#I was vaccuming for like an hour and half straight and the second I went to pull out a chair my whole lower back just straight up seized 😭

[humbug-demartino]

[friendlylocalwhumper]

It’s the piercing, rumbling roar of the vacuum cleaner that gets to him. There have been pots and plates clattering, chairs scraping against the floor, books sliding into their place on the bookshelf. It’s the vacuum that does it though.

“Can you stop?” Calls Lux, glancing back over his shoulder in annoyance. He can’t even be heard over the constant noise. Shifting, waving an arm to catch Emory’s attention, he tries again. “Em. Can you stop?”

The roar jumps in pitch as the vacuum holds still over the carpet a moment before it winds down into silence. “Uh, yeah. What’s up?”

There’s a hot, blinding agony pounding away in Lux’s skull, and it wore out his patience half an hour ago. “Just, all the noise. Can you not? You don’t have to do that right now.”

Frustration pulls at Emory’s features. He doesn’t move away from the vacuum, thumb still on the power button. “I mean… it’s gotta get done sooner or later. I get it if you didn’t feel up to doing some things today…” His arm makes a gesture to indicate Lux sitting on the couch. “That’s fine. But I wanted to get some of it done before I go back to work.”

Lux bristles. Is that supposed to make him feel guilty? Yeah, Emory went into work this morning, and he’s going back tonight to close the bookshop, and Lux has been home all day. But it’s been hard getting through the day at all. He doesn’t have to justify the fact that he couldn’t stomach the thought of getting up just to do some less-than-urgent chores.

“Well I’m sorry if you’re tired from the hard work of, of scanning some books and opening a cash register, but you don’t have to vacuum the whole house right now, superman.”

The mocking nickname at the end feels good, the attitude behind it, the biting tone. He’s not in the mood to have a patient, gentle conversation, he wants Emory to back down and stop making so much noise.

Em does step back from the vacuum, now, visibly stricken by the anger that Lux so rarely shows, and has never shown toward him. “Wow. Really, that’s what I get?”

“What, what you get for what? For being a big hero and doing everything around the house? You can put away the dishes without slamming cabinet doors and absolutely drop-kicking the dishwasher closed, you know.”

Lux revels a bit in Emory’s complete confoundment at this argument that’s so unlike them to have. Just let the talking end, let Emory storm off if he has to, if it means the place will finally be quiet again. Lux needs it to be quiet.

“Yeah? Why don’t you just do it yourself then, huh? Why don’t you-” Emory waves his hands dramatically. “Use some magic, make it all happen without having to get up and do it yourself?”

With a rush of adrenaline, the warlock feels shame spread a flush across his cheeks. “I, I can. You want me to help?” His hand comes up, fingers curling against his palm with a small flash of light, and book falls off the shelf over by the windows. Another twitch of his fingers, and a second book falls. “Pick those up, then, if all you wanna do is clean.” It feels good, it feels really good to lash out. To know Emory has to go and pick up those books, and if Lux makes another fall, he’ll pick that one up, too.

Struck dumb, Emory stares. Lux stares back, tense and ready to use his magic again to keep on arguing, to win.

“Go throw a fit in our room then, Lux, if you want to do that. I’m busy.”

Oh, no. No, Lux was in here first. Lux has been in here since Emory left this morning, and he’s still here on the couch, Emory has no claim to the room. “I’m not going anywhere. You go.”

Emory looks incredulous. Lux feels triumphant, until… until Emory steps closer to the vaccum. Places his hand on it. Presses the power button. And continues vacuuming, focus back on the carpet and off of Lux.

The sound is going to make his head explode. Lux could break the vacuum with his magic, could drown out the sound by casting a spell on himself, could maybe freeze time and just sit here as Emory, still as a statue and silent, waited to be released, unaware of the pause - but his magic, now, is slippery, hiding. With the pain, and the noise, and the fear that is always buried deep in him when this happens… oh, Lux can’t take it. With a groan of frustration, he stands and goes off to their room, closing the door a bit louder than usual, retreating all the way into the corner of the room. Only when he’s sure he’s as far from the sound as possible, only when he’s out of sight and able to let down his guard, does he slide down to the floor, shoulder tucked against the joint between the walls meeting in the corner, head in his hands. The voice that he’s been trying to drown out with thoughts, with the fight, with anything is mocking, twisting in his mind, and it hurts. It hurts so, so bad, and he can’t make it stop.

“Don’t you, don’t you hhh, have, have better things to do?” He mutters into his knees, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. The Hunter coos in return, something about always enjoying hurting his favorite, but the words are nearly lost in the cacophony of agony. Lux’s own hands pressing in on his aching head feel like the Hunter’s hands at his temples.

He’s going to be so angry with you, little one. He’s going to hurt you for talking back like you did.

