The midsummer ball was just around the corner, and Cain knew Ambrose was on edge. His plotting was paying off better than he thought it would. He can't even greet the man without said man blushing.

However, on one morning, while Ambrose was walking down the hall, a pain like no other hit him so hard that he had to hold onto one of the pillars. His head was on fire, and he couldn't see. He vaguely could tell that gravity was pulling him to the floor as he dropped his schematics.

Cain, luckily enough, was turning the corner at that moment. When he recognized Ambrose, and saw that he was in obvious pain, he rushed over to the man, "Ambrose! What's wrong? What happened?"

The man tried to answer, but it seemed as though it caused him more pain.

This must be one of those migraines the Kid was talking about. Cain thought to himself. Without asking, Cain wove his fingers through Ambrose's hair and started to rub his cranium. He picked up a few tips from the healer, just in case something like this did happen. He couldn't help but marvel at how thick and lush his hair had grown. Despite the circumstance, it was nice to run his fingers through.

Ambrose seemed to be feeling a touch better, because his face eased up. When he opened his eyes, it was clear he was surprised to see who was helping him.

Cain didn't stop the rubbing, and he ignored how close he was to the man.

Ambrose tried to find his voice, "You… don't have to do this. It will pass."

Cain ignored him a bit and kept on rubbing, "Do you have medicine for this sort of thing?"

Ambrose swallowed, "Back in my workshop."

"Here, I'll help you up."

Ambrose accepted the man's help, but it was immediately evident that every step he took was going to cause him great pain. So he kept leaning against the pillar.

Without a word, Cain picked up Ambrose's papers, and then he picked up the man himself, as gently as he could, and began to walk.

Ambrose didn't care about the pain anymore. He was more concerned with the feeling of being in the man's arms. His heart beat like a hummingbird. The blood seemed to rush to his face. All the while, he was surrounded by Cain's manly scent.

All too soon, they reached the workshop. Cain managed to open the door, but instead of putting Ambrose down on his feet, he carefully laid him down on the bed. If it was possible, even more blood flowed to his face.

"Where's your medicine? I'll get it for you."

"You don't have to do that. I'm perfectly capable…" Ambrose shifted as though he was about to get up.

"Not right now you're not. Keep still." Cain emphasized his statement by gently pushing Ambrose back down on the bed.

Ambrose didn't even try to get up again. He just closed his eyes. "Um.. on my desk, next to the lamp. The blue bottle."

Cain grabbed the described bottle, and brought it back to the man on the bed. "How much of this are you supposed to take?"

Ambrose weakly took the bottle, and downed the contents. "As much as I need."

Cain took the empty bottle and put it on the nightstand. "How often has this been happening?"

Ambrose thought for a moment. "About every two weeks. But for some reason, this was the worst one yet."

Cain didn't like the sound of that. "Do you need me to fetch you a doctor?"

Ambrose couldn't help but be touched by the concern. "No… I'll be fine. I just need a minute."

Cain got up and drew the curtains over the windows, casting the room into darkness. Then he came back over to the bed.

"You should take more than a minute. You look exhausted."

It was true. Ambrose had been pushing himself for the past couple days. He was almost afraid to go to sleep now. His dreams were confusing him more and more. At that moment, he really wanted to feel Cain's fingers rubbing his head again, but he didn't want to impose on the man.

Cain watched the array of emotions on Ambrose's face, and couldn't help himself. As if he could tell exactly what Ambrose wanted, he resumed his gentle rubbing of the man's head. He didn't have to listen hard to hear that moan coming from Ambrose's lips. Cain smiled and kept on rubbing.

Surprisingly, Ambrose seemed to be lulled to sleep. Cain continued to stroke his curly locks. He can't help but be amazed with how normal he looks now. As if he never had that massive zipper to begin with. His hair grew normally, and there was even minimal scars. Cain studied his face. Ambrose looked so peaceful, yet so different than the man he holds in his dreams every night. He can't help but wonder if he was doing the right thing. At times it almost seemed like he was fooling with Ambrose, just to mess with him. Other times, it seemed as though he's using him. I've got to believe. Cain thought to himself. I need to remember that this man is the one I want. Glitch is a part of him, no matter how small he may be. I just need to reach his heart. Then Cain started to think about his doubts. About what would happen if Glitch really was gone for good, and he'd have to deal with leading Ambrose on. Would he back away, or would he move foreword? Too many things were uncertain. He wasn't even sure of his own sanity anymore.

