hello @smolsmolmongey - Tumblr Blog

Jun 24

Fighting the demons(my keyboard) to finish this, anyways go my soog hanahaki au

read on ao3

word count: 6k

Doogile doesn't get sick often. If he does, it's usually the worst it can be, bedridden with a high fever, a deep and persistent ache in his bones, or a chill so cold it leaves him shivering under all the blankets he can find.

So when he feels an itch in his throat, he can only groan internally as he racks his brain to figure out what he did to get sick. It feels weird to speak so he tries to keep his sentences short. It's a bit hard though, with someone as chatty as Silverr by his side. He's waiting for the coffee machine in one of the communal Ranked kitchens when he shows up, yellow cardigan flowing as he moves.

Silverr, ever observant, immediately picks up on the slight change in Doog's behaviour.

"Frog in your throat?" she teases. She has a pink flower with petals that fades into orange in the middle atop her head, with smaller pink and yellow flowers dotting her braided hair. Doog's not sure what type of flowers they are.

"Something like that." he tries to clear his throat, but the itch persists. "Probably gonna get sick soon."

"That's not good," Silverr mumbles, and Doog hums in agreement. He's half-expecting to spend around a week stuck in bed, not to mention the time he needs to derust and recover. Playoffs is both so far away yet close enough for him to start worrying about his performance.

"I don't even know what I did to get sick," he laments and Silverr laughs. It's a nice sound. Doog clears his throat again. Oddly, it tickles when Silverr laughs.

"I dunno." Silverr shrugs, and the flower bobs in the air. "Wait, don't stand next to me if you're getting sick, I don't wanna get sick either!" she takes a large step away. Doogile glares at her halfheartedly.

"You literally wear a mask, how would you get sick." Doog clears his throat again, it's so scratchy.

"It's not a medical mask," Silverr says like it's obvious, which it kinda is but Doog's point still stands.

"But seriously," Silverr continues, "if you're actually getting sick, then you should, like, take a break or something, I dunno." His words ripple through Doog, leaving his chest fluttering.

"It's not that bad," he argues. "I'm fine for today. Plus, would you even do what you say?" Silverr giggles and Doog giggles too, ignoring the cacophony of feelings in his chest. He ignores them as he gives Silverr a see-you-later and heads to start his Ranked session as Silverr blows him a kiss.

He thinks he plays pretty well. He wins most of his matches, only losing to Hax from a death into a full reset.

He does end up ending his session early, but only because the itch in his throat becomes unbearable. He's planning to come back later, so he's not bothered. He coughs a few times, and idly wonders if he should've gone to the kitchen to get something to drink instead of heading back to his assigned room, or if he should log on to his home server instead.

He punches in the room code and as soon as he closes the door, he's hunched over coughing. Something's lodged in his throat and he manages to stumble into the bathroom. Both hands grip the counter hard as he coughs and coughs and coughs. After what feels like an agonizing couple of hours, what's stuck in his throat comes out and he briefly registers it's odd texture before looking at it.

A single pink petal that fades into orange, stained in red. He swallows, and tastes metal.

So, Doog ends up not continuing his Ranked session. He sits on his bed and stares at the petal in the center of his hand. He'd washed the blood off, it was too pretty to throw away. It's pink and orange and it's the same shape, colour, and size of the petals of the flower on Silverr's head, and he coughed it up, and he refuses to see how those are connected.

The fluttering in his chest returns and he comes to a horrifying realization; something's growing in his lungs. The itch in his throat remains, and Doog wonders with a muted terror if he'd end up mistaking it for want.

Someone knocks on his door and he jumps. Pocketing the petal, he opens the door to see none other than Silverrruns standing, hand poised to knock again.

He goes to say don't you know my room code, but his voice is hoarse from coughing, and all he says is a mangled don't before cutting himself off and stepping aside to let Silverr in. He looks to the ground as he clears his throat again, but he can feel Silverr's worried eyes looking at him.

He sits on Doog's bed with more grace than he usually does, and Doog finally notices that he has a small bundle—it's food, and his stomach grumbles when he realizes he only ate breakfast and a granola bar. She's also brought a water bottle which he graciously accepts. He avoids looking at the top of Silverr's head, but his eyes keep drifting there.

"I brought you something since no one saw you after you finished— your session." Doog is both touched by the other runners noticing his disappearance, but also confused why they went to Silverr about it. They're not dating, they're just friends. Plus, he's just a message away.