“Nnnh, no he’s n-not.” Panic makes the warlock’s heart flutter as he remembers the look on Emory’s face when those books hit the floor. “Stop, ple-...” His voice cracks as he lowers it. It would be so embarassing, after an argument like that, to be heard pleading in an empty room, begging for mercy when he’s not even really being hurt. “Please, no more,” He whispers.

The pain gets worse, somehow, and all Lux can do is whimper softly, head tucked down, the pitchy whistling of the vacuum in the other room drilling straight through his head.

~

“Hey, Em?”

When Lux finally comes out of their room hours later, he must look worse for wear. Messy hair, maybe, from pulling on it desperately; pale skin, judging by how dizzy he feels, how faint. He sinks back down onto the couch once he reaches it. The bookshop has been closed, and Emory is home for the night, meaning Lux needs to apologize before they go to bed, or else it’ll be tense and frightening to share a bed with the one he argued so bitterly with. Besides, he really does owe Em an apology.

“You okay?” Emory’s worry is tempered by wariness. There’s a book in his hands, coffee on the side table.

The warlock nods gingerly. “Yeah. Uh, wasn’t feeling good. ‘m sorry for, for that.” He’s going to hurt you for talking back, Lux remembers, stomach twisted into knots. “I. I was in a bad mood, and I, I let it get bad instead of talking to you when it started. Sorry.”

The book closes in Em’s lap. He’s paying attention now. Lux’s eyes flicker to those hands, just for a second.

“You seemed really mad,” Emory says, unsure. “It’s okay. I just don’t get why.”

“Mm, just…” His head is still throbbing, but not as intensely, now, and it’s not nearly as frightening once the Hunter is gone. “The sound was, was bugging me.” One hand comes up absently to run through his hair, to soothe the sore spots where he tugged too hard to relieve the pressure in his skull. Emory follows the movement with his eyes.

“Did you have a headache?”

There, that’s an easy explanation. “Ye-eah. Just a, just a headache.”

About two seconds pass where Emory seems to believe him, settling with the explanation - and then his eyes go wide. “Wait. Was the - was the mindfucker in your head?”

Lux’s lungs seize with distress. “I, I - wasn’t controlling me, just, just ma-, making it hurt. I just - ‘s a headache, basically. Not a, nnh, not a good reason to get angry. I was a jerk. I’m sorry, I - y’know, I should’ve gone into the room when it started, ‘stead of picking a fight.”

“God, no, Lux, I should’ve tried not to be so loud, I should’ve asked - is he still…?”

“No! No, it stopped like, like an hour ago, don’t worry.”

Emory is the one who’s blanching now. “An hour ago? So he was in your head for, like, three hours?”

Lux shrinks in on himself, the pain in his head seeming to grow the more they talk about it. “F-... like, four.”

Emory’s seen Lux crumple to the floor and scream himself hoarse with the force of attacks on his mind, has found him sobbing into his arms with the pain of it. He can’t seem to process that Lux was able to handle that for hours, able to have a whole argument while withstanding an attack like that.

“Wasn’t that bad, it - he wasn’t as rough as, as he could’ve been. Just a headache, it, n-not enough to, I didn’t need help or, or anything, just, the vacuum, it… i-it was really loud, to me.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Guilt seems to be eating at Emory with each moment that he thinks about it, as he remembers how desperate Lux was to make the sound stop, even if he had to snap at Emory to do it. “Does it still hurt?”

There’s no lying about pain when it comes to someone that loves you, someone who can read it on your face. Lux nods, hugging himself. “Y-, yeah. Hurts. Hhh, he… it wasn’t as, wasn’t intense, didn’t make me s-, yell or, or cry, but… it was just a long time, you know? Went on all day, felt like.”

A silent moment passes, one where Lux isn’t sure if Emory’s annoyed with him, if this seems like some kind of tactic to win sympathy and get away with his behavior earlier. Finally, Em speaks.

“If I come sit with you, are you gonna flinch?”

Maybe. Probably not, now that Emory asked. Lux shakes his head, arms held close to avoid an accidental nervous twitch. When Emory’s sitting close, he shifts like he wants to be closer. “Can I touch your head?”

Oh, that makes Lux nervous. He feels like he’s in the cellar again, kneeling on the floor, wrists shackled to the wall, looking up with wide eyes as a hand came down to press against his temple and teach him a lesson.

“Will you hurt me?” The warlock asks, words hanging on a tumultuous breath, nearly silent in his anxiety.

“Never.”

With a nod, Lux leans forward a bit. “O-okay.”

Emory raises his hand slowly to slip his fingers into Lux’s hair, cool and soothing. Lux falls forward with an emotional sound to hug him, aching head tucked under Emory’s chin.

“Sorry,” He mutters, broken clean open by the stress he’s been under since the start of the pain, worsened by the fight. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too, Curls. It’s okay.” It’s such a relief, after the argument, after finishing up the cleaning while Lux seemed to be sulking in their room, to have his boyfriend back, loving and open and ready to accept help. “It’s gonna be okay.”