Phantom Hollow The ghost of you is close to me

He's so, so tired. There is a heavy lethargy settling deep in his bones as of late, a suffocating exhaustion far too familiar for comfort — and truth be told, he doesn't know what to do. The demon is a familiar one, but its presence has scattered him far too effectively, and the accompanying apathy has done little to motivate him past it. So this morning he'd exited his den, flopped on the ground, and decided to stay there for... however long. The rest of his life, perhaps.
After what feels like forever, the sound of an approach causes him to tense, chest tightening in the moments before he recognizes his lover's scent. Midar, He murmurs, voice rough and cracking slightly. He can't find the strength to move until his mate settles, embracing him, and he feels some faint stirring of warmth through the numb haze. He whines quietly, raw and needy, and presses into his lover with a nip and a second whine bordering on desperation. Midar. He repeats, voice tremulous with an unspoken plea. Please make me feel something.