Notes
("I'm done posting drabbles," I said. "I'll start working on Ex Machina fic that isn't wall-to-wall weird sex injuries," I said. I lied.)
Imported from Archive of Our Own. Original work id: 7988572.
His head throbs. The generalized blackness parts only reluctantly for Caleb, and when he opens his eyes blearily the view isn't much better.
"You hit your head pretty good," Nathan observes, but his glasses hang askew on his face. He is kneeling on Caleb's arm.
The inside of his lip is split. Somehow Caleb doubts that he fell.
Caleb makes a thin sound and tries to ease himself up from the tile; he fails, and falls back. There's a sharper ache behind his ear and Nathan's fingers probe the spot coarsely. Caleb lies very still and tries not to vomit.