local emeto writer

A hot, bright spike through the socket of his eye.

He had paused in the laundry room with one hand around a basket handle, eyes closed, waiting for the room to stop tilting in tiny, nauseating increments.

Then he had opened his eyes, swallowed hard, and kept going.

On the second day, it had become harder to lie to himself.

He woke with the pain already waiting.

Not worse exactly—not at first—but deeper. Rooted. It had sunk into him overnight, threading itself behind his eyes, down the side of his neck, into the hinge of his jaw. His scalp felt bruised when he dragged his fingers through his hair. The left side of his face carried that strange migraine tenderness, like every nerve had been peeled raw and laid too close to the surface.

The weather had shifted again. Heat under cloud cover. Damp air. Pressure rising and falling like the city couldn’t decide what kind of miserable it wanted to be.

Lex hated that his body noticed.

He hated that his skull seemed to know the atmosphere better than any weather app. Hated that stress, sleep loss, and a low gray sky could combine into something that made him feel trapped inside his own nervous system.

Still, he dressed. Still, he answered messages. Still, he ate half a piece of toast because Soren had been standing there and Lex didn’t want to make that soft, observant expression worse.

The toast sat in his stomach like a stone.

By midafternoon, he could feel his digestion slowing in that awful, unmistakable way. It wasn’t nausea at first, not exactly. It was stillness. A wrongness. His stomach felt too quiet, like a machine that had powered down with everything still inside it. Then came the tightness, low and deep, pulling across his abdomen in a tense, cramped band.

He kept pressing a hand there when no one was looking.

Not rubbing. Not yet. Just checking, almost accusingly, like he could catch his body in the act of betraying him.

The food remained.

Coffee curdled on top of it. Water sloshed faintly when he moved. By evening, the fullness had turned dense and bloated, a hard, swollen pressure that made sitting upright uncomfortable and bending forward quietly dangerous. His stomach felt packed too tightly under his ribs, like he had eaten far too much and then swallowed a brick for good measure.

Except he hadn’t eaten enough for that.

That was the worst part.

His body could make abundance out of almost nothing when it wanted to punish him.

The migraine climbed with it. Pain pulsing behind both eyes now, though one side was worse, a deep blue-white throb that synchronized with his heartbeat. Light became texture. Sound became impact. Voices didn’t just reach him; they struck him, small blunt objects against the inside of his skull.

He started closing his eyes whenever he could get away with it.

At first, it was only for a few seconds. In the car, waiting on Soren to get a prescription fill, one hand on the dashboard while the other covered his eyes, waiting for Soren and for once being glad he never drove anymore.

In the bathroom, seated on the closed toilet lid, elbows on knees, fingers pressed against his brow.

In the hallway outside the studio, leaning back against the wall while footsteps passed him like distant thunder.

Then the seconds stretched.

His body kept taking them.

He would close his eyes to block the light and wake five minutes later with his chin dipped toward his chest, mouth dry, stomach heavier than before. The dozing helped while he was gone. That was the cruel little trick of it. For those shallow, accidental slips into sleep, the nausea loosened its grip. The pain blurred at the edges. His body floated somewhere dim and almost tolerable.

Then he would surface.

And everything would come back meaner.

The fullness in his stomach would seem to have thickened while he was unaware. The cramps would wake with him, coiling tight and hot under his hand. The migraine would reassemble itself piece by piece: eye, temple, jaw, neck, throat, stomach. As if sleeping had not healed anything, only allowed the symptoms time to gather in the dark.

By the third day, Lex had gotten good at disappearing for ten minutes at a time.

Too good.

Soren noticed, because of course Soren noticed. Soren noticed the untouched water bottle. The way Lex kept his phone brightness turned all the way down. Sunglasses as much as possible and his usual prescription glasses every other time.

The way he stopped wearing his rings because the pressure of them annoyed him. The way he held himself carefully, shoulders slightly raised, abdomen guarded, every movement reduced to the smallest possible version of itself.

