A/N: This one's a bit different than the others and it will be the only one of its kind... probably. It's from Fiddleford's perspective for the most part. I would like to make this plain right now. This is not pairing of any kind other than friendship. Just friendship and fluff. No romance for miles around. (I have no problem if you ship certain people. I just don't, and I don't put it in my stories either.)

Anyway, enjoy! Feel free to leave a review if you like what you read.

Fiddleford liked his new roommate. Not only was he smart and interesting with a fascinatingly unique genetic variation, but he was friendly, though a bit shy, and quite interested in his roommate's projects. He was an unusual young man, of that Fiddleford was certain.

He had observed many strange habits over the last few days since he had met Stanford -including a large quantity of empty coffee cups, less than five hours of sleep most nights, and writing notes in code - but only just this morning had he noticed the pills his friend took with his first morning coffee. That was puzzling. From what the two of them had discussed, he had gathered that Stanford was in excellent health, without the need for medication of any kind.

Fiddleford knew it would be impolite to simply ask, but he couldn't help but frown.

Stanford didn't seem to notice his roommate's odd behavior, focusing on the textbook and coffee in front of him and massaging his temples.

"Ya got a headache, Stanford?" Fiddleford asked, the frown on his face deepening.

"Hmm..." Stanford responded, not looking up. "I've had it since the day before yesterday... Nothing seems to help, not even the usuals." He vaguely motioned to the pill bottle resting next to his bed.

"Is it serious?" Fiddleford asked, growing concerned. "D'we need to go to a doctor and get you checked out?"

Stanford shook his head, smiling slightly. "It won't do any good. I'm fine." He said, focusing harder on his book, and trying to end the conversation.

Fiddleford ignored this. One thing he had noticed about his roommate was his seeming inability to express need, especially for help. "Are ya sure?" He asked, reaching out a hand and resting it on Stanford's shoulder.

Stanford tensed, his grip tightening on the edge of his book.

"It wouldn't be any trouble just t'get ya checked out-..."

"I said, I'm fine!" Stanford snapped, pushing Fiddleford's hand from his shoulder. His face was locked in a hard glare and his hand gripping the table, his teeth clenched.

Fiddleford flinched at the tone of his voice, whipping his hand away and starring with wide eyes.

Stanford closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I... I don't need a doctor. Just... leave me alone."

Fiddleford had thought it best to drop the subject at that point, and he had quickly excused himself and headed to his first class of the day, more than a little nervous.

Throughout the day, Fiddleford couldn't get the morning interaction out of his head. His roommate had never reacted to anything this way before. What if his previous calm demeanor was just a ploy? He had definitely never yelled before, and, frankly, it was more than a bit frightening.

So much so that Fiddleford found himself slowing as he approached his dorm. The door seemed ominous, larger and more threatening than the other doors lining the hallway of the dorm.

He shook his head, smiling slightly at his own behavior. Stanford wasn't even back yet. He had classes much later than Fiddleford. There was no reason to be alarmed. Still, he found himself gently tapping his hand on his books as he approached the door and reached out with his other hand.

His fingers wrapped around the doorknob and he opened the door slowly. The room was dark. He was alone.

He walked in, tossing his books on his bed.

"Stanford?" He called, just to be safe, not expecting an answer. He flipped the lights on. But the moment the lights turned on, he heard a pained groan from his roommate's bed.

Stanford lay sprawled out among his papers and books, holding a pillow over his face. "... Fidds..." He said weakly. "The light... hurts..."

Fiddleford immediately slammed his hand on the switch, the room going dark. "Stanford, are ya okay?" He asked, all fear of his roommate dissipating into concern. "Why aren't ya at your classes?"

"Headache... couldn't think..."

Fiddleford knelt by the bed and rested a hand on his roommate's forehead. "Ya don't have a fever." He said, frowning. "Maybe it's something ya ate." He added, remembering how some foods his mother ate would trigger migraines at times.

Stanford groaned. "No... It's not... I know what caused it..." He shoved the pillow over his face again, mumbling something incoherent.

