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Lincoln had had migraine issues ever since he was little. His mom tried to convince him that they were fine, that he got them because he "was just thinking so hard about stuff and he was so smart". But by the time he got to high school, Lincoln was pretty certain that the only reason he was getting them was because his brain was being a jerk.
He usually got them once or twice a week, and tried to ignore them until he got his spare. At least then he could be in the nurse's office without having to worry about missing class or anything. He'd sit there and hold his head in his hands, hoping the pain would go away until the nurse came back from her extended lunch and let him have some aspirin. It was those fifteen minutes that were the most difficult. Not because of the headache - at least, not entirely - but because of Fitz.
He didn't know much about Fitz. The kid never spoke to him, and Lincoln never saw him in the hallways. The only reason he knew his name was because it was written in black sharpie on the kid's backpack. Lincoln was in too much pain to say anything usually, so he just sat there and watched as Fitz went to the shelf, grabbed the jar of popsicle sticks, and dumped them onto the counter. Lincoln would have said something the first time, but then he saw that the kid was putting them back in. Not unceremoniously either. Fitz would pick up each stick and analyze it, turning it over in his hands and comparing it to others, before carefully sliding it into the jar. He repeated the process with each one, always making sure that they lined up perfectly into a little grid as he reinserted them. Sometimes he found a stick that wasn't up to snuff for his standards, and tossed it in the trash. This process took about ten minutes, and Fitz was always gone shortly before the nurse appeared.
This went on for months. And Lincoln thought he didn't care at first, but every time he saw Fitz he wanted to ask him just what the hell he was doing. It wasn't just that it was vaguely annoying, although it certainly was, but there was also something else. Lincoln balked at the idea that he had a crush on the kid, but he felt like that's where things were heading. Fitz was "totally adorbs" as his friend Skye would say.
One Thursday, Lincoln felt a migraine coming as he finished his lunch. He was happy that it had stayed away so long, but he also wasn't about to tempt fate by ignoring it and skipping some pain meds. So when the bell rang, he walked directly to the office. Fitz was already there, organizing the sticks, not noticing when Lincoln came in.
"What are you doing?"
Fitz jumped with a start and spun around to stare at Lincoln in surprise. He even let out a little yelp. Lincoln held up his hands in response. "Sorry, dude. I didn't mean to scare you like that. I'm just curious."
Fitz frowned and turned back to his work. "You were never, uh, curious before," he said in an accent. Lincoln hadn't expected an accent. He rubbed his temples, the familiar throbbing starting to increase. Fitz turned back when he didn't give a response, and stopped when he saw Lincoln grimacing. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah. No." He gestured to his head. "Migraines. I've had them since I was little."
Fitz nodded. "My mom gets those all the time. Nasty things, they are."
Lincoln nodded. "Yeah, I've noticed. That's why I don't talk, they're usually pretty bad by the time I get around here." He took his usual seat and was surprised when Fitz sat next to him.
"Is there anything that I can do to...to help?"
Lincoln smiled, but shook his head. "Nah, the best thing is to just ride them out or wait until the nurse gives me some aspirin." He turned to the other boy. "You never answered my question about the popsicle sticks."
Fitz looked at him in confusion, then realized what Lincoln was talking about. "Oh! They're not popsicle sticks, they're..." He paused, searching for the word. "Tongue depressors! Yeah." He stood up and started looking through them again. "Yeah, I come in here and organize them after lunch. It soothes me, kind of." He gestured towards his own head. "I've got, uh, brain damage." Lincoln raised an eyebrow, but Fitz pressed on. "It happened in the womb. Not much we can do about it. Most of it isn't even that bad. I, uh, I organize things." He shrugged. "I just don't like seeing things out of order. It bugs me. Oh, and I sometimes forget..." Fitz paused again.
"Words?" Lincoln asked through the throbbing in his head.
Fitz nodded. "Right, yeah. Sometimes they don't come out."
Lincoln didn't respond, and Fitz (correctly) figured that the pain was getting to be too much for him. So instead he worked on in silence while Lincoln pressed his hands to his head. Occasionally, one of them would steal a look at the other. Neither would admit that they were totally checking each other out.
"How come I never see you anywhere else?" Lincoln finally asked. Fitz stopped and looked at him. "I see a lot of people in the halls every day, but I've never seen you."
Fitz nodded and smiled. "That's because I don't go to school here. Not yet, anyway. My parents got a, um, a transfer? To America. I'm not transferring in until next semester." His smile grew wider. "My house is just down the street, so when I want to I can just walk right over here and, you know." He pointed to the tongue depressors, which had been sorted and organized once more.
Lincoln smiled. "Oh, that's good. That means I get to see more of you." Then he stopped. "Uh, I mean, see you more. Yeah."
Fitz grinned. "You sound like I do." He walked over and say by Lincoln again. "You'd really like to see me more? I thought I was annoying."
Lincoln frowned. "That was just because I didn't get what you were doing. Also, migraines make everything seem annoying. But hey, you're actually a pretty cool guy. I'd love to see you more."
Fitz' grin grew wider, and Lincoln responded in kind. Then suddenly, Fitz stood up. "Well, I should go. Mom probably expects me home soon." He walked to the door, but turned to look at Lincoln one last time. "I never got your name."
"It's Lincoln."
"I'll see you around, Lincoln."