Ksenia noticed because Lex snapped at a sound check tech for dropping a cable, then immediately went still with shame so sharp it was practically visible.

“I’m fine,” Lex said before either of them asked.

Ksenia stared at him.

Soren said nothing.

That was worse.

Lex tried to make it to the end of the day anyway.

He nearly did.

Late afternoon found him on the couch in the apartment, technically upright, technically present, one knee drawn up while Star sat against his thigh with one paw pressed possessively over his leg. The room was dim except for the gray smear of daylight leaking through the curtains. Someone—Soren, probably—had turned off the overhead lights. The television was off. The apartment had taken on that careful, padded quiet people used around a sickroom before anyone admitted it was a sickroom.

Lex hated it.

He also could not make himself ask them to turn anything back on.

His head felt too full for his skull. Every pulse of pain seemed to push outward from the inside, swelling behind his eyes, pressing at his teeth, settling in the delicate bones of his face until even his cheekbones ached. His stomach had gone from tight to distended, not dramatically visible under his loose shirt unless one knew him well, but obvious to him in every breath. The bloating sat high and hard, stretching him from the inside. Each inhale nudged against it. Each exhale failed to ease it.

He had eaten maybe half a bowl of rice hours ago.

It felt like a feast gone rotten inside him.

Lex closed his eyes.

Just for a second.

Just to take the gray light away.

His thoughts thinned almost immediately. The room softened. Star’s weight against him became distant and warm. Somewhere nearby, Ksenia’s voice murmured low, then faded before the words became meaning. The nausea loosened—not gone, never gone, but muffled under that strange dozing veil. His body, desperate and opportunistic, dragged him down before his pride could object.

He slept sitting up, poorly and briefly, with one hand curled over his stomach.

When he woke, it was because his own body startled him.

A cramp seized hard beneath his ribs, deep enough to punch a thin sound out of him before he could swallow it. His eyes snapped open to darkness behind his own lashes, then the dim room lurched into focus around him. For one terrible second, he didn’t know where he was. Only that his head was splitting, his stomach was too full, and something inside him had shifted from discomfort into threat.

The nausea rose slow and thick.

Not sharp yet. Not immediate.

Worse.

It crawled up from the stagnant weight in his stomach, warm and sour, winding through his chest and into the back of his throat with awful patience. His mouth flooded. His skin prickled cold under a sudden flush of heat. The room tilted sideways though he hadn’t moved.

Star stood at once, tiny claws pricking gently through his sweatpants.

Lex swallowed.

His stomach cramped again.

Harder.

He pressed his palm against it on instinct and instantly regretted it. The pressure pushed against the bloated tightness and sent a sick, rolling surge up his throat. He jerked his hand away, breathing shallowly through his nose, eyes half-lidded against the migraine’s violent pulse.

Soren’s voice came from somewhere close.

“Lex?”

Soft. Careful.

Still too loud.

Lex tried to answer. Truly, he did. The words were there, arranged somewhere behind the pain, but his mouth felt slow and his throat had gone slick with saliva.

He lifted one hand.

A useless gesture. A warning, maybe.

Then his stomach gave a low, ugly turn beneath his ribs, the kind that made his whole body understand before his mind caught up.

Soren didn’t move right away.

He watched.

It was a quiet kind of watching—one he had learned over time, honed into something almost instinctual. Not invasive. Not prying. Just… attentive in that careful, weightless way that didn’t spook Lex into retreating further into himself.

Lex sat there trying to exist like nothing was wrong.

That was always the first tell.

Not the pain—Soren couldn’t see that, not directly. Not the nausea, not the pressure building behind his eyes or the slow, stubborn shutdown of his stomach. Those lived under skin and bone and silence.

But the way Lex held himself around it—that, Soren could read.

Too still. Too contained.

Like if he moved too much, something might spill over.

Lex’s eyes had drifted closed again, just for a second—just long enough that his head tipped forward a fraction before he caught himself. His fingers flexed faintly against his stomach, then stilled when he seemed to realize he’d done it.