Fiddleford frowned, feeling helpless to ease his new friend's pain. He wanted him to elaborate on that information, but Stanford's earlier outburst was still fresh on his mind.

An idea struck him, and he stood, disappearing into their small kitchen.

When he returned with a mug of something warm, Stanford was still burying his face under the pillow.

Fiddleford rested a hand on his shoulder, prompting Stanford to lift the pillow slightly and look at his roommate, his expression confused and miserable.

"Drink this. It's my ma's recipe." He handed the mug to Stanford.

Stanford looked at it uncertainly before accepting it and taking a sip.

Fiddleford couldn't help but smile in satisfaction as Stanford blinked and then took a long drink from the mug.

"This is... surprisingly good." He said, weakly, looking at the now significantly more empty cup. "What... What is it?"

"Warm milk with a bit of honey and vanilla and a few other odds and ends. It should help ya sleep off the headache."

Stanford frowned, moving to get out of bed. "I can't sleep. I have homework-..." He was cut of by another surge of pain and he winced, gripping his head with his hand.

"There's no argument. You need ta sleep, Stanford." Fiddleford pulled the blanket over his roommate and positioned the pillow behind him. "An' before ya argue, I'm not leaving here until ya do."

Stanford opened his mouth to argue but seemed to think better of it.

"Fine. I'll sleep. " He settled into the blanket and pillow before pausing for a moment and looking at his friend. "Fiddleford... Thank you."

Fiddleford smiled. "You're welcome, Stanford."

Stanley checked the nasty cut in the mirror of his motel room, wincing in pain. Carefully, he dabbed at it with disinfectant and cleaned it, throwing the old bandage away and preparing a new one. It could be a lot worse, but it was pretty bad. Those customers had been pretty unhappy. Frankly, he couldn't help but feel lucky to get away in one piece. But now, two days and a sleepless night later, he wasn't so sure.

His head hurt like a jackhammer was pounding on it, and he couldn't afford anything for the pain. It had taken all he could spare without going hungry just to rent a room.

He carefully positioned the new bandage in place and then stumbled to the small bed in the room, not caring in the least that it was lumpy and hard. He just needed somewhere to sleep with enough space so he could stretch his legs, something his car lacked. He closed his eyes, and hoped he could finally rest.

Maybe, he thought as he fell asleep, if he had any luck left, he would wake up the next morning with some relief.

Fiddleford woke the next morning to hear the usual sound of his roommate making morning coffee. Groggily, he pulled himself from bed and made his way to the kitchen to find Stanford making himself breakfast, almost bouncing with energy. He beamed when he saw Fiddleford.

"Fiddleford, I'm glad to see you're awake. I wanted to thank you. That drink you made me worked a miracle. My headache is completely gone!"

Fiddleford watched, still trying to wake up. "What?"

"I'm fit as a fiddle... Heh." Stanford smiled slightly. "No pun intended. I would love to get the recipe if you don't mind."

Fiddleford nodded, absently, watching his roommate pour coffee and wondering who exactly this was and what he had done with the real Stanford.

He was pulled from that line of thinking when his roommate placed a cup in front of him. He blinked and looked down, finding coffee. "Thanks." He took a sip and found it was full of cream and auger, the way he liked it.

Stanford avoided eye contact. "It's... the least I could do. I really am grateful for yesterday. And..." his face turned to a frown. "I wanted to apologise... for getting angry. It wasn't your fault. You just wanted to help."

"Don't worry about it, Stanford." He said, smiling. "I get it. Ya weren't feeling well. It happens to us all."

Stanford smiled and Fiddleford mirrored it. for the first time since leaving home, he felt really happy, no nervousness or underlying anxiety. Finally, he had a friend.

The next morning, Stan woke to find the pain in his head completely gone. A quick look in the mirror showed the injury hadn't magically disappeared, yet he felt no pain.

"Huh..." He muttered to no one. "Guess sleep really does do you good."

A/N: Once again, this is friendship only. No pairing whatsoever. I just like Fiddleford and Stanford being good friends and looking out for each other. That's it. No romance.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this one! Hopefully there's more to come soon. Please, tell me what you think! Reviews sure help encourage a writer to continue and I'm no different!