Love is the Drug

Darby’s senses are gone.

At least, he thinks they are. He can’t see himself, he can’t feel anything move, and nothing else seems to work.

Realistically, it should be calming. Peaceful, really, in his state.

But there’s this sense of dread in his head, wherever it is, that keeps growing. It blooms down his body, to each crevice it can nestle into. There’s something wrong here. He just can’t put his finger on it.

A thud from somewhere cracks in his ears like thunder. He can’t hear his own cry, but he knows it must be there. He feels the shadow of it.

It happens again. And again. And again. It’s rhythmic and agonizing as each thud spreads pain, waking up every muscle in his body. He collapses somewhere, his body feeling way too heavy all of a sudden.

He starts to taste copper, and knows something is seriously wrong. Blood shouldn’t be here. Not unless-

He pinpoints the thudding. He may hear it in his ears, but he feels it starting from his chest.

Somewhere, he digs his fingers inside. They sink right in, and for the first time in forever, he feels a-

Darby snaps awake. He breathes in sharply, but doesn’t jerk. Not with the weight on his chest.

He unclenches his jaw and cautiously looks down to see what was holding him down.

Jungle Boy had once again snuck in and found his place, snoring softly as his dead weight comforts Darby in a strange sort of way.

Darby can feel a slow pump against his fingers. When he looks down, his hand is wrapped around Jungle Boy’s wrist. Right at the pulse, he can feel a steady heartbeat.

Darby carefully lets go, and slowly reaches up to his own neck. He hesitates, like his skin might burn, and presses down in a familiar spot.

He feels nothing, and sighs with relief. Still dead. Still no pulse.

Jungle Boy shifts, squeezing around him more and sighing in his sleep.