The thing about migraines was, it wasn't all about the pain. It hurt like a bitch, sure, but it wasn't this excruciating banging with flashes of light that left him curled in a ball in the corner. Sometimes it hurt that bad, but not normally.

No, it wasn't that it was excruciating. It was that it was all-encompassing. It was this constant background of pain, stronger than your average tension headache. And that was in pure background, no light, no sound nothing.

Then you added in all the fucking stimulation. Every time someone's voice hit a G or above pierced through the film of skull and reverberated around. Every time a light flashed, or someone's phone buzzed, or a door opened, or they jumped outside, set it off more. And let's not forget every time he moved or his heart decided to beat. Yep, throbbing to that rhythm.

Of course it had to happen the one time he hosted group study session.

"Connor… Are you okay?"

Pinching the top of his nose, right between his eyebrows, he managed to flick his eyes up into Laurel's. "Headache," he said quietly, squeezing his eyes back shut.

"He's probably just hungover," Michaela was quick to dismiss it. "Wouldn't be the first time."

"Who'd want to go out drinking with him?"

He could force through the haze to bite back at Asher though. "Your father said the same thing before he ended up on my doorstep."

"Dude!"

He bit back a whimper… the extra decibels just set off a new rhythm of punches to his brain.

"No, he… I've seen him hungover and this seems different. Besides, he seemed fine when we all came in."

He felt Wes sit down next to him, put a hand on his shoulder. He'd sigh into the touch if he weren't so keen on trying to act like a normal human being, the stoicism so heavily enforced in him.

"Do you want anything? I've got some Advil somewhere…"

Why did Laurel even care about him? He was an ass. "No, I'm fine."

"See? Just hungover. Let's get back to Contracts. Or have you all forgotten about the mocks next week?"

"You're studying for a mock?"

"Michaela, you've got to calm down or you'll burn yourself out."

"Shooting star."

He couldn't bite back the whimper. Quiet talking was fine, perfectly fine. Bickering brought in frequency and volume that seemed perfectly targeted to enhance pain. Especially bickering that was exceptionally pointless.

"Well, don't come crying to me when you all fail and drop out! Not even Annalise is worth all of this!"

"Michaela." Wes' words were stern, authoritative – but remarkably even. "Enough. All of you, be quiet."

"Do you want us to leave, Connor?"

God, he wanted to answer yes. To scream at them to go away, to take their stress with them and leave him to lie here dying in his misery. All he wanted to do was sleep, properly in the foetal position, maybe with some meds if he could get to it. Or, hell, just turn off the lights and let him collapse on his own couch. Seemed all he deserved anyway.

But before he could formulate an answer, their phones went off. All of them. Which could only mean one thing –

"Goddammit, Annalise."

"Another case?"

"One week. We have mocks in a week."

"Shut up, Michaela!"

By the time everyone else was on their feet, he'd managed to rock backwards and plant his feet on the ground, hands on the leather beside him. Slow, yes, but still moving. Just not quick enough.

"Come on, pretty boy. Hurry up!"

"I really don't think he's feeling well," Laurel apologised for him, bending over and placing a hand by his elbow – looking to help him transfer his weight?

"It's just a headache," he brushed it off, eyes fixed on the blurry ground. Time to stand in three… two… one… "I'm fine… whoa."

As soon as he stood a wave of dizziness overtook him and he stepped back against the couch, swaying a little and grateful for Laurel's steadying arm. Wes was by his other side in an instant, gently pushing him back to sitting.

"Don't think you're getting anywhere soon…"

"Connor, be honest with me. What's going on?"

"It's a headache."

"It's more than just a headache." She put a hand on his forehead. "You're not feverish… but I'm guessing dizzy. Do you get migraines?"

And out he was caught. "Yes."

"And are you having a migraine right now?"

"What are you, a doctor?" He tried to side-step, preparing himself to stand again.

"I was pre-med. Answer the question."

He sighed. "Yes, alright? It's a migraine. It kicked in half an hour ago. Can we go?"

"You can't stand up, Connor. Stay here. We'll tell Annalise you're sick."

Fantastic.

"We can't just leave him here…"

"Annalise will kill us if we aren't there in 10. You know how she is."

"Just go, Michaela." Wes sounded annoyed. "Connor, do you take anything for your head?"

"There's Imitrex in the bathroom cupboard…"

He heard footsteps padding away, the warmth gone from his side, water rushing into a glass from the kitchen, and rummaging down the corridor. Another couple of head-throbs and there was a cup in his hand, and Wes making his way back into the kitchen/study.

"Look, we can't stay here but I'll come check on you, alright?"

"Just take these," Wes put the tablets in his hand, "and sleep. I'm… I'm going to call Oliver, he might be able to stay with him, I don't know if he has any other friends…"

Connor was too far gone to protest being spoken about in third person… or to bother the one person he was currently too terrified to speak to. The one person he actually somewhat cared about and had managed to yet again fuck over.

"Feel better soon."

He just wanted it all to end.

And then the lights flashed out and the footsteps faded out his door, leaving him to try squeezing the pounding out of his head, lay down and cry, and will the world away.

Hi guys!

So I like to inflict my own pain on characters. Next part will be proper Coliver, however my brain decides to write it out. Do have work though so it may be a day or so. Woot. :p

Like it? Hate it? Want me to cameo in the next HTGAWM... as the victim? Please let me know!

Keep smiling! :D