Funky Hog Time

The ability to breathe through your nose seemed like a distant memory. A particularly hurtful cough forced itself out of your throat and you didn't even have the strength to fight it anymore, wheezing like a wounded animal.

You didn't even question when voices from TV melted into static.

What was noticeable though, was the room feeling significantly colder, to the point you had to pull up your blanket. You tried tugging on it, but it was like some weight was preventing you from doing so.

Turning to see what caused this obstruction, your eyes went wide as you realized you weren't alone anymore. You felt the yelp forming in your throat, but it was too exhausting to actually let it out.

The red in his hollow eyes bore right into your soul, illuminating a confused scowl.

The demonic hedgehog was right next to your face, and you only took notice when you actually looked his way. Guess one of the positives of having a stuffed nose was not having to tolerate the reek of death that always came whenever he appeared.

"What's this supposed to mean?" His glitchy voice rumbled throughout the room with a note of accusation, "not even a bit of a scream?"

"I don't have the strength to deal with you right now," you mumbled, your back falling onto the mattress once more.

The hedgehog looked offended by your audacity.

"How come you're so extra pathetic today?" He asked, more so to himself. His annoyance was palpable, but you couldn't care less.

"None of ya business."

Your halfassed answer was met with a growl, and his nasty face came rapidly towards yours. "I need to know if you're dying. I'm not done playing with you yet."

"I'm not dying yet, but I sure feel like it." Your response was very flat. "So if you're here to make me feel worse, you're too late."

The tilt of his head was almost amusing, if only you weren't in a haze of pain.

"That's no fun." He furrowed his brow in disappointment. "How am I supposed to play with you when you've already lost? And not even by me!"

You made it clear you weren't interested in his monologue and tugged at the blanket, still under his gloved hand. Taken aback by your guts, he lifted it up, watching as you rolled over on your side.

Occupied by trying to find a cool spot on your pillow, you didn't register when X wordlessly crawled right next to you. Your body jerked at the sudden stab, sharp quills stained with old blood poking your back until he found a comfortable place to lay. The other assaulting thing was the cold. It's as if you were being blanketed by a corpse, which in all fairness was probably the case. The hedgehog didn't seem to be bothered by your disapproving grunt, his muzzle resting on top of your shoulder.

"What the hell?" You spoke while trying to escape his grip, but eventually concluded you were too weak to fight his strong grip.

"Quiet." He growled, but it wasn't as menacing. His hand moved purposefully towards your neck, stopping only to grab it and part of your jaw. At this point, you didn't expect to wake up tomorrow.

To your surprise, the tightened grip never came. Instead, his claws hooked into your skin without breaking it, and you felt a cold shiver all over your body. It all happened in a split second, but it felt as if he was killing something inside you, which was a horrifying thought.

Feeling a hint of weakened strength, you shifted to face him with a frown. "What did you do?"

"Killed whatever was killing you from the inside." He rumbled with simple cadence. "I hate waiting. I'm the only one who's allowed to torment you."

You couldn't help but furrow your brows at the realization of feeling a bit lighter than before. You were still full of mucus and sweat, but your temperature didn't make you wanna jump off a roof.

In that moment of silence, forced into near proximity of his chest, you were now able to hear… Nothing. You halfly expected some kind of a heartbeat, but all that you've heard was a very subtle static, almost like an old PC.

And then, a sniff.

His cold, dry nose almost brushed against your skin before it scrunched up. "There's still this annoying smell on you."

"You're the one who smells like death all the time, aren't you used to it?" You lifted your brow.

"You don't smell like death." He snorted dismissively. "You smell pathetic."

Suddenly your cheek was met with a cold, leathery and meat-like texture. There was no trace of saliva, almost like when you wake up after sleeping with your mouth open, and a painful lick like that of a cat's tongue.

Your body jerked with cringe. "Ew, don't lick me!"

Your protest was met with a firm grip of his hand on your wrist. "Don't disturb my work. I can't stand this stench of a sick animal. It's irritating."

His rough tongue continued to gather the salt off your jaw and neck, holding you in place like a dominant feline. Whenever you tried to move, his sharp teeth would serve as a reminder to stay still. You couldn't picture the expression on your face, but it surely wasn't that of a happy camper. Thankfully, he didn't insist on cleansing all your spots, stopping right by the collar of your shirt.

It's as if he was absorbing your sickness, or doing a skincare routine in a very disturbing way. Although it wasn't a pleasant experience, your face felt much better without the layer of sweat and excess heat.

Absolutely done with this experience, you swiped your hands across your face, trying to get rid of the feeling.

And then the room went dark, except for the glowing irises of the demon in your bed.

"Sleep now. Regain your strength." The deep voice near your ear almost made you flinch. "I'll be there when you wake up. Then we can play a proper game."