Vladmir Masters laid alone in his giant bed, his face white as the sheets he lie on, and his breath barely even forcing past his pale lips. He was sick. His ghost side was revolting against him, from what he knew. As for help, he couldn't get it. No one could know about his other side, he would be better without it. The paparazzi, the stress, his frayed fever-stricken brain couldn't remember the other reason he refused to seek out medical help. But he wished he had. He was so hot, but so cold. His complexion was coated with a thin layer of cold sweat, and he could barely keep his eyes open. Why did he forget? What did he forget? He knew, it was important. Something that, at the thought of forgetting made his heart twist.
Not even the Dairy King would visit him. Nor his kitty. How long had it been since he interacted with anyone?
As he forced his eyes open, his pupils focused on a figure, one that was still blurry. That's right. He remembered. Once daily, a boy with silver hair or sometimes black would come in and nurse him. Why didn't he swat him away? Why didn't he get mad..? Why didn't he hit him when the soft lips would place over his, providing him the needed warmth against his icy flesh? The drops of liquid that would spill onto his cheeks, salty smelling. He never moved to push them away, he had no energy left.
The body would lay next to his and litter small kisses along his jaw, his face, an arm curled around his side. Why did that fill him with a sense of purpose? Why did it make him feel so.. happy? He forgot. What did he forget? He would give up anything to remember.
"Vlad, I know you can't hear me. Or maybe you can…" The voice was medium in depth, smooth, familiar somehow. Was this what he forgot?
"You're really sick, you know…? Your brain's all weird, reacting to stuff in strange ways… A.. And I.." The voice was cracking, and the body laying next to him started to shake, burying something into his shoulder. A face? "I don't know how to help you. I know you told me if anyone found out, it would be bad for both of us, people would think halfas are bad because of you and hate me, but I looked anyway. I looked so hard for a doctor. I couldn't find one who knew about halfas. I'm so sorry Vlad.." The voice didn't speak again. He could feel him sobbing on his shoulders, the wet tears soaking through his clothing. It made his chest tighten, filled with a deep sorrow. He wanted to roll over and tell him it would be alright. But he didn't know why.
For what seemed like years to Vlad might have been moments in reality. His lips found the energy to speak, parting, drawing a quick breath and whispering 'I love you Daniel.'
Daniel? Who was that?
The body sat up, the sobbing frozen in time. Cold icy blues found pale, sick blues, and stayed that way for a good while. And then, the raven haired boy would lean down to slowly lock their lips together, his ters once again staining his cheeks.
This felt right. This felt okay. The pain in his head left, and all his nervous system was centered on those soft lips, lightly pressed against his own. He felt himself start to slip. His eyes closed, but there was a sense of relief from his pain other than the lips softly pressed against his. His body went still, and very soon he felt nothing. Gone was the sensation of the other's soft lips caressing his own, the feeling of hot tears along his cheeks. He was completely alone.
But for once in what felt like eons, he was not lonely.