[ Catching the bottle at the last second—almost, he'd missed it, the sudden onset of the headache blurring his vision—Sol nods in silence, grateful as he uncaps the painkillers (ibuprofen?), and takes the recommended dosage (two pills). In all his academic career (including scores of all-nighters and early mornings), he's never experienced tension to the point of restricted movement and muddled thoughts, the pain creeping its way from behind the eyes, to the temples, then down his neck the more he struggles to maintain his line of thinking.

Viruses, others, too many questions, it must be... ]

Tutoring. I frequent online tutoring websites, giving advice to others.

[ Ever so slowly, he shifts back, turning so that his forehead might touch to the leather of the seat, the material oddly cool against the skin. ]

Thank you. [ —he reaches out, offering the bottle back. ] I really have had one too many late nights, I think.

[ … ]

Would you think less of me, if I were to tell you I felt like resting right now?