you lay in your bed, your bloodshot eyes practically searing into your ceiling as you try to sleep. Your head reels with the sensation of a forthcoming migraine. Your dad has been hearing you toss and turn all night, hunched over the mountain of paperwork. You never understood why he had that much paperwork for such a practical job, never made sense.

as you continue to writhe in discomfort in your bed, your cold sweat causing your now somehow freezing sheets to stick to your uncovered skin, you hear a knock at your door. Was it your father? No, it would more likely be an intruder.

you look up, bringing on another rush of pain as the side of your face, somehow warm, rubs against the cold sheets; the stark contrast burns with the pain of a true, raging migraine.

“Are you alright in there?” He asked through the door, his voice faintly similar, and you didn’t know wether it was because you were dizzy, or because he really hadn’t talked in that long.