Soren filed it away.

Third time in ten minutes.

He let a few more seconds pass. Let Lex have the illusion of control.

Then, gently—

“I think I’m gonna lie down for a bit.”

Lex’s eyes opened, slow and heavy, like they had to drag themselves back to the surface. The dim light caught in them wrong—too glassy, too unfocused for someone who was supposedly fine.

Soren didn’t look at him directly when he said it.

Didn’t make it a question. Didn’t make it an observation about Lex.

Just… a statement. Casual. Soft.

“Head’s kinda… off.”

Not a lie that would hold up under scrutiny.

But Soren knew Lex wouldn’t scrutinize it.

Because Lex loved him.

Because Lex always responded to that.

There was a beat. A small one.

Then Lex shifted, slow and careful, like every inch of movement had to be negotiated with his own body first.

“…yeah?” His voice came out quieter than usual, slightly rough around the edges. “You okay?”

There it was.

Even now.

Soren hummed lightly, already pushing himself up from where he’d been leaning against the arm of the couch. “Mm. Just a headache. Nothing crazy.”

He glanced at Lex then, just enough. Star let out a small meow Soren was sure was her way of calling bullshit, but if it was Lex didn’t seem to notice.

“Come lay down with me? We don’t have anything else today.”

He didn’t add anything more than that.

Didn’t press.

Didn’t ask in a way that could be refused.

Just… left the space open. Try to smooth the inevitable thoughts of obligations and needing to fill them to be useful.

Lex hesitated.

Not outwardly. Not in any obvious way. But Soren saw it in the micro-second pause, in the way Lex’s gaze dropped, in the faint tightening of his shoulders like his body was bracing against something internal.

Soren could practically hear the argument in his head.

You’re fine.

He needs you.

You can rest later.

Just a little while.

Lex exhaled.

“Yeah,” he said, softer. “Yeah, okay.”

Star was already on her feet before either of them moved.

She didn’t wait to be called.

She slipped off the couch with quiet purpose, tail held high, pacing once at Lex’s leg before trotting ahead like she already knew exactly where they were going and why.

Soren led without rushing.

The bedroom was dimmer than the rest of the apartment, curtains drawn enough to keep the light low and gentle. The bed was already half-unmade—typical—blankets rumpled into something soft and familiar rather than neat.

Soren climbed in first.

Not because he needed to.

But because he knew Lex would follow easier if there was already a place for him.

He settled onto his side, back against the pillows, leaving space open in front of him. An invitation, not an instruction.

Lex took a second longer at the edge of the bed.

Just standing there, swaying slightly—not enough to be obvious, but enough that Star circled his legs once, pressing against him insistently.

Then he climbed in.

Slow.

Careful.

Like gravity had gotten heavier without warning.

The moment he was down, something in him… gave.

It wasn’t dramatic. There was no sigh of relief, no verbal acknowledgment. But the tension in his shoulders loosened by degrees, like muscles that had been held too tight for too long were finally being allowed to slacken.

He turned toward Soren almost immediately.

Instinct.

Lex always moved toward warmth when he needed it.

He curled in close, folding himself into Soren’s space like he belonged there—because he did. One arm slipped around Soren’s waist, not tight, just enough to anchor himself. His forehead pressed into the hollow beneath Soren’s collarbone, breath warm and uneven against his skin.

Star leapt up a second later and settled firmly along Lex’s side, pressed against his ribs like a living brace.

Soren’s hand came up automatically.

Into Lex’s hair.

Slow, gentle passes, fingers threading through the dark strands, smoothing them back from his face. The kind of touch that didn’t demand anything in return.

Lex exhaled into him.

A long, quiet breath that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than just his lungs.

For a few minutes, nothing happened.

Just breathing. Just the soft rhythm of Soren’s hand moving through Lex’s hair. The faint, grounding weight of Star purring against him.

Then Lex shifted.

Not much.

Just enough that Soren felt it.