"Thanks," Doog says, sinking his teeth into some of the bread she brought. It tastes sweet despite the sickness in his lungs.

"How are you feeling?" Silverr asks, hesitant. Doog frowns. Hesitance doesn't suit her.

His voice is rough from the coughing. "Not bad, I guess." Silverr nods. The fluttering returns and Doog's breath hitches as he begins to cough. He manages to stop, the cough still lingering in his throat. He sees Silverr's arm raised, she must've wanted to rub his back. Instead, it falls limp as Doog reaches for the water bottle, washing down the cough.

"Are you.. are you gonna take a break?" Silverr asks, and her tone is so gentle it feels unreal. It scares him.

"If it gets worse, probably." he doesn't look her in the eye. He taps the side of his bed with his ankle.

"If you need anything I'm– we're here for you, alright?" He can feel Silverr's gaze burning into him.

"Okay." and then Silverr's gets up and leaves with a nod of her head, the flower's petals weaving in the air. Relief burns through Doog like lava as the door closes and he feels the cough returns with a vengeance. Doog waits until he's sure Silverr is out of earshot before coughing up more blood-coated pink-fading-to-orange petals.

He spends the rest of his day curled on his side, scrolling on his phone for answers. He searches variations of 'coughing flower petals' and 'flower cold' and 'flower disease' and they all have one result in common. Hanahaki. A disease where flowers manifest and bloom in one's chest as a physical representation of romantic love. It starts slow, only coughing up bloodied flower petals, until it escalates to coughing up blood-coated flowers and the plant siphoning air, then to the plant itself bursting from the lungs and mouth upon death from suffocation. It progresses slowly, but is fatal when left untreated.

Doog huffs in frustration as the websites switch between saying it's caused by unrequited love or suppressed love. There's a surgery to remove the plant, but it's expensive and there are too many risks for Doog's liking. Either way he's screwed.

He searches up a variation of the words pink, orange and flower, and finds that it's a zinnia. It's a gorgeous flower, but the pictures barely hold a candle to the one that rests atop Silverr's head.

Embarrassingly, he searches 'how to get over a crush'. It's not helpful in the slightest, but it's enough to stave off the pangs in his chest. He's pretty sure Silverr would laugh at him if he saw that particular search. He doesn't want to imagine his reaction to his search history, though.

Silverr, Silverr, Silverr, it always comes back to Silverr.

The sun dips below the horizon, and with the arrival of the night, the full extent of Doog's situation sets in. He sets his phone down, and sighs, smushing the side of his face into his pillow, sinking into the comforter.

He doesn't want to forget Silverr, but he can never let Silverr know about his crush on her. He doesn't want to lose what they have together. But he doesn't want to die either, or lose his ability to love entirely. He buries his face deeper into his pillow.

He thinks back to the gentleness in Silverr's voice. Does Silverr even know the effect he has on Doog? Does Silverr even want to know the effect he has on Doog? It's terrifying. He doesn't know how, but he manages to fall asleep.

He dreams of an orange-yellow sky, and a gentle breeze.

Doog coughs up a handful of flower petals the next morning. Then he digs through his collection of hoodies, finding his blue hoodies he hasn't worn in forever. It's not an ideal colour, but he'd rather clean blood from blue fabric than white. He keeps the petals in his pocket. Throwing them away feels like a crime. He doesn't run into Silverr when he's grabbing breakfast, the relief he feels is outweighed by the guilt of feeling relieved.

No one points out his blue hoodie.

He queues into Beefsalad and the seed is a buried treasure. The BT is super obvious, it's under a pile of gravel so noticeable Doog could laugh, and he barely glances at his F3 to know it's the pile as he inhales and dives straight for it. Except his air seems to deplete faster and he loses two hearts to drowning. Annoying, but not enough to lose.

He blows up trees, crafts his tools, and boats towards the ravine, making sure to inhale deeper as he dives in. He's in the Nether a few seconds after them, and it's fine until he breathes in the dry air. His lungs scream out in protest, but he presses forwards, the bastion in sight. He will not lose more time to something he should be used to already. His lungs stop as he enters the bastion– a housing – and begins his route. He finds he's more out of breath than usual.

The fortress doesn't go south, but it's not pretty either. The smoke from the blazes irritates his lungs, and he's still behind. The air from the Overworld is a nice break from the Nether, but he's still more breathless than normal.

