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Gabe hated the kitchen floor at the best of times.
It was cold tile, hard, and the grout pattern always dug into his skin.
But the kitchen was the only room in the house right now, at half past two in the morning, where he could turn on the light without waking anyone up. Where the kitchen island was close enough that he could brace against something if the room started tilting again once he eventually stood. It was also the only place far enough from everyone’s bedrooms that he could sit and shake through a pain spike without, again, waking anyone.
At least, that was the plan.
He had made it as far as the fridge before his abdomen tightened so sharply he swore his vision pixelated.
The pressure came in waves, deep, twisting spasms that radiated under his ribs and down into his hip. His knees hit the floor first. His palms followed, flat against the cool tile, he shifted backwards as fast as he could, sitting with the countertop at his back, hanging his head between his knees. He stayed like that, breathing through clenched teeth.
Short inhale. Long exhale. Don’t make noise. Don’t wake them up. He waited for the worst of the spike to pass.
It didn’t.
A low sound escaped him anyway, a thin, frayed hiss at the back of his throat. He bit down on it immediately as he picked up his head and leant it back against the cabinet behind him. Not helpful. Pathetic, really. He shifted, tried to sit upright, but the motion made his gut roil so sharply the edges of the room bled gray. His head throbbed as he dropped it again to his knees, faint, rhythmic pulses that threatened to bloom into something harsher if he moved too fast. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye, willing the whole thing to just stop for thirty seconds.
That was when footsteps creaked down the stairs. Gabe’s breath snagged in panic. He tried to pull himself up. Tried to pull himself together. Tried to suck the pain down far enough to pass it off as nothing. He got as far as lifting his head before the kitchen doorway filled with a familiar silhouette.
“Gabe?”
His father’s voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even sharp. It was more of confusion, like he’d prepared for the usual midnight kitchen wander, a glass of water, maybe someone scrolling their phone at the counter.
Not… this.
Gabe froze.
He knew he looked bad.
He could feel the sweat sticking his shirt to his back, feel how pale he probably was, how unsteady his arms were. He hated that his dad was seeing him like this, hated it with a sudden, boiling intensity he didn’t even have the strength to disguise. He forced a warped grin. “Uh. Hey, Dad.”
Dan blinked, once, slowly.
The kind of blink that meant his brain was still trying to categorize what he was seeing. “Are you alright?”
“Mm. No. Just…” Gabe waved a hand loosely, aiming for casualness and missing every possible target. “Me stuff. It’ll pass.”
Dan didn’t move for a long second.
He wasn’t good at moments like this, never had been. Natalie was more suited for it. His dad did better with things that could be solved with a wrench, or taxes, or defined tasks. Illness, especially his son’s, paralyzed him in subtle ways.
But something in Gabe’s voice must’ve hit wrong, because Dan stepped forward anyway. “Why are you on the floor?”
Gabe laughed. “I don’t know, Dad, thought I’d test gravity. It’s strong. In case you were wondering.”
Another wave hit then, sharper, deeper, and his hand shot to his abdomen before he could stop it. His breath stuttered as his eyes squeezed shut for a moment. The joke crumpled instantly.
Dan’s expression changed. Quiet alarm that softened his features instead of hardening them. He crouched down beside Gabe, a little stiff from age and from definitely never doing things like this. “Hey. Look at me.”
Gabe didn’t want to. His throat was tight, his eyes watery, and he didn’t want his Dad to see that, either. But he forced his head up. Dan searched his face, really searched it, like he was cataloging every flicker of discomfort and realizing just how much of it he’d missed for years.
“How long?” Dan asked softly.
Gabe’s stomach flipped again. “How long what?”
“How long has this been going on tonight?”
“Oh.” Gabe stared at the floor tiles. “Don’t know. An hour? Maybe two.”
Two hours. Alone. Definitely not the first time. Dan swallowed hard, like something in his throat had suddenly gone too tight. “Why didn’t you wake someone?”
Gabe huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. “Dad. Come on.”
“No,” Dan said quietly. “I’m serious.”
Gabe’s jaw clenched. “Because it doesn’t help. Because Mom freaks the fuck out. Because Nat doesn’t need more on her plate. Because you–” He stopped, the end of the sentence choking off.
Dan’s voice stayed steady. “Because I what?”
Gabe’s eyes finally lifted, and the honesty slipped out before he could catch it, “Because you don’t know what to do.”
His words hit the air like something dangerous. Dan sat back slightly, hands planted on the floor for balance, and let it settle over him. He didn’t get angry, or defensive.
“…You’re right,” he said, barely above a whisper.
Gabe blinked. He hadn’t expected that.
Dan exhaled shakily. “I don’t know what to do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.” He rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly looking older. “I thought you were doing better. I thought– I don’t know what I thought.”
“It’s just a flare,” Gabe muttered. “It happens.”
“Yeah.” Dan’s voice cracked. “But not in front of me.”
Gabe froze at that. He hadn’t realized how little his dad had actually seen. Something like fear flickered across Dan’s face. A brief moment where all the suppressed worry he carried finally peeked through the cracks.
“I didn’t know it got this bad for you anymore,” Dan admitted quietly. “Gabriel, I– I didn’t know.”
Gabe’s chest tightened, and not from pain. He opened his mouth, but his dad beat him to it.
“Let me do something,” Dan said.
It was small, almost pleading. Dan shifted closer and carefully helped Gabe sit back against the cabinets. He didn’t hover like his mom. Didn’t freeze like usual. It was weird.
He asked, awkwardly, albeit gently, “Is the pain worse if you move? Do you need water? To sit differently?”
Practical questions, simple ones. Ones that meant he was trying, even if he wasn’t sure how. Gabe nodded faintly, surprised by his own sudden exhaustion. “Water. Maybe. Slowly.”
Dan got up, filled a glass with shaking hands he pretended were steady, and returned. It was quiet. When Gabe finished a few sips, he sagged back against the cabinets again, breath evening out. Dan sat down fully beside him. For the first time, he looked like a dad who was scared of the idea that he’d already failed without noticing.
“…You can wake me,” Dan said softly. “Next time. Even if I don’t know what to do. I don’t want you going through this alone.”
Gabe didn’t know what to say. So he didn’t say anything at all. He leaned his head back on the cabinet, blinking slowly. Dan pressed a hand to his forehead briefly, checking his color and temperature like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it.
Gabe hated the kitchen floor at the best of times. But he didn’t mind it all that much right now.