His hand slid lower, almost unconsciously, resting at Lex’s side where his shirt had ridden up slightly from the way he’d curled in.

And—

There.

Warm.

Tense.

Wrong.

Soren stilled for half a second, not pulling away, not pressing harder. Just… letting his palm rest there, feeling.

Lex’s stomach wasn’t soft the way it usually was. On a normal day, Lex didn’t have much of a stomach. Soren grew used to the underweight flatness, slightly easier to feel ribs and abdomen, when he and Alex laid like this. But this was different.

It was firm. Distended in a way that didn’t match what he’d eaten—Soren knew exactly how much Lex had had that day. Bloated and hard. The fullness sat high, tight under his ribs, like everything inside him had stalled and swollen at once.

And beneath that—

Movement.

Slow, uneven gurgling.

Not normal digestion. Not the quiet background process of a body doing what it was supposed to do. This was heavier. Louder. The kind of internal shift that came with discomfort, with pressure building and nowhere for it to go.

Lex made a small sound.

Barely audible.

More breath than voice.

Soren felt a twitch in Lex’s stomach, followed by a soft wince of surprise and a thick swallow.

And then—closer.

He tucked himself further into Soren, pressing his face deeper into his chest like he was trying to hide there. One hand tightened faintly in the fabric of Soren’s shirt, fingers curling and uncurling once before settling.

Soren didn’t say anything.

Didn’t call him out.

Didn’t ask.

He just adjusted—subtly—so Lex could fit better. One leg shifting to support the way Lex had curled, his arm sliding more securely around his back, hand still moving in slow, steady strokes through his hair.

Lex’s breathing evened out.

Not fully.

There was still a hitch to it, a shallow quality that spoke to the pressure in his chest and stomach, the way his body was trying to work around itself. But it slowed. Deepened just enough to signal the edge of sleep.

He dozed.

Not the restless, half-aware drifting he’d been doing all day.

This was deeper.

His weight settled more fully into Soren. His grip loosened. His face relaxed in small, fragile ways—the tension around his eyes easing, his jaw unclenching just slightly.

Out cold.

Soren stayed very still.

His hand never stopped moving.

He could feel everything now that Lex wasn’t holding himself together so tightly—the subtle shifts in his stomach, the occasional tight pull of a cramp that made Lex’s body tense for a second even in sleep, the faint heat clinging to his skin from the migraine still burning through him.

He pressed a soft kiss into Lex’s hair.

Barely there.

“Yeah,” he murmured under his breath, more to himself than anything else. “Thought so.”

But he didn’t wake him.

Didn’t push.

Didn’t try to fix it right now.

Lex would fight that.

So instead, Soren just held him.

Let him curl in, let him hide, let him finally—finally—stop pretending for a little while.

There would be time to talk when Lex woke up.

For now, Soren just lay there in the dim quiet, one hand in Lex’s hair, the other resting lightly over the tense, unsettled rise of his stomach, and loved him through it.

-

Soren let time stretch.

It settled around them in that soft, dim way the apartment seemed to understand instinctively—lights low, noise reduced to nothing but the distant hum of the city and the quiet, steady rhythm of breathing. Lex stayed curled into him, weight fully surrendered now, his body no longer fighting itself in small, constant ways.

Soren’s hand moved in slow, absent patterns along his back.

Up. Down. Gentle pressure through the fabric of his shirt.

It was as much for himself as it was for Lex.

A way to stay anchored.

Lex slept deeper than he had all day.

Not peacefully—not entirely. Every so often, there was a small hitch in him. A tightening beneath Soren’s palm where his stomach sat too full, too rigid. A faint shift of his shoulders when a cramp coiled and released under his ribs. But he didn’t wake. He just… endured it in sleep, his body trying to process what his mind had refused to.

Soren drifted at the edges of sleep himself.

Not fully gone. Just hovering.

Enough that the moment Lex moved, he felt it.

It started small.

A tightening. A breath that went wrong.

Then—

Lex jerked.

