Agrimony had half expected Foxwood to throw caution to the wind, pick him up and carry him bridal style to the door with all the fussing he’d been doing. But no, he let Agrimony make his own, slow way to the door, which really only served to make Agrimony nauseous. How much fucking blood had he lost already? A great deal, judging by how damp the handkerchief in his hand had become. He could only taste copper in his mouth, sliding down his throat, and unless Foxwood had suddenly learned how to clone himself thrice, Agrimony’s vision was making him see not double, but triple.

It didn’t help too much when he was laid down, but the cool compress on his forehead did much to at least reduce his vision to double. No, it was back to triple. But the cloth on his head still felt good. Not that he would tell Basil that.

A biting tone accompanied Foxwood’s commentary, something that Agrimony felt he likely deserved but could only roll his eyes. Given that his eyes were closed, there was little satisfaction to be gleaned from witnessing Foxwood’s reaction to his reaction. He wanted to clap his hands over his eyes to rub them. Foxwood’s tone was not helping the growing headache. “Foxwood, could you please save the lecture until I’m at least coherent enough to listen to you?” He snapped, feeling a wave of nausea overcome him. “Charge me interest if you must, it’s not like I’m short on the cash.”

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