"I can't take the day off tomorrow. I'll survive."

He probably could afford it if he hadn't put a down-payment on the tiger cub he hasn't given Swann yet. He stays twined with her, saying nothing, for a long while as the headache cedes bit by bit. They just breathe, melded together on the bed as if they were conjoined.

He doesn't sleep, instead tracing the jolt of pain above his brow down different rabbitholes in the dark, but at some point he does ask, "did you want to shower? I could shower."