ACHES

22. concave

"Not tonight," he mumbled, eyes half-closed as he stumbled down the hallway. I followed behind him, hand reaching into the space between us.

"How bad is it?" I asked, watching him crawl into bed. I kneeled at his side of the bed, watching his eyebrows knot and twist.

"Bad enough," he groaned. "Can you turn off the lights and everything?"

"Yeah, of course," I nodded. I flicked off the lamps, the lights in the hallway, the droning stereo in the kitchen, anything that made light or noise.

I came back to our room, delicately sitting on the bed beside him. I moved slowly, trying not to disturb him. I reached into the bedside table, grabbing the lavender oil I always kept there for him. I placed a few drops of it onto my fingers, massaging the oil into his temples gently.

"Thank you, sweetheart," he whispered. His face relaxed as my fingers circled into his skin.

"You want anything stronger?" I asked, and a smile flickered onto his face.

"I just need to sleep."

"Okay," I nodded, my fingers lingering against his skin. I watched his eyes flutter, his breathing falling into an even rhythm. "It's getting worse, you know."

"I know," he sighed.

"I don't think you've gone a night without a migraine in weeks," I laid down beside him, over the blankets. I knew the movement required to crawl under the duvet would make him nauseous. He was quiet. "Can I please just take you to the doctor, just in case–"

"Nothing they can do, sweetheart." His frown returned, his breathing quickened.

"I know, just, maybe last time they missed something," I looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know."

"Just let me sleep, okay?" I tried to ignore the annoyance laced between his words. He was exhausted, he was in pain.

"Okay," I sighed. I listened to him fall asleep, watching his head sink into the pillows. After an hour, his jaw went slack, resonant snores falling from his open mouth. I slipped under the blanket then, placing my hand on his chest carefully. I fell asleep to the gentle pound of his heart into my palm.

I woke up when my hand fell into the sheets, sitting up and looking around the room for him. The light from the bathroom peeked under the door, and I listened to him retch and moan. I opened the bathroom door slowly, rubbing his back slowly as he vomited into the sink. I kissed his bare shoulders, letting him cough and spit.

"Just go back to bed, darling," he grunted, breathing heavily as he gripped the edge of the sink.

"No," I insisted. I stood behind him, pressing my body against his back. "I'll be right here with you."

He shuddered, gagging and choking, nothing left for his stomach to expel.

"I have to sit," he said weakly, sitting on the tile of our bathroom. He leaned against the cabinet, his cheek pressed to the cool wood. I took his pale hand in mine, holding it still between my fingers. His eyes were closed.

"You want some water?" I asked, and he shook his head slowly.

"I just want to sleep," he frowned, a long sob of a sigh slipping from his chest. I moved to sit beside him, pulling his head to my lap. I brushed my hand down his arm, then back up, letting my fingers roll over the valley between his muscles.

"Sleep, then," I murmured, and the tension in his shoulders loosened. He slept in my lap until the sun pooled into the bedroom, my bones aching against the tile. I memorized the spaces between the lines of his tattoos, and the way his hair curled around his ears. He woke up, groaning and clumsy, standing to find his way back to bed. I didn't have the energy to follow him and dozed off, slumped against the bathroom cabinet.

He had left when I woke up. I got into bed and slept in the concave of his pillow.