He loses, just as he enters the portal room. Okay, he's starting the day off with a loss, it's fine. He spits out petals. The rest of his matches go the same way more or less, him being out of breath more than usual, coughing up petals between matches, losing more than winning. He discovers a few things about speedrunning with hanahaki, like how pearling through lava is even worse, and hunger-resetting causes the flowers to panic. He's wasted a few seconds to choking out petals–those he doesn't have time to pocket– or to the flowers itself constricting in his lungs.

After losing 200 elo he decides to take a break. He's leaving the cafeteria when he runs into Feinberg.

"Outfit change?" he teases.

"Something like that." Feinberg's expression becomes serious, the lighthearted tone leaving his voice.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine. I'm just kind of sick right now." he nods. "What about you?"

"Just got here. Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'll be fine," he repeats.

"Just don't push youself, man." he nods.

Then Doog starts coughing. He turns away but sees out the corner of his eye, Feinberg reaching in his pocket for sometime– a crumpled tissue, and hands it to him, who immediately starts coughing into it. He crumples it up as soon as his coughing fit's over, but dread pools in his stomach from the way Feinberg's eyes widen.

"Is that blood?" hot, angry tears form in Doog's eyes "Doog?" His voice is hauntingly quiet. His cat ears flatten.

"It's nothing–" his voice cracks. He blinks them back.

Feinberg looks around before dragging him into his Ranked cubicle, where it's more private. He's not sure why he lets Fein take him. The tissue is still crumpled tightly in his hand. He stares hard at the elbow of his sweater. There are dark specs staining it.

"Doog," Feinberg pleads, his tail swishing around uneasily, "tell me what's going on." the tears return and Doog can't stop them from falling. He leans again the wall, staring listlessly at the ground, tears rolling gently down his face as he thinks of what to say. He can only breathe.

"Hey," Feinberg tries again, "it'll be fine, fuck that sounds so corny." It's enough to get a laugh out of Doog, even if it makes his chest feel weird. A lot of things are doing that right now.

His eyes are still wet. "Sorry, I didn't mean to."

"Happens to the best of us." Feinberg crosses his arms. He looks less uneasy but his eyes betray the worry he feels. "So," he guesters for Doog to explain. His brow furrows.

"I've.. I've been coughing up flowers." It's a solid start. He will admit to this, but he will not say anything about his crush on Silverr.

"Hanahaki," Feinberg mumbles, and Doog gives a small nod. "It's Silverr isn't it?" Shocked, Doog takes a step back, forgetting he's braced himself against a wall.

Feinberg has the decency to look sheepish, just for a moment. "It's just so obvious–" Doog looks away. "I– fuck, I'm so bad at this." Doog stays silent. "Are you gonna tell him?"

"I can't." Doog thinks he might start crying again.

"It'll kill you."

"I know."

"Why?"

"He doesn't feel the same."

"You're sure?"

"He has.. he has others. I'm not one of them." he doesn't look at Feinberg.

"We'll figure something out." Doog hums affirmative, if only to placate Feinberg. He places a hand on Doog shoulder. The touch is more comforting than Doog expected. "I promise." his gaze flickers to the specs on his sleeve. "Oh," he says, "did you change sweaters to–"

"Yeah, I did." His hand lingers, and he unexpectedly pulls Doog in for a tight, brief hug. Stunned, Doog doesn't hug back but Feinberg's already letting go. The message is clear, I've got you. Then he leaves, throwing the tissue in the trash, wondering if he should burn some of his hoodies.

If speedrunning has taught Doog anything, it's how to learn and adapt fast. He learns how to breathe enough air for both himself and the zinnias in his chest, and how to do it discreetly. He learns how to suppress his coughing. He adapts to the pain the flowers bring, to taking small breaks to breathe, to overlapping that with crafting.

He doesn't learn how to let go of his love for Silverr. He's not sure if he can.

Silverr silently hands him a cup of coffee one morning and his worry is enough to set Doog ablaze.

…he's not the only one casting worried glances his way.

It's's a miracle Silverr hasn't said anything. He has to have noticed at least something's up, it's been around a week. Maybe he's being polite.

"How're you feeling?" Doog gives him a look. "What? It's a good question."

"I'm like, sick, what would I say?" he sips the coffee, feeling it soothe his throat.

