I am NOT Sick.

Hoodie??

Dark went back to his room while you stayed outside for a few more minutes, thinking about how weird he was acting. He was definitely sick. You knew that. You had been the one who sent Google out to get his temperature.

After a moment, you went back in and saw Dark there... in a hoodie? He never wore hoodies. He was too formal for that.

"You sure you're not sick?" you asked as you saw him trying to hide the handkerchief in his hand.

"Yes, I'm sure!" he barked, making you jump. "Sorry..."

"It's okay..." You gently held his hand, which was normally cold to the touch but today was kind of... hot? (Yeah, because Dark is hot!)

He saw you frowning in concern and pulled away. "I said, don't TOUCH me!!"

"I'm sorry!"

Wilford came up to the two of you. "Hey, Damie— D–I mean Dark! And Y/n! How goes it?"

"...Wil. We were having a c—... conver...sation..." He muffled a sneeze into the sleeve of his hoodie. You frowned sympathetically. He looked at you and grumbled. "I'm fine, Y/n. Don't look at me like that. Wilford, don't you dare 'boop' my nose."

And he did anyways.

"God— Hehh'TSCHHH! Hehh'TSCHHoo! Ihhh'TSCHHooo!"

Wilford giggled and you slapped his arm. "What?!"

"You know what. Dark..."

"I'm fih... heeEEHHSHIEWW!! God fucking— Blame Wilford!"

"Not my fault you're si—I mean—Not my fault you don't dust your room more often!" You raised an eyebrow. "He's not sick!"

You raised your arms in defense. "Hey, whatever you two say. I'm gonna go shopping."

"For what...?" Dark asked with a small sniffle.

Cold medicine.

"Soda."

"...I can read your mind, you know." He raised an eyebrow.

...Soda.

"Soda."

"...Fine. Just go."

And you left to go get cold medicine— I mean soda.