Deciding to mull over the possibilities later, Cain began removing Ambrose's shoes and pulling the covers over his form. When he noticed a sheen of sweat start to break out over Ambrose, he felt his forehead. The man had a fever, and it was climbing. Wasting no time, Cain fled the room in search of a medic. He knew that fevers were dangerous for Ambrose. Even this long after his surgery.

When he finally tracked someone down, he had to wait a long time sitting out of the way before they declared Ambrose to be in the clear. By now, night was falling, and Cain decided to fetch Ambrose a light dinner. Once he came back, he saw that Ambrose was sluggishly trying to get up. "Don't even think about getting out of that bed." Ambrose looked towards Cain with surprise.

"What's happened? How did I lose track of so much time?" He looked genuinely confused.

"You broke out into a fever right after you fell asleep. The medic has been here and gone, and left you in my care."

Now he looked annoyed. "I'm not an invalid. I don't need looking after. I've got work to do, and I've lost so much time!" With that, he tried to get up again.

Cain put the tray of food down, and gently but forcefully kept Ambrose from rising from the bed. "You need rest! Do you want to work yourself into an early grave?"

"I can work through some discomfort and pain, I've done it before. Now let me up!"

Cain stood his ground. "Have you told anyone about your migraines?"

Ambrose continued to fight him. "No. It's nothing to worry about. I can take care of myself!"

Cain felt a little frustrated, and used a little more force than necessary to pin Ambrose completely to the bed. Ambrose stopped struggling, and looked up at Cain as though wondering if he should be afraid of the man, or not. "Whether you like it or not, people worry about you. If I wasn't here to get the doctor, who knows what would have happened. Why do you push yourself so hard? Why do you feel like every idea has to be explored now?"

Ambrose looked at the man a bit, as if trying to assess him, before answering. "I've always jumped when inspiration strikes. If I didn't, then the idea and the motivation both fade away. I can't help it. I've always been like that."

Not always. Cain wanted to say, but instead, he said, "Don't you like to do anything besides inventing?"

Ambrose thought for a moment. "Of course. But inventing is where my true passion is. Everything else is a waste of time!"

Cain knew he shouldn't take that personally, but it didn't stop the pang of disappointment in his chest. He pushed the feeling aside. "It's fine if that's your true passion. But it should not consume you. You're a brilliant man Ambrose. But you are an idiot when it comes to looking out for the rest of you."

Ambrose was a bit taken aback. He had seen the flash of emotion on Cain's face, and for a moment, he felt a slight sting of regret, even though he didn't know why. "Why does this even concern you? Why are you even here?"

Cain picked his words carefully, and smiled kindly, "I'm helping out a friend."

Ambrose sputtered, "Friend? If you're mocking me, don't waste your breath!"

Now Cain was confused, "I'm not mocking you. Are we not friends?"

Ambrose began to feel a little flustered. "Well, I don't know! I've never had any friends, and I've been told that no one would ever want me as one, so I stopped trying." With that, he looked away.

"Who told you that?" Cain all but demanded.

"Several people in my life. Hence why the evidence supports the claim."

"What about the Queen? The Princesses?"

Ambrose sighed, "It is different with them, yes. But while they would call me a friend, I don't know what 'friends' are. I grew up an only child with a single parent. My mother worked all the time, so I studied all the time. No one approached me, and I assume they thought I was better than them or something, because I was the butt of many jokes. I would see fights break out among so called 'friends' and it seemed more trouble than it's worth."

No wonder he's a hermit. Cain thought about some of the passages in Glitch's journal, describing how lonely he must have felt. This was like another piece falling into place. "Friendship cannot be measured and weighed like it's an object. It's different for everyone. And no matter what you would think of me, I still consider you as a friend. I'm sure the same goes for the Queen, the princesses, Ahamo, and a few others. You do have friends Ambrose. And this friend is going to make sure you eat a good meal, and rest!"

Ambrose felt warm, but not from any fever. He also felt flushed. No one ever blatantly regarded him as a friend before. It felt… pleasant. But there was still the doubt. "But… I don't know how to be a friend."

Cain smiled at him. "You don't have to do anything except be yourself. Talk about things. You'd probably whip my ass if I ever challenged you to chess. You don't think about it." Cain went over and fetched the tray with the luke-warm soup and dinner rolls. He placed the tray on Ambrose's lap and kept standing until Ambrose picked up the spoon and started eating. "I know what it's like not to have friends. I didn't think I needed them either. It was a miracle that I even ever got married. But now, with everything that's happened in my life, I don't think I'd ever want to be without friends again. Especially one. He helped me get out of the lowest of depressions I had managed to get myself into. No matter what happened, he stayed by my side, and helped me see how much I needed people in my life. He was right. And I regret how I had treated him during my darkest times. He was too good for the likes of me. But he proved to me that being friends is not just about enjoying each other's company. It's about helping when the other is down or hurt. You overcome challenges. Mistakes are made and forgiveness is abundant. In the end, you both become stronger."

