasping in as deep a breath he can and then exploding into the crumpled hanky he'd brought with him. Each spasm makes him close his eyes: he's barely able to see you.
"Sollux," you say, over the repeated spasms. "Fuck. Sollux, what...what do I do, what..."
He shakes his head and grabs a handful of tissues, and you think probably in one of his spasmodic inhales he breathes in a bit of kleenex because he half-chokes and you have to bang him on the back while his entire upper respiratory system tries to crawl out and strike off on its own. You are beginning to get legitimately concerned when at last his mast cells or what the fuck ever decide they've made their point and he droops back against your arm, breathing hard, sweating, tears running down his face.
"...you better?"
He nods against you, not wanting to risk words. You wipe the tears away and lean over to get the trash can for his used tissues; he blows his nose, turning away from you in embarrassment, and then just lies back panting.
"Nope." You get an arm round his shoulders. "C'mon. Fresh air. I don't fucking care if it's cold, you're not doing that again or you're gonna pop out your eyeballs, and I don't need eyeballs as part of my decor. You stick your head out the window and I'm gonna get the snow shovel."
Sollux leans heavily against you, but shakes his head. "'Th okay," he says. "'M fide."
"You are not fine, you irredeemable cretin." You haul him off the couch and take him to the window and when you pull down the sash he does in fact lean into the icy breath of allergen-free air. "Stay there."
"I'b thorry, Karkad," he says, quietly, before you turn away.
"For what?"
"Beig groth all over you. Thorry."
"Aw, fuck, man. Not gross. I mean, not grosser than shit you've seen me do. Relax, okay? Deep breaths. This shit isn't embarrassing, it's just...I wanna make you not feel so lousy is all."
He blinks too-bright eyes at you. "Id'th not groth?"
"Well, okay, maybe a little, but eh, like I said, you've seen me in way worse shape and you didn't faint in horror. Remember the meet and greet thing back in college where the shrimp was bad? Yeah. It's okay, man. Cats and your face don't mix, it is what it is."
He manages a rather clogged chuckle, and reaches to squeeze your hand. You want to hug him so tight he squeaks, and just settle for putting an arm round him and rubbing his back. "I'm gonna go see if I can get that dehumidifier working, that oughta take some of the shit out of the air while we work out a way to get you home."
"Karkad?"
"Yeah."
"Thag you."