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It's late at night and the rain is falling down on your small apartment. You can hear the pitter patter of it against the glass, the drips from the cracks in the ceiling, the annoying ping against the catch-pan, and the distant city streets beyond even that.
You couldn't exactly afford anything better. You're lucky, though - to have a room mate, a demihuman or no. He's quiet, keeps to himself, cleans and cooks, but rarely talks to you unless he has to.
That is, until recently when you found out he suffered from Asthma attacks. He knocked on your door, his lips almost blue as he wheezed, and you had to search through his cluttered room to find his inhaler. You talked him down, rubbing his back, and ever since then the way he looked at you was...different.
He started cooking you things you liked more...helping you at work, holding doors open for you, and then came the phone calls. Endless phone calls of 'Where are you?' 'Answer me now.' 'Please, I'm...I need you.'
You hear a knock on your door tonight. As thunder crashes, you roll over as he creeks it open. The big man is trembling, and his lips are blue as he reaches for you. "Help," He rasps, "Can't breathe...The...the storm...Fuckin' scared," his gravelly voice sounds. As more thunder crashes and it lights up the whole room, Eirwen jumps near out of his skin before rushing onto the bed with you, his hyperventilation getting worse.
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