#*blows a cartoonishly oversized kiss*

[rocketbirdie]

I walk into Seventh Heaven. I take a step towards the bar, my usual and preferred seats. I see two new guys dressed like SOLDIERS, with big ass swords. I pause. I see they are chained together by the neck. I take one step back. I lock eyes with the blonde one who pauses playing with the black haired one's hand. Claws are now visible on said hand. I immediately turn around and leave.

OBSESSED with this one. thank you anon for my life

[candied-peach]

ao3: “boy in a bubble” rating: T warnings: coronavirus mention, anxiety, sympathetic deceit, anxceit genre: fluff description:  How can Dee care about his own well-being when he finds Virgil in the grips of a panic attack? (anon prompt:  "So okay: chronically ill Dee who has deficiencies specifically in his lungs and is scared about the covid virus because of that but doesn't want to worry his very nervous bf (Virgil) so he's hiding his worry and comforting Vee instead")

He's short of breath again.

You have asthma, Dee reminds himself as he begins the tedious process of extricating himself from the mound of blankets on his bed. Calm down. You haven't even left the apartment in a week, remember?

He gets cold easily during the night, so he and Virgil have come to a compromise. Dee can have all the blankets he wants, but Virgil refuses to share any but the bottom one. It works well...usually.

Virgil's nowhere in sight, but that isn't surprising. It's- Dee squints at the bedside alarm clock- nearly one in the afternoon, and Virgil doesn't like to sleep late, regardless of how late he ends up in bed. Dee thinks it a byproduct of Virgil's anxiety. Virgil agrees.

The coronavirus is very much on Dee's mind as he gets dressed in a new pair of pajama pants (these are snake-patterned) and a cozy yellow sweater Virgil gifted to him last Christmas. There's not much point in dressing up after all. The only person who's going to see him is Virgil and he could wander around naked for all his boyfriend would care.

High risk pulses in Dee's ears as he tiptoes down the hallway, yellow socked feet making little shushing sounds against the carpet. His own traitorous lungs wheeze for breath and he can't help but picture some of the signs he's seen, listing symptoms of the disease. Fever. Dry cough. Shortness of breath.

Then he sees Virgil crumpled on the sofa, fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle the sobs leaking out around his fingers, and all thoughts of his own peril flee.

"Virge?" He asks softly, approaching on whisper-soft steps. Virgil looks up, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, old eye shadow smeared down his cheeks. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry," Virgil mumbles, struggling to sit up on the couch. "I just- I got up and I read the news on my phone and it's even worse than it was yesterday and I knew it would be, but I-" His chest hitches, his shoulders stiffening.

"Breathe," Dee says, willing his voice to remain steady. He crouches in front of Virgil, leaning against their battered coffee table. "In for four." He demonstrates, breathing in cartoonishly loud. A faint smile touches Virgil's mouth, evaporating into a shaky breath. "Hold for seven," Dee continues, tapping the time on one pallid wrist. "And out for eight." He blows out his breath in a gusty whoosh that makes Virgil laugh a little. The sound is faded and tear-stained, but he'll take it.

"We can't control the virus," Dee continues. "Or if either of us will get it. We've been self-isolating for a week, we're fully stocked up on groceries and toilet paper, thanks to Patton, and we have lots of stuff to do if we need a distraction. Like Animal Crossing! Or music. It will be okay."

"I miss our friends," Virgil whispers. It makes Dee's chest hurt, seeing the wounded look in his boyfriend's eyes. "I know we can video chat, but- it isn't the same."

"No," Dee admits. "But it's better than nothing. Remember the Spanish flu epidemic? Now that would have sucked." Virgil rolls his eyes, playfully shoving Dee's shoulder.

"You're ridiculous," Virgil says, but he's smiling when he says it.

"Wanna cuddle and watch conspiracy theories on Mothman while we eat breakfast?" Dee asks. Virgil smiles, lopsided.

"I'd love that," he admits. Dee starts to rise in preparation for finding something to eat, but Virgil's hand on his wrist stops him.

"Come here," he says, pulling Dee into his lap.

"What's this for?" Dee asks in surprise, resting his head against Virgil's chest and listening to the reassuring thump of his heart. "Not that I'm complaining."

"I know you're worried, too," Virgil says quietly. His hand comes up, fingers combing through the unruly fluff of Dee's hair. "Because of your lungs. I appreciate you taking the time to help me out, when you must be pretty freaked out yourself."

"I love you," Dee says frankly, knowing the blush that will spill across Virgil's cheeks. "It wasn't a hard decision to make, I assure you." Virgil leans down and plants a kiss on the top of his head.

"Still," he says. "Thank you."

"Of course," Dee says. He nestles against the warmth of his boyfriend, lured by the siren song of his oversized, purple-patched hoodie. "I could stay here all day."

"So could I," Virgil says ruefully. "But we should probably have breakfast. Mothman wants us to practice proper nutrition." Dee laughs.

"Of course he does," he says. "I'd expect nothing less."

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