I am NOT Sick.

DON'T. Tell Y/n.

On his way down, Wilford approached him. "You alright there, Damien?"

"I told you not to call me that."

"Right! Sorry, Dark. Are you okay?"

"I–I'm..." He rubbed his nose. "I'm fine."

"Yeah?" He booped his nose.

He launched into a huge sneezing fit. "GOD, Wilford! You should've asked... f–first... HATZSHIEW!!"

"Dam— I mean— Dark, I'm sorry, I didn't know you would react like that... Jeez, are you sick?"

"...No. I am not sick."

"Clearly, you are."

"...Fine. Don't tell them. Don't tell Y/n."

"No promises."

"No, you need to promise not to tell." He sniffed and rubbed his nose.

"Fine, but it'll cost you later. Do you need a tissue, or something?"

"No!"

"Alright! No need to fuss."

"I'm going to see Y/n."

He shrugged. "Alright. Bye-bye, then!" He waved and walked off.