Their phone chimed, and they checked the link Jude had sent. “He does like having a cold washcloth over his eyes when it gets very painful.”
“Yeah, the mask-thing adds cooling pressure to the eyes and stuff,” Jude said, and they immediately placed an order for one.
“Thank you, Jude.”
“Hope it helps,” he said as he sipped his beer. “Migraines suck.”
Zef had never experienced a migraine themself, but they knew the pain was so much worse than the worst headache they had ever had. They did not wish that kind of suffering on anyone, especially not their Bryce.
An hour later, everyone took their leave, moving through the house quietly. Zef cleaned up the dishes, then took a shower, dressing in their summer muumuu for bed. They did their skin care routine, then settled into their bed to read. They could not focus on the book, though, too worried about Bryce.
They gave up on reading and crawled out of bed. They retrieved a washcloth and wet it with cold water, then wrapped a squishy ice pack in it. Not wanting to hurt his head with a knock, they forwent manners and carefully opened his door. It was dark and quiet inside, but they could tell by the cadence of his breathing that he was awake.
“I have an ice pack for you,” they whispered as quietly as they could.
Bryce made a pained noise, then he croaked out, “Thanks.”
Tiptoeing to his bedside, they placed it on his forehead, over his eyes, and he groaned. They crouched beside him, leaning their lower arms on the mattress so they could run a top hand through his hair, massaging his scalp. Another broken sound scraped his throat, then he sniffled.
With a sad click, they wiped at his silent tears and continued rubbing his head. He took their hand in both of his and squeezed it, communicatingwithout words, and they ducked their head and pressed their mouth to his knuckles. Not quite a kiss, but almost.
It got worse before it got better. Bryce was just starting to nod off when he bolted upright and ran for the bathroom. As he threw up, Zef replaced the ice pack with a fresh one, then joined him in the bathroom. They rubbed his back as he choked and cried, spitting bile into the toilet bowl.
“This is gross,” he said, trying to wave them away, but they whirred at him chidingly.
“Let me aid you,” they said as they wiped his face with a cool cloth, cleaning away the sweat and spit.
When the nausea passed, they helped him back to bed, placing the new ice pack on his brow. They held his hand and sifted their fingers through his hair, knees complaining as they knelt beside his bed. But they did not abandon him. They remained at his side until he finally fell asleep, his pained breathing deepening as his strained expression went slack.
Only then did Zef finally rise, risking a light kiss to his brow, before they crept silently from his room and headed to bed.
Chapter twenty-three
Enough For Now
Bryce
The plane landed inMontana with a jolt and a rumble, and Zef squeaked in fright, grabbing Bryce’s hand in a death grip. Their normally peridot complexion was ashy, lips pressed into a thin, stressed line. Had their wings not been pinned between their back and the seat, they would have been beating with anxiety.
Zef was terrified of heights, and they had never flown in a plane before. Add on being crammed into a tin can with a hundred other bodies at close proximity, and Bryce could imagine they were hovering on the edge of a mental breakdown.
Lacing their four fingers with his five, Bryce rubbed a thumb soothingly over their hand. “Breathe, sweetheart. You’re fine. Everything’s okay. Just keep breathing.”
“I am aware that I am fine,” they said shortly. “But that does nothing to stop the feeling of looming and imminent death, Bryce!”
Instead of responding verbally—or with laughter, as he wanted—he simply squeezed their hand in comfort.
The passenger on Bryce’s other side stood the moment the plane stopped moving, but Bryce and Zef remained seated until the plane was almost empty. Only then did they feel comfortable walking down the aisle, backpack clutched to their chest like a shield.
The moment they stepped off the plane, their shoulders loosened, but they still recaptured his hand the moment they could walk side-by-side again. As if his hold on their hand was the only thing keeping them grounded. The ease in which they twined their fingers with his was still a marvel, and Bryce didn’t think he’d ever take it for granted. Not after all they’d overcome to get here.
People bustled around them, shoulders and arms knocking, and Zef’s wings buzzed in agitation as they fought to avoid coming into contact with anyone. In Hellia, other species gave Mantodea a wide berth unless it was physically impossible not to, but here, no one knew Mantodean customs. Heck, half the people bumping into them did so because they were stunned to even see a demon and froze to gawk at them.
“Everyone is touching me,” Zef whispered.
“I know. They don’t mean nothing by it. It’s just busy and—”
“Why are they staring? Do they not know it is rude to stare?” They curled tighter into Bryce’s side, and he released their hand so he could wrap an arm around their shoulders.
