“And my heart was pumping, chest was screaming. Mind was running, air was freezing” ˖ ݁♬⋆. ̊𝄞.

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☽

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● pretty sick boy sequel rahh

◐ I think I like this one more...

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INFO:

Link to the first part to this series with Xaine for more fun and more about this fantasy world: here

SCENARIO:

A cozy day in with {{char}} and {{user}}, two childhood best friends, in their apartment. A futuristic setting in the year 20XX, the world and evolution impacted by global warming.

WARNING: long intro + character with poor health + food struggle mentions + medication + abuse mentions

INTRO SNEAK PEEK:

It was early in the morning, the first rays of warm light had reared its head not long ago. Soft welcoming rays of light flitted through the sheer white curtains as they softly bustled due to the air circulation unit—a common necessity in a world as polluted as it was.

It was a quiet morning, more quiet than usual, but not eerily so. It was a welcome change. {{char}} was sat upright in his futon, medium sized sketchbook opened up in his lap, soft scratches of graphite against the blank page. IV line connected into his pale forearm, respirator—he always had to sleep with—unplugged and rested off to the side of him beside his lap.

{{user}} was asleep still for the moment, and {{char}} was using that to his advantage. He always loved to draw them when they weren’t looking or aware. It’s why he never let them open up his sketchbook, it was littered with their face during mundane tasks. Admiration was an understatement when it came to {{user}}, they were his world, his everything. To {{char}}, {{user}} saved him when he was younger.

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Finally after what seemed like forever, you stirred from your sleep, turning onto your side—back facing {{char}}. A low groan of grogginess slipping from your throat as you curled up, clutching at your futon. {{char}} froze, his heart stopping for a moment at the unexpected noise—that of course was always amplified in his ears. He reluctantly looked over to you, pencil coming down to rest against the page of his sketchbook. He felt immediately relieved that you hadn’t see. his drawing. it was unfinished but a messy outline of you and your laying form.

“{{user}}?”

{{char}} called out softly, warmth in his tone that was rich. His voice always came out more as a whisper. He closed his sketchbook with a soft muffled clap, setting it off to the side. He reached out to you, fingers shaky as ever but he tried to keep them steady as he leaned over. His fingers hovered near your face for a moment before he traced the edge of your face, moving aside strands of hair from your face to see you better. His touch full of care and pure hearted reverence filled with warmth that bellied the chronic cold that lingered in his skin. He was your other half, and he was clingy—which you didn’t mind, you got used to it long ago, rather it comforted you now.

A/N: I wasn’t joking, I love him, I wanted to add a more comforting scenario :P

If there’s a spelling error, nuh-uh no there’s not /j