The zinnia still rests on Silverr's head. It's like a comfort of sorts, that maybe Silverr would like him back.

He chokes on his coffee. Surprisingly, it doesn't bring up any flowers.

"You good?" Silverr asks, handing him a napkin. Doog doesn't miss that slightly wild look in her eyes.

He clears his throat. "Yeah."

Silverr frowns. "What are you taking?"

"What?"

"What medicine?"

"One of them." it's Silverr's turn to shoot him a look. "What? They all work the same."

"They don't work right if you're still sick," he snorts.

"It just has to run its course." the lie tastes bitter.

"Sure." Silverr bites into her sandwich, and Doog ignores the urge to fix her bangs.

Doog's leaning against the railing of the Ranked building's roof. He's not sure how he ended up here, but it's a nice change of pace from Ranked. The air is refreshingly cool, and the view is nice. It's a nice place to ignore his thoughts, all the what-ifs and maybes.

Then the door to the roof opens, and Doog doesn't have to turn around to know who found him here.

He still turns around, even though the action leaves him dizzy. He'll blame the breathless part on Silverr's beauty, not that he'd ever admit it.

"Hey." Silverr waves, a smile on his face. The rays of the midday sun reflect on her face, making her eyes a molten gold, and really emphasizing why her name is Silverr as her bangs sparkle.

"Hey." Doog watches as she joins him against the railing, eyes drifting to her zinnia, before drifting back to the vast expanse of the Ranked server.

"How'd you find me?" he tries not to wince at the sound of his voice.

"Just a guess." Doog hums. "Taking a break?"

"For now. It's nice." he guesters to the general area. Silverr hums. He coughs, feeling petals tickling his throat.

"You going to movie night?"

Doog shakes his head, "No."

He's not one for HBG's events, they're usually overwhelming. The thought of going usually leaves his insides swirling uncomfortably, but now it feels like a knife being twisted in his guts. It also makes the itch worse as he rubs his throat, to try and calm it.

It's not the fact that Dylan's the one hosting it, it's not.

"I figured." They leave it at that, and stay until the sun dips below the horizon.

Doog coughs up more petals after Silverr's dropped him off.

Doog's queueing late, he doesn't want to stop, even though his head spins when he moves too fast. He can deal with it, and he's on a winning streak in spite of it.

He exits the match, victorious. His elo ticks up, but he doesn't see by how much as he puts a hand to his head and shuts his eyes, too lightheaded to instantly queue up again. He braces himself against the wall as he begins to cough into his sleeve.

His vision continues to swim.

He blinks his eyes open to find himself collapsed on the floor, a DM from Feinberg asking if he's queuing late. His match history shows it's only been a few minutes from his last game.

He takes a couple deep breaths before he gets up and leaves his Ranked cubicle, ignoring how his fingers shake as he types out a response to him, ignoring how his ribs seem to tremble as he coughs up more petals.

He ignores the buds hidden amongst the petals.

He goes back to queue up.

Doog's eating soup, beetroot soup, on the rooftops. There's a nice breeze, and it's kind of nice to be able to just exist without worried looks, even if they mean well.

Silverr's busy queueing, so Doog won't be bothered.

The door opens, and out comes Feinberg, who seems surprised to find Doog here, judging by the way his ears perk up.

He joins him on the bench, and neither of them say anything as Doog eats his soup. Feinberg opens his mouth and Doog braces, expecting what he's about to say.

"I don't think I've ever seen you eat soup," Feinberg starts. Doog.. was not expecting that. He's technically right, Doog's only eating soup because it doesn't aggravate his throat. It also tastes pretty good, he can't believe he's never eaten soup before.

"I've eaten suspicious stew before." Still, Doog can't help but smile into his spoon.

"Yeah, but that doesn't count."

"I guess." They lapse into a comfortable silence, though it fades as Doog expects Feinberg to bring Silverr, and everything that entails, up.

"You're sure Oliver's not gonna kill you for taking one of the bowls out here?"

Doog chokes, and Feinberg, panicked, stammers out an apology.

"He'd have a lot more to worry about if he did," Doog smirks. Feinberg looks relieved and Doog realizes he probably thought he was going to cough up more petals.

"Besides, it's just a bowl."

Feinberg snickers. "Imagine him getting mad over a bowl, he'd never live it down."

The silence returns, but Doog knows what's coming.