Ambrose just looked down at his tray. He didn't know what to think, or what to say. He thought friends were nothing but a waste of time. But it could be that he purposefully filled all of his time with his inventions just to avoid interaction with others on a non-business level. Now, that was all he knew. He thought about that time at tea with this man, and the Princesses. It was true. He did have… fun. But it sent him into a frantic frenzy later. It almost didn't seem worth it to repeat. But then, Cain had offered to do anything for him then. Even if it was as mundane as fetching food.

Ambrose's train of thought left him as soon as the man next to him asked him a peculiar question. "Do you like to dance?" He looked over to see the man was being serious rather than mocking.

"…Yes…" Was all Ambrose said. He did not see what prompted this question.

"I've heard it's all about the rhythm." Cain smiled at him for a moment.

Ambrose still didn't know what to say, he simply nodded. But he couldn't help but smile.

"I apparently have no rhythm. So, I've never really attempted dancing." Cain mused.

Ambrose could see that. He'd probably be as graceful as an elephant doing a tap dance. Ambrose couldn't help but snicker a bit. He immediately blushed and was afraid he might have offended the man. But Cain just smiled. Seeing that Ambrose was done with the tray, Cain took it and placed it on the empty table.

He came back to Ambrose, and without asking, reached out to feel the man's forehead. Thankfully, there was no sign of a fever, and Cain let out a sigh of relief. "That's good. You had me worried earlier. How's your head feeling?"

Ambrose blushed at the concern. It took him a moment to find his voice. "Um… it's fine. The pain is gone." Hopefully that would appease the man.

Cain didn't look entirely convinced. "I'm going to take the tray back to the kitchen. I want you to do what you need to in order to prepare yourself for bed before I come back."

Ambrose let out a little affronted squeak. "Is that really necessary? I'm fine! I just slept for hours!"

Cain gave him a stern, but gentle look. "And you need several more. The doctor said you've hardly slept at all this week, and that plus your work load is probably what triggered the migraine and fever."

"Even so. You've done more than enough for me. You've probably wasted your whole day looking after me. You must be tired yourself…"

Before Ambrose could babble on, Cain moved too close into his personal space. "It was my day off, and I wouldn't have spent it any other way."

Ambrose felt a shiver trickle through his entire body. It was a strange sensation, and not altogether unwelcome.

"Please let me do this for you."

Ambrose was thoroughly confused. He simply nodded, and watched the man as he picked up the tray and left. Ambrose decided not to argue. He hastily got ready for bed, and settled in with one of his research texts before Cain waltzed back in.

Upon seeing Ambrose had done what he asked, he smiled. "You shouldn't concentrate on anything with words, but I'll let you read for half an hour."

"But my mind can't just shut off like a switch. It needs to slow down like applying the brakes to an engine. I won't be able to go to sleep if I don't get to a satisfying point."

"Then you better reach that point in under a half an hour." Cain smirked at him.

"I am not a child. So don't treat me like one!"

"Perhaps I should read you a story?" Cain inquired, clearly teasing the pouting man.

Ambrose huffed at the mere suggestion, but then reconsidered. "So long as you read something poetic, and don't butcher it." He closed his text and crossed his arms.

Cain couldn't help but think of how cute the man looked at the moment. Like a brat who was saying he didn't want to go to sleep. He really wanted to kiss that pouting lip, but refrained himself from even thinking about the idea. Instead, he just giggled, "Do you have any requests?"

Ambrose was still blushing, but pushed himself to answer, "Over there on that top shelf. Any of those would be fine." He put the text on his bedside table, and settled down into the covers. As he watched Cain walk over and select a book, he couldn't help but feel foolish at the whole idea. Not even his own mother ever read him a bedtime story, and now he was asking for one as a grown man? Yet if he allowed himself to admit it, he always had wanted to know what it would be like to have someone look after you like that. Someone who cared. And when Cain began to read the sweet passages of poetry, Ambrose couldn't help but be entranced at the deep, rich voice that molded the words into beautiful images. His voice was soothing, like a balm applied to an aching wound. Ambrose closed his eyes and let that voice fill his senses. When the blanket of sleep threatened to take him, he did not fight it.

TBC