It was sharp enough to snap Soren fully awake.

Lex sucked in a breath that sounded like it had caught halfway through his chest, like something had seized inside him and refused to let go. His body tensed all at once, folding inward, one hand pressing hard against his stomach as if he could hold something down by force.

For half a second, he stayed there.

Frozen.

Soren didn’t speak yet.

He didn’t have to.

Lex’s whole body answered for him.

“—oh, fuck—”

It came out tight. Barely formed. Lost halfway through the exhale as his stomach rolled hard enough to make his shoulders jerk.

And then he was moving.

Fast.

Too fast.

He untangled from Soren with none of the careful slowness from before—just a sudden, desperate scramble, nearly tripping over the edge of the bed as he pushed himself up. Star startled, leaping back with a small chirp of protest as Lex staggered toward the door.

Soren was already up.

By the time Lex made it halfway down the hall, Soren was behind him.

He didn’t try to stop him.

Didn’t say anything.

There wasn’t time for that.

Lex barely made it to the bathroom.

The door hit the wall with a dull crack as he shoved it open, dropping hard to his knees in front of the toilet with a breath that shook on the way out. His hands fumbled for the porcelain, gripping the edge like it was the only stable thing in the room.

The world tilted.

The migraine hit him full-force the moment he moved.

It surged up behind his eyes, sharp and blinding, pain detonating outward in hot, pulsing waves that made his vision stutter at the edges. Light—what little there was—felt wrong. Too bright, too pointed. The sound of the door, of his own breathing, of Soren moving behind him—everything landed too hard, too loud, like his skull had lost its ability to filter anything at all.

His stomach twisted.

Hard.

There was no gradual build this time.

No warning.

Just—

A violent, upward surge that tore through the heavy, stagnant fullness sitting under his ribs.

Lex gagged.

Dry at first.

A harsh, dragging sound that pulled his whole body forward with it. His shoulders hunched, spine curving inward as his stomach contracted against the pressure, trying to force movement where everything had been stuck for far too long.

Nothing came up.

Just another gag—longer this time, more force behind it. His throat burned with it, saliva flooding his mouth too fast to swallow. His eyes squeezed shut against the pain spiking through his head, the motion sending another wave of agony through his skull.

“Easy,” Soren murmured, already dropping down beside him.

His hand found Lex’s back immediately.

Steady.

Firm.

Not pressing yet—just there, grounding, moving in slow circles between his shoulder blades as Lex gagged again, breath hitching, body fighting itself.

It came up on the fourth.

Slow.

Thick.

Dragged out of him in a way that made his whole frame shudder with the effort.

It didn’t relieve anything.

That was the worst part.

His stomach was too full. Too stagnant. What came up felt like barely a fraction of what was there. The pressure under his ribs didn’t ease—it shifted, rolling uneasily, threatening more without delivering it cleanly.

Lex coughed weakly, breath catching as he tried to inhale around the nausea that clung to the back of his throat. His hands tightened on the toilet, knuckles whitening.

Another wave hit.

He gagged again—harder this time, more desperate—but it stalled halfway. His stomach seized, contracting against itself, but nothing followed through. Just that awful, dry, dragging pull that felt like it should have been productive and wasn’t.

A strangled sound slipped out of him.

Frustration. Pain. Both.

Soren shifted closer.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice low enough not to cut through Lex’s skull. “I know.”

He reached up instinctively, fingers brushing toward Lex’s hair to pull it back—

Lex flinched hard.

A sharp, immediate recoil, his shoulders jerking away as if the touch itself had hurt.

“—don’t—” Lex rasped, voice thin and strained, one hand coming up weakly to bat at the air between them. “Too much—”

“Okay,” Soren said immediately, pulling his hand back without hesitation. “Okay, I’ve got you.”

He adjusted instead.

One hand stayed on Lex’s back, steady and slow, while the other hovered for a second—then moved lower.

To his stomach.

He didn’t press right away.

Just rested his palm there, feeling.

Still tight.

Still distended.