"Are you gonna tell Silverr?" he stirs around whatever's left in the bowl. Feinberg doesn't say anything, and Doog swallows a lump in his throat.

"No."

"Okay." Doog looks at Feinberg. It's uncharacteristic for Feinberg to just give in, he's one of the most stubborn runners he knows.

"Feinberg?"

"It's going to kill you."

"Feinberg." Anger flashes through Doog. He sets his bowl down beside him, suddenly not interested in eating soup ever again. "This isn't your business."

"You're my friend, of course it is. Do you think I want to see you die? Do you think Silverr wants to see you die?" Something in his lungs blooms.

"Feinberg–" his vision swims, and he feels him grab his shoulders as he lurches forward.

Shakily, he grips his jacket. Feinberg pulls him close as he shakes.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, Doog, I–"

"I'm scared," he admits, voice wobbly, "I don't want to die."

"I know, I know." Feinberg doesn't offer any platitudes and he doesn't know if that's worse.

Doog's waiting in the Netherite lounge for Silverr. He's not sure if he could go to his room without immediately choking. The light shifts and he looks up, but it's Aquacorde. He waves before going back to fiddle with his comm, but he doesn't miss the way it seemed like he was going to take a step towards him.

The next person to come is Silverr, but Doog frowns. The zinnia on top of his head is gone, replaced with another flower, a hibiscus Doog thinks, if the middle part is anything to go by with its long antenna thingy.

"Here," Silverr says, placing the zinnia that was on top his head in Doog's hand. "I saw you were looking at it. It's pretty, isn't it?" Doog can only nod slowly in response. He finds it's hard to breathe. Silverr begins to talk his ear off, but Doog can only stare at the flower in his hand. It'll die soon, it's been picked from its stem, and Doog can only think of the irony and similarity of the situation he's in. He swallows and tastes blood. Not now, not now.

"Hey," Silverr pokes the side of his head, "did you hear what I said?"

"No?"

"Well," Silverr says, oblivious to Doog's internal struggle, "I was asking if you wanted to do private rooms later today. I know you're sick but I'll play left-handed, I promise!"

Doog.. really wants to do private rooms with Silverr, even if the thought of it leaves his head spinning.

"What about your flower?" Silverr tilts her head. "I can't like, put it in my pocket."

"Why not?"

"It'll fall out." There are also the petals he's managed to keep, and he doesn't want those spilling out, even if they wilt over time.

"Hmm." Silverr purses his lip. "Here," he says, gesturing at the flower. Doog gives it back, and he tuck it in his hair, just behind his ear. Doog strains his eyes to see, ignoring the urge to cough.

It falls out.

Silverr tries again, and again, before huffing and placing the flower back in Doog's hand.

"I could.. put it in my room?" Something flashes through Silverr's eyes for just a moment. It feels like disappointment. It breaks his heart.

"Oka–" her comm starts buzzing like crazy "–fuck, I was supposed to– I gotta go, tomorrow, yeah?" He says, something like a promise.

"Yeah." And Silverr's off, yellow cardigan flowing as she leaves.

Doog caught a glimpse of who was messaging Silverr, Reign. He stares at the zinnia in his hand, and wonders if there's a cruel joke he's missing.

The next day rolls around and Doog feels awful as he spend half the night trying not to panic at the thought of Silverr finding out. He coughs up more buds than petals when he wakes up.

Silverr's left him a message, asking if he's fine to start at lunch, sent two hours ago. Doog checks the time again. Sure, he woke up later than he usually does, that's fine. His throat tickles again and he coughs up more petals, but these ones are more blood-coated. He spits out another bud.

His stomach twists, and he ends up eating half a slice of bread for breakfast, with nothing else.

Silverr's waiting on him in one of the private rooms, and, oh, she's not wearing her mask.

She smiles. "You ready?"

"Always. Still gonna play left-handed?" Doog smiles back.

"I'll try," she says in that tone that leaves Doog breathless. The world is loading when Doog realizes she was probably lying about playing left-handed, but he finds he doesn't care much.

The first seed is a no-iron-pickaxe ruined portal that instantly gets seed-changed.

Next seed is a village seed, and Doog can already spot where he's going to enter from. Things are already a bit different with how less Silverr chats as they race against each other. He spots a second blacksmith, and with the way Silverr groans, she probably saw it after she killed golem. Still, they're both in the Nether relatively close to each other, bastion in sight.

