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Amenity

Summary:

A·men·i·ty
əˈmenədē/
Noun
The pleasantness of a place or a person.

Sollux has a migraine. Eridan is there to help.

Notes:

Yo! Another fic.

I'm trash. This is trash.

I wrote this instead of sleeping.

Have fun!

Work Text:

Your name is SOLLUX CAPTOR. You DO NOT REMEMBER your AGE because your HEAD is POUNDING UNRELENTLESSLY with UNBEARABLE AGONY.

It’s a wonder you could remember your name, as it is.

There is the faint sound of humming electronics, and a hard structure under your head.

Oh, wait. That’s your keyboard. Shit.

You’re probably going to have marks on your face.

There is, however, the slim possibility that you won’t. You don’t actually know how long you’ve been in this position, slumped in your chair with your head down and practically killing you.

As your awareness fades in and out, you hear the faint footsteps of socked feet on carpet. As the person grows closer, you open your eyes slightly to see the fuzzy violet socks, only to clench them again with pain.

A soft yet firm hand lands on your shoulder.

“Migraine?” The question is soft; he knows that the sound hurts. You grunt in response. He walks away, and in your haze you wonder where he’s going.

You don’t have to wonder for long - soon the lights dim to the lowest setting, and the computer powers down on its own, which is a system you implemented yourself.

Without the blinding lights, you can stand to open your eyes at least halfway, which is enough for you to see, even if the sights aren’t really computing in your mind.

What you do know, however, is that you’re being lifted and carried to a human sleeping platform that is covered with pillows and snuggle planes, seemingly effortlessly.

Your normal thought must be slightly returning, because you can acknowledge that it probably was effortless, due to Eridan’s sinewy muscles of seadweller strength, he is very strong more than the sweaty tro-

On second thought, your normal thought is not returning at all.

Your sort-of-thoughts are interrupted as you clearly register Eridan’s fingers running through your hair. “You should a come an got me when you felt it comin,” he sighs, clicking his tongue softly. You hum, feeling your pur beginning to rumble as his soft touch comes to your ears and, occasionally, your horns.

As the migraine fades, you curl up into his cold embrace and drop off to sleep.