Still full in a way that made everything inside Lex feel heavy and unmoving.

Another gag tore through him.

Nothing.

Just that awful, empty pull.

Soren made the call.

“Breathe,” he murmured, shifting his hand just slightly, bracing. “I’m gonna help you, okay?”

Lex didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

His whole body was already tensing for the next wave.

Soren pressed.

Not hard—not at first.

Just enough to encourage movement, a firm, careful pressure under Lex’s ribs where everything felt knotted and stuck.

Lex reacted immediately.

A sharp inhale—almost a gasp—as the pressure hit, the sensation overwhelming in combination with the migraine screaming behind his eyes. Pain flared through his head, bright and blinding, the added stimulus too much all at once—

But his stomach responded.

Violently.

The next gag turned into something deeper, more forceful, his body finally giving under the pressure. It dragged up more this time—heavier, thicker—pulling a broken sound out of him as he doubled forward, shoulders shaking with the effort.

Soren kept his hand there.

Steady.

Gradually increasing pressure in time with Lex’s body, not forcing, just guiding—coaxing everything upward so it wouldn’t stall again.

Lex choked on a breath, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes without him even noticing. His head throbbed with every movement, every contraction sending sharp, splintering pain through his skull. The light felt like needles. The sound of his own gagging echoed too loudly in his ears.

But it was working.

More came up.

And more.

Each wave dragged out of him, long and miserable, his body wringing itself empty in slow, relentless pulls that left him shaking by the end of each one.

It wasn’t quick.

It never was.

But it was moving.

Soren stayed with him through every second of it.

Hand on his back. Hand at his stomach. Voice low and steady when Lex’s breathing started to go uneven, grounding him when the dizziness spiked too hard.

“I know,” he murmured when Lex choked on a breath. “I know, it’s rough—just let it happen.”

Lex barely processed the words.

But he leaned into the pressure.

Into the guidance.

Because as awful as it was—head splitting, stomach cramping, body shaking—

It was better than being stuck.

Better than that horrible, unmoving fullness that had been sitting in him for hours.

Soren didn’t stop until Lex’s body finally slowed.

Until the waves weakened.

Until the tightness under his hand softened—just slightly.

Only then did he ease the pressure, shifting his hand back to Lex’s spine, rubbing slow, grounding circles as Lex sagged forward, breath ragged, forehead nearly touching the porcelain.

“Yeah,” Soren said quietly, more to him than anything else. “That’s better. I’ve got you.”

And he did.

Every second of it.

Lex stayed folded over the toilet for a long moment after the worst of it passed.

Not still.

Just… emptied out in the ugliest possible way.

His body trembled in uneven aftershocks, muscles twitching and tightening under Soren’s hands every few seconds like his nervous system couldn’t decide whether it was finished panicking yet. His breathing came shallow and ragged through his mouth, throat raw enough that every inhale sounded scraped at the edges.

The migraine was monstrous now.

Soren could see it all over him.

Lex’s eyes stayed squeezed shut, not just from nausea anymore but because opening them clearly hurt. His face had gone pale beneath the sheen of sweat clinging to his skin, though there was still that flushed, overheated tint high across his cheekbones and ears that always came with his migraines. His lashes stuck together damply.

And underneath Soren’s palm, Lex’s heartbeat was racing.

Too fast.

Adrenaline. Pain. Vomiting. Dysautonomia. More pain.

All feeding each other in one vicious loop.

Another weak gag pulled through him, though almost nothing followed it this time. Just saliva and a miserable little choke at the end that made him curl tighter around himself.

Soren rubbed slowly up his spine.

“That’s okay,” he murmured quietly. “You’re okay.”

Lex made a rough sound that might have been disagreement.

Then his shoulders dipped.

Just slightly.

But enough.

Soren’s attention sharpened instantly.

The shift was subtle if you didn’t know Lex—his posture sagging heavier than before, the tension suddenly draining out of his arms in a way that wasn’t relief so much as… depletion. His head lowered closer to the toilet seat. His breathing stuttered unevenly.

