Leon got very bad migraines. Not every often, but it wasn't very rare either. Every other month, he'd get a migraine that kept him completely bedridden.

It was hell when he had to deal with it on his own. Having to still find a way to take care of himself while it felt like a knife was stabbing his brain. And, okay, it was still sucky when you moved in. But it was better.

You'd make him food, easy to eat food. And you'd make sure it was silent, and there was no light in whatever room he was in. You'd hold him and rub his back.

He had one of the bad ones right now. He laid on you in bed, his head on your stomach, under your shirt in an attempt to hide from what little light or small sounds came into the room.