This happened sometimes when a migraine hit, and at least I’d only eaten a power bar, so there wasn’t much in there. I coughed and spat, dropping to my knees.

In the corner of my eye, Henry’s skates appeared. I rasped, “I’m not hungover!” It was stupid since he didn’t even like me, but it mattered that Henry knew this wasn’t because I’d been irresponsible. “I’m getting a migraine, I swear.” I coughed, more bile coming up.

His hand squeezed my shoulder gently. “I’ll drive you. Hold on.”

The relief was warm sweetness, but I shivered there on the curb, spitting and drinking little sips from my water bottle, which at least I’d remembered.

Henry returned, and I managed to get up and walk to his car. The aura was gone now, so the pain would start any minute, growing until my head felt trapped in cement.

In the car, I leaned against the window as he drove. “I really do have a migraine. There was an aura and everything.”

He kept his gaze on the road, slowing for a red light. I didn’t think he’d say anything, which probably meant he thought I was full of shit, which really bugged me.

Then he asked, “What’s that like?”

“The aura? I see it like a prism, kind of. It’s usually a little crescent moon, and then it gets bigger and bigger until it’s gone. Then the pain hits.” Eyes closed, I wished desperately for sunglasses.

“Do you have medication?”

“Just over-the-counter stuff. If I catch it early enough and lie down in a dark room, it’s usually manageable after a few hours. But I forgot to put the Advil in my bag.”

“Mm.”

In the underground parking lot, I shuffled along with my head down as Henry walked beside me. I complained about how damn bright it was everywhere. The elevator was torture, the movement making my empty stomach gurgle with a wave of fresh nausea.

It wasn’t until we were at my door that I realized.

First off that Henry was still with me, and secondly that my keys were in my jacket—which I’d tossed on a bench by the ice that morning. I groaned. “Oh, fuck me. I don’t have my keys. We need to get the concierge.”

Henry looked at his phone. “They’ll be on their lunch break.”

“Fuuuck.” I was ready to curl up in a ball on the ugly beige hall carpet.

Henry’s long fingers grasped my elbow, and he led me back to the elevator. I followed, figuring he’d fix this somehow. The electrical storm in my brain made it hard to focus or think. I just needed darkness and Advil.

Henry didn’t take me down to wait for the concierge, though. He guided me into his condo, telling me to take off my shoes when we got inside. I did, glad my stomach was already empty when I bent to unlace my sneakers.

“Thanks. I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” I mumbled. “Lunch isn’t that long.”