and you were so supportive as i drank through the pain.

He probably should have listened to Celeste.

He hadn’t even made it home, bleary eyes opening on the ceiling of the clinic rather than the dim lighting of the lighting system that hung over his bed, conjoined with ventilation for the small space and hatch for rooftop access—at the very least, if he was going to be living in a box in Lowtown, he would have some sort of prime access, away from the ground level even if it wasn’t much to look at—and it wasn’t even his own office as much as it was an inpatient room, empty for now given the lack of inpatient cases they actually took in when such procedures were low on the list of those residents were willing to pay credits for given the expense. At least it had been a bed and at least it had been a safe one, security ever-present at the clinic and, given prior encounters, Edison apt to check on him at least once throughout the evening if he found him asleep somewhere.

“Huh…” he groaned, rolling out of the bed and looking, indeed, more the part of patient than he was physician, dressed casual for a change in a pair of jeans that had seen better days if the holes had been any indication and a shirt far too baggy and far too plaid for operating hours. His shoulders slouched, his head ached—something he could easily fix with some aspirin and hydration once he managed to gather his bearings enough to recall where it was and, more importantly, where he was within the clinic and how he could get to his office before someone interrupted him.

The fates, however, seemed to be against him, his omni-device, thankfully still attached to his wrist as it ever was, suddenly beeping loudly—loud enough he may not have minded throwing it across the room if it wasn’t as expensive as it had been.

“This is Han,” he answered, thankful for the option to avoid any video feed, holographic or otherwise, as he left the room, shuffling his shirt around a bit to try and hang it better on his shoulders and look a little more put together than the shape the ‘fun’ drink concocted for him had left him in. From the device came a stream of words he hardly registered as the voice, belonging to the receptionist of the Winlock Park clinic, came ringing through with all the high-pitch of a mouse stuck in a trap. Appointment requests—she must have been going through them, confirming his schedule considering most of his time had been spent in Lowtown of late.

“Shit…” he muttered as she continued to ramble on, reaching up to poke his thumb into his temple, trying to rub out the growing headache that threatened to cross his vision and, if he hadn’t known any better than to believe a headache could do so, blow out the crown of his head. Pinching his eyes shut, he stopped in his trek to his office to finally address her, somehow believing it would help balance him out a little bit enough to speak clearly. “Move everything to tomorrow and the next day. I need another day here.” It wasn’t a lie—he just didn’t make any implication as to ‘why’, leaving the mousy-voiced woman on the other end to simply believe there was work to be done and not that he was—heaven forbid—taking a day off.

“Make it work however you can and then send me the revision,” Kang instructed as he slipped into his office, waiting for the call to end before ordering the clean-up of the room he had passed out in, placing the order for some headache medicine for himself to maintain accuracy in their inventory count, and alerting those who needed to know and could disseminate to others that he would be gone the rest of the day.

He needed rest. He needed a lot of rest.