He routes the bastion, a bridge, almost dropping his pickaxe a worrying amount of times. He pie-rays for the fortress, pushing through the ache in his chest as he responds to something Silverr said. She's in the fortress first, Doog not so far behind.

He blinds to measure, muting his comm so Silverr won't hear him cough up petals. He reenters the Nether, getting hit by a stray blaze, as he lobs a pearl and unloads it.

It's not going great, he's still in the fortress while Silverr's reached the stronghold. Doog loads his pearl hang and begins heading to second portal coords. He's in his portal when he realizes he's built on wrong coords, and doesn't have enough obsidian to fix it. Still, he pushes through it, digging to starter as Silverr enters the end, and navs the stronghold as he sees him get the take aim advancement.

He's in some part of the stronghold as Silverr enters the fountain and wins, and they're whisked away from the seed. Maybe it's the flowes in his lungs, or maybe the dust from the structure, but his vision is blurry as he exits the seed.

Silverr says something, he can tell by the way the her mouth moves, but Doog can't make out the sounds, is she asking him a question? His eyes close for a second—

—and he finds himself leaning on Silverr, or rather, Silverr's holding him from falling over.

"Doog? You back?" he mumbles a yes, embarrassed. He pushes himself off Silverr, but he keeps him in his hold as he presses the back of his hand to Doog's face– his cheeks and forehead, specifically.

"You're not getting a fever," he mumbles, "but you're kinda warm. And you're breathing heavy."

"'s probably 'cause I didn't really eat breakfast," he confesses. Silverr sighs, probably regretting asking Doog to play private rooms.

"I wanted to," Doog says as comfort.

"Would you rather have cereal or bread?"

"Bread? But why–?"

"You," Silverr says confidently, "are going back to bed."

And so Silverr hooks an arm around Doog's back, despite his protests, and walks with him back to his Ranked room. He tries not to lean into Silverr's hold, and ignores all the looks they're probably getting.

Silverr sets him down on his bed, trying, and failing, to get Doog to lie down. It was kind of nice, the way Silverr cared for him, even if Silverr doesn't like him back. His breath hitched, the telltale signs of–

No, no no–

Doog pushes past Silverr and rushes to the bathroom, where he chokes up more petals. Except they stay stuck in his throat, and he grows more and more desperate as he claws at his throat, desperate to get them out, desperate for air. The light shifts and he doesn't register what it means, but now there's a hand patting back as he coughs, and the pain becomes slightly more bearable.

What's stuck in his throat finally breaks free and he gasps for air. He's still hunched over the sink, hands grasping the counter in a death grip, blood-saliva dripping from his mouth, vision blurred from exertion and wet eyes. He focuses on breathing, inhaling enough air for the flowers and himself.

Silverr's hand trembles, oh, and he turns to look at her, but she isn't looking at him. Instead she's looking at the sink, eyes wide and horrified. His vision focuses instantly, and he turns to see what's in the sink.

Three bloodied, pink-fading-to-orange, fully blossomed zinnias.

They go in the bin. He can't keep them. Not after– not after Silverr saw. He rinses his mouth, and the running water fills the silence.

Silverr hooks an arm under his shoulders and wordlessly guides him back to his bed, where he all but curls up. His gaze stays on Silverr, as much as he wants to turn his back to him, he can't bring himself to. He's.. tired. But he can't sleep, he has to see, has to know what Silverr's thinking.

Silverr stands next to his bed, looking crestfallen, completely out of his depth, unsure what to do. Not a single hair is out of place but he looks frazzled.

"How.. how long?" she whispers, horrified. Doog looks at her dully.

"Three weeks." he sees Silverr run the math in her head.

She fumbles for words. "Who?" she asks, voice so quiet it makes her earlier question sound like a shout. Doog looks away. She's seen the zinnias, she's given him her zinnia, it's on his desk, how can't she put it together?

"Who is it?" she begs. Her lip is trembling. Everything about this is wrong.

"I can't," Doog whispers. "I can't." he squeezes his eyes shut.

"I'm going– I'll get you some water, yeah?" It takes everything Doog has to not curl up further and cry. His absesnse is both relieving and torturous.

Silverr does come back, with a cup of warm water. He places it on the nightstand where the wilted zinnia lies, its petals dull and curled up. Then he takes a seat at his desk.

Doog, carefully, sits up and reaches to take a small sip. The warm water feels good on his throat. He doesn't look at Silverr. Everything's too raw.