Pre-Presyncope.

Not fully presyncopic, but close. Close enough for Soren’s stomach to tighten and grip on Lex to readjust to be a little more supportive.

“Hey,” he said softly, moving closer immediately. “Lex.”

Lex tried to answer.

Or maybe just tried to breathe.

It was hard to tell.

His hand slipped a little on the porcelain. His shoulders swayed faintly.

Soren wrapped an arm around him before gravity could decide things for them.

He shifted behind Lex carefully, one knee braced against the tile, pulling Lex gently back against his chest just enough to stabilize him. Lex let out a weak exhale as Soren’s arm crossed under his shoulders, holding him upright without forcing him away from the toilet.

“There you go,” Soren murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Lex’s head tipped back just enough to rest briefly against Soren’s shoulder.

His skin was burning.

But Soren could feel the cold sweat underneath it too.

That awful in-between place.

Not enough blood pressure. Too much nervous system chaos. The body struggling to recalibrate after violently emptying itself. All while being in excruciating pain from the crown of his head all the way down, probably past his shoulders and into his back.

Soren stayed exactly where he was.

One arm secure around Lex’s chest. The other rubbing slowly over his sternum and upper stomach, not pushing anymore, just grounding him through the shaking aftermath.

“No water yet,” he said softly when Lex swallowed hard again. “Just breathe for me first.”

Lex gave the smallest nod against him.

He knew.

Even if he wanted water, his stomach would revolt instantly right now.

So they waited.

The bathroom stayed dim except for the weak amber nightlight near the outlet. Soft enough not to stab through Lex’s skull. The air smelled faintly medicinal now beneath the sourness of vomit and sweat.

Star cried once—small and concerned. But she was quiet too as she strolled into the bathroom and found her objectively rightful position against Lex’s leg.

“The queen has a message,” Soren said softly, earning a half attempt at a small chuckle out of Lex as he leaned his head back a little more against Soren’s shoulder.

Soren continued rubbing slow circles over Lex’s chest.

He could feel every uneven breath.

Every tiny tremor.

The way Lex’s body kept trying to fold forward despite exhaustion, instinctively curling around the pain in his stomach and head.

Minutes passed like that.

Slow.

Careful.

Lex’s breathing gradually eased from ragged gasps into something less frighteningly shallow. Not normal. Not good. But less like he was about to drop out completely.

Only then did Soren speak again.

Very quietly.

“Do you want your shot?”

He asked it exactly the same way every time.

Never assuming.

Never reaching for it first.

Lex had once admitted—half-asleep, medicated, and horrified afterward—that unexpected medication made his skin crawl. Too many years of substances forced into his body one way or another. Too many moments where his autonomy had belonged to someone else.

So Soren always asked.

Even now.

Lex was silent for several seconds.

Soren could practically feel the internal war happening in real time.

Medication meant admitting this was severe.

Meant surrendering control.

Meant needing help.

But another pulse of pain crossed Lex’s face before he finally cracked one eye open slightly, immediately wincing from even that tiny amount of light.

“…yeah,” he whispered hoarsely. “Fuck... I didn’t want to…”

“We can wait?” Soren suggested.

Lex shook his head slowly. Very slow. Soren would’ve missed it if he hadn’t felt it.

“Needs to stop,” Lex mumbled, “Can’t do the pills. Not now.”

Relief flickered briefly through Soren’s chest.

Not because Lex was sick.

Because he was finally letting someone help him. Finally admitting things he barely did.

“Okay,” Soren said gently. “Okay, baby.”

The endearment slipped out naturally, soft and warm.

Lex didn’t even react to it.

That alone said enough.

Soren waited another couple minutes before moving, making absolutely sure Lex wasn’t about to pitch forward again. Only when Lex’s breathing steadied enough to trust did Soren carefully help him sit back from the toilet.

Lex looked wrecked.

Completely wrecked.

