This was originally a part of something much bigger that I am working on, but I decided it didn't really flow with the story so I made it a quick little one-shot.
Emily knew this was awkward. Honestly, if there was a list of most awkward things in the world, knocking on the bathroom door and asking the person on the other side a question would rank in the top five. Maybe three. She knocked anyway. It had been way too quiet. Reid had disappeared inside nearly fifteen minutes ago looking green and sweaty.
"Reid?" She waited for a response and never got one. She wasn't surprised. "Are you ok?"
She smacked her forehead. What a dumb question, Emily.
She knocked again, a little louder this time, using her full fist. "Reid?"
She heard a thump and sniffling. Running water. Coughing and gagging. More coughing. More running water. She bit her nails nervously.
"Spencer, talk to me." She was demanding it now. A litany of possibilities ran through her mind, one after another. They scared her. She reached for her phone.
"Spencer, if you don't answer me, I'm calling Morgan." Her finger hovered over the speed dial, itching to press send.
"I'm ok," she heard through the door. He sounded anything but.
She tested the doorknob and when she discovered it unlocked, she slowly eased it open. Her head peeked around the corner. The smell of sickness hit her and nearly caused her to lose her breakfast. She ducked quickly outside, took a few deep breaths, then forced herself back inside.
Spencer's arms were wound tightly around his abdomen. His forehead was pressed against the wall while his brow was furrowed in pain. From here, she could see his face was wet. Tears or sweat, she didn't know. She guessed both. She dampened a washcloth.
She approached him like she would a wounded animal– cautiously, gently. She tried to be as least threatening as possible. When she was within reach of him, she squatted beside him but didn't touch him. The migraine he was suffering through was a bad one. She knew the physical contact would be unwelcomed.
"I have a wet cloth. Can I lay this around your neck?"
He whimpered, but the sound was that of permission. She carefully laid the cool rag over the nape of his neck. He shuddered and sighed from the comfort.
She remained there beside him throughout the remainder of the migraine, only moving to redampen the cloth every so often and to turn on the dim nightlight once the fragments of sunlight had disappeared for the day. They didn't talk. The only sounds were from Spencer as he tried very hard to not be sick. After a while, he inched himself closer to her until their shoulders were touching. Emily took a chance and stretched her pinky finger until it brushed his hand. He surprised her by curling his own finger around hers.
"Thank you," he whispered. He was sound asleep moments later.
The title is boring and is subject to change as soon as I think of something less boring. In the mean time, I would like to direct your attention to "Migraine" by Twenty-One Pilots.