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Simon groans, stretching backward as he finishes the page of math in front of him. Wille still has a few more problems to do, so he doesn’t feel bad about getting up to go to the bathroom–he doesn’t want to interrupt their focus, and they don’t seem to need his help at the moment.
Not for the first time, Simon is grateful that Wille has their own bathroom. Public bathrooms are stressful on a good day, but Simon especially hates the Forest Ridge bathrooms and the boys with all their toxic masculinity. He knows Wille feels the same way and is equally grateful for the private space.
His back feels stiffer than normal, but he brushes it off as sitting in the same position for too long.
Except it isn’t that.
The toilet paper comes away red, and Simon abruptly realizes that his period has started.
Suddenly, all the symptoms of the past week slot into place, the same way they do every goddamn month. His chest hurts because of his period. His back hurts because of his period. He’s been feeling more dysphoric because of–surprise surprise–his period. (And, of course, Wille getting him off three times yesterday makes a lot more sense now too.)
Then he panics. He’s spending the weekend at Forest Ridge with Wille–he doesn’t have pads or briefs or even ibuprofen, and he definitely doesn’t have his heat pad or his super-secret chocolate stash.
He doesn’t really want to go home, but he can’t expect Wille to deal with this.
Cleaning up as best he can, and layering toilet paper in his boxers, Simon resigns himself to telling Wille he has to leave early.
When he exits the bathroom, Wille looks up, a smile on their face. “Do you want to go out for dinner tonight? We could take the bus into town and get pizza or something.”
Simon winces. “Actually…I have to go home.”
“What? Why? Is your mom okay?” Wille asks worriedly.
He smiles–he loves how much Wille loves his family. “She’s fine. But, uh, my– period started, and I don’t have any…supplies.” Simon says, face red. “It’s fine, I just have to go.”
“Or,” Wille says slowly. “I can go get whatever you need, and we can spend the rest of the weekend doing whatever you want.”
“Wille, I can’t– it’s not going to be fun . We can’t have sex and I’m going to be in excruciating pain.”
Their brow furrows. “I’m not with you for the sex , Simon. You know that, right? I enjoy it, sure, but that’s not– that’s not all I want. I want you . And I want to help you and take care of you and love you. You’re my boyfriend.”
Simon freezes. Sure, objectively, he knows that relationships are give and take, and yeah, Wille does nice things for him and he does nice things for them, but this feels different.
Wille is already standing, pulling a sweater over their head and slipping their feet into their shoes. “What do you need? Should I go to your house, or the store?” They ask as they grab their wallet off the desk.
Simon rattles off the brands and what the boxes look like, stumbling as he tells Wille he needs underwear. Wille doesn’t bat an eye–just nods intently, clearly memorizing each item.
He stands there gaping, even as Wille comes up to wrap him in their arms and kiss his forehead. “I’ll put a towel down on the bed, and you can put these on–” Wille hands him a pair of ratty sweatpants “–and you just stay here and rest a little. I’ll be right back, okay?”
Their arms feel nice. He doesn’t want them to go, even though he knows they need to and that he’s taking advantage of Wille’s kindness.
With one last kiss, this time to his lips, Wille slips out the door, leaving Simon to make himself comfortable (or as comfortable as he can be) on the bed.
While Wille is gone, Simon tosses and turns–the cramps have hit, so he can’t focus on anything, but he can’t fall asleep either. It’s an all-around miserable experience, as it always is. He can’t wait for his partner to get back with painkillers, and he can only hope that they work when he takes them.
After both forever and no time at all, there’s a soft knock on the door, followed by the sound of it creaking open.
Simon turns over, coming face to face with Wille, who is setting two full plastic grocery bags down on the desk. They pull out a box of overnight pads first, carefully opening the box and taking out one of the pads. Next comes a set of plain black briefs, and a bottle of ibuprofen, which Wille pulls the plastic off of so they can pour three out into the cap. Finally, they pop the cap off a bottle of chocolate milk, putting it down on the desk and turning towards Simon, eyes fond.
“I hope I got everything right,” They say. “Here, you can go change–I’ll put the dirty stuff in the laundry, don’t worry–and then I have the pain meds for you.”
He takes the clothes, turning towards the bathroom.
“Oh! Don’t forget to take off your binder, love, you’ve been wearing it too long today.” Wille calls after him. “You can take one of my sweaters, if you want.”
Simon nods, closing the door behind himself as he strips his bloody clothes and changes into clean ones. Reluctantly, he takes off his binder too, scrunching his nose at the feeling of his chest rubbing against his shirt–the texture is too rough to be comfortable, especially with how sore his chest is.
When he returns to the main room, Wille is waiting in bed with a bag of Andes mints, a handmade heat pad (it has to be Sara’s, since Simon recognizes the pattern, but he’s not sure how Wille got it), and one of Simon’s favorite movies pulled up on the computer.
They beckon him towards the bed, wrapping their arms around his waist when he sits on the edge to take the ibuprofen waiting for him.
When he’s done, he collapses into Wille’s arms with a groan. “I’m dying, Wille.”
“You’re not dying,” They tell him. “You’re just a drama queen.”
Simon pretends to take offense, earning himself a kiss on the cheek.
They curl up together, chocolate milk and candy between Wille’s legs where they both can reach, and Simon hits play on the movie.
“Thank you,” He whispers, tilting his head up to press a kiss to their jaw.
Wille just holds him tighter–which is doing wonders for the pain in his back–and kisses his hair. “I love you. You don’t have to do everything yourself, you know? I’m always going to be here for you, whatever you need.”
Simon buries his head in Wille’s chest. “I know. I love you too.”