His hair stuck damply to his forehead and neck. His pupils were blown wide from pain. His stomach was still visibly bloated beneath his shirt despite everything he’d gotten up, the muscles there tight and reactive every few seconds as another cramp rolled through him. He looked exhausted down to the marrow.

And still embarrassed by it somehow.

Soren kissed the side of his head lightly before standing.

“Stay here. I’ll grab it.”

Lex leaned back weakly against the cabinet while Soren disappeared briefly into the bedroom.

By the time he came back with the injector, Lex had both eyes shut again, one hand pressed hard against his forehead now like he was physically trying to hold his skull together.

Soren crouched beside him again immediately.

“Still with me?”

“Unfortunately,” Lex muttered faintly.

Soren smiled despite himself.

Good sign.

“Your arm okay? Or do you want me to hit your thigh this time?” Soren asked.

“Arm,” Lex said softly, “please.”

Soren nodded.

He guided Lex through it exactly the same way every time—predictability mattered.

“I’m opening it.”

A click of plastic.

“I’m taking the cap off.”

Another tiny sound.

Lex’s hand found Soren’s sleeve blindly, fingers curling into the fabric before Soren had even touched him with the injector.

“Ready?”

Lex inhaled slowly through his nose.

Then nodded once.

Soren wrapped himself around Lex again before he pressed the injector against his upper arm and triggered it.

Lex jerked sharply.

“—fuck—”

The word snapped out of him instantly, more startled than dramatic, his entire body tensing hard against Soren as the medication burned into the muscle.

His grip crushed briefly around Soren’s forearm.

Soren immediately rubbed his shoulder with his free hand, placing a soft kiss against the side of Lex’s head.

“I know. I know, sweetheart. Just a few seconds.”

Lex buried his face hard against Soren’s shoulder once the injector clicked empty, breathing unevenly through the lingering sting.

“It burns,” he mumbled miserably.

“Yeah.”

Soren smoothed damp hair back carefully this time, avoiding pulling at it too much.

“That part sucks.”

Lex huffed a weak, pained laugh against him before immediately regretting it, one hand returning to his head.

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t laugh. Your brain hates you right now.”

“It always hates me.”

“That’s true. At least you aren’t breaking the migraine with a seizure again, right?”

Another tiny laugh. Softer this time. “Right. That’s worse… way worse. Shot still hurts like a bitch though.”

Then exhaustion swallowed him again almost immediately.

The medication wouldn’t kick in fast for Lex.

Nothing ever did.

His body metabolized things strangely, reacted strangely, delayed things strangely. Sometimes the injection helped in thirty minutes. Sometimes an hour. Sometimes it worked in waves instead of all at once.

So now came the waiting part.

Soren slid an arm carefully around Lex again and helped him stand.

Lex swayed immediately.

Not dramatically. Just enough.

Soren tightened his hold automatically.

“Nope,” he murmured. “You’re not walking alone right now.”

Lex didn’t argue.

Too tired.

That frightened Soren more than the vomiting had.

Together, slowly, they made it back to the bedroom.

Star immediately jumped onto the bed the moment she saw Lex, pacing anxiously near the pillows before settling into a watchful crouch.

Lex collapsed more than laid down.

He curled instinctively onto his side almost the second he hit the mattress, one arm wrapped around his still-cramping stomach while the other shielded his eyes from the dim room.

Soren climbed in behind him carefully.

One arm wrapped around Lex’s waist.

The other slid under the pillow beneath his head, fingers combing gently through his hair in slow passes.

Lex melted backward into him immediately.

Still trembling faintly.

Still overheated.

Still nauseous enough that Soren could feel the occasional hard swallow and the way his stomach kept turning uneasily beneath his arm.

But safer now.

Held.

Soren pressed a kiss against the back of his neck.

“We wait now,” he murmured softly.

Lex made a tired little sound.

“Just want to sleep the rest of it off…” Lex muttered.

“Yeah, figured,” Soren said, “I got you, okay?”

Outside, the apartment stayed quiet and dark.