When he's done, he sets the cup down and goes back to being a curled up ball on his bed.

"Doogile," Silverr tries again, "Who is it?" Doog gives the tiniest shake of his head.

Something in Silverr seems to shatter.

"Okay." Silverr's tone turns cold, emotionless, and Doog hides a shiver, her cold tone is directed at him. She gets up to leave and Doog, in the heat of the moment, reaches out, one hand desperately reaching for Silverr, the other on the nightstand to steady himself as his vision spins violently.

"Don't go," he looks into what he thinks are Silverr's eyes, "please, don't leave. Please." Silverr doesn't move, and neither does Doog, even as his head spins, and legs threaten to give out.

"Okay," she says quietly.

He pulls Silverr's hand as he goes back to his bed and sits, Silverr joining him, not letting go of his hand. They sit in silence as Doog breathes heavy, no point in hiding it when Silverr knows. A gentle hand touches his face– he'd started tearing up. Startled, he looks at Silverr.

"I'm here, I'm staying, okay." Doog nods, trying to find the words.

"Silverr, it's– I–" he struggles to get the words out, the itchiness making it hard to speak.

"You don't– I know," Silverr says, a sad smile on her face.

"Silverr–" she looks away, but doesn't remove her hands.

"It's fine, Doog–"

Doog forces it out. "It's you."

Silverr freezes. Looks back at him. He looks shocked. Doog looks away. It's embarrassing, having a crush, developing a terrifying disease for someone who won't–

Silverr's hand guides his face back to hers gently. There's a careful reverence in her eyes, enough to ravage his chest.

Then, she pulls him in for a tight hug, and Doog is thoroughly confused.

"I can't believe that you were prepared to– Doog–" he gently holds his face, fingers anchoing themselves in his hair "–Doog." he says, like it's enough.

And it is.

"I'm sorry," Doog says, a million words on the tip of his tongue waiting to be said, a million words dying on the tip of his tongue.

"You idiot, you were willing to– to die?" there's no heat behind his words, but the guilt still consumes Doog.

She looks his eyes and how had Doog not seen it before? He buries his head into Silverr's shoulder.

Silverr drags him off the Ranked server and back to their HBG server, telling him Ranked is no place to recover. Doog thinks the fact that he played Ranked like this is also a big reason. Though Doog does manage to convince Silverr to steer away from the community house and to a more secluded area where his base is; he has a room in the community house, but he'd rather not let the other members know.

Silverr makes sandwiches, and Doog shows him where he keeps his tea bags specifically for when he has a cold. For some reason the tea is sweeter than what he remembers.

His house only has one bedroom, but neither of them mind. It's very warm.

The next day, Doog wakes with an itch in his throat, and all traces of sleep vanish as he wonders if the day prior was just his imagination. It's not as he remembers he's not in his Ranked bedroom, and as he hears Silverr mumble something in her sleep beside him.

He still coughs up petals, but they don't hurt as much, and there's less blood. The small victories, he supposes.

Silverr asked him one day if he knew what the pink-orange zinnias meant. Doog had said no, he refused to look it up, but he expected Silverr to know. Silverr did not, so they looked it up together. It was awfully fitting, the flower meaning long-lived affection, enthusiasm and endurance.

Doog's spent about a week away from Ranked when it happens.

They're not doing much, just vod-reviewing, since Silverr's also taking a break from Ranked, when Doog feels it. He goes to the bathroom to cough up what he thinks are petals, except they're not petals, not with how they're stuck in his throat, not with how it feels worse than when he coughed up flowers.

Silverr's by his side as he's coughing and coughing and coughing until he feels something give, just ever so slightly. He can feel it in his throat, his mouth, it's unlike the petals he was coughing up. He's tempted to reach in his mouth and pull it out.

Then, the plant dislodges from his lungs, in all their green and pink-orange, bloody glory.

He inhales fully, he'd forgotten what it was like to be able to breath properly.

"Holy shit," Silverr whispers, mildly horrified. Doog wipes blood from his mouth.

Holy shit indeed.

When Feinberg gives Doog a slighly exasperated look as he's huddled close to Silverr, he can only smile as they block him out by kissing each other on the lips, his hand in Silverr's hair, Silverr's around his waist.

#ahhhhhhh so good!!!#ty for sharing #poor doog #soog #fic

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