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Cassian hated to see Nesta in pain. It wasn't exactly a vacation to be the one in said pain, but Nesta was used to the monthly ritual by that point. She resented the first couple of days of her period, knowing they would forever be the worst of it.
Her boyfriend never habituated to it; when she curled in on herself, clutching a hot water bottle to her abdomen. For the most part, she wasn't one to moan or whine; not until Cassian fussed over her so much that he reminded her of a bird locked in a small room.
She had a threshold for his fussing, and she learned long ago that he’d figured her out. After so many years together, one typically channeled in on the other's patterns, and Cassian knew that Nesta tolerated about three acts of caregiving before she was snapping at him to sit nearby. He was mission-oriented, and the blunt order was enough to have him parked on the sofa with her.
Sometimes, he sat as close as he could manage and rubbed soothing circles over her stomach or lower back. Other times, he wedged his hulking frame between Nesta and the back of the couch to press his warmth into her. Either that, or he was trying to take her pain away, if the way he clutched her against him was any indication. As effective as he was in reducing her misery, a large part of the whole production was a comfort to Cassian. When he was presented with a loved one in pain, he needed to know he was of use just as much as the other needed the care.
It was one of those days that leveled her, and she braced herself for their ritual when she heard Cassian's key slide into the lock. Nesta clutched the throw pillow tighter to her stomach, stifling a groan at the growing tenderness.
"Hey Nes," Cassian called out, shaking the snow from his coat and hanging it on the hook. "How was your—"
His voice stopped suddenly, and his heavy footsteps approached where she lay on the couch. "Nesta, are you okay?"
She opened her eyes to find him kneeling before her, his perceptive gaze fixed on her face. They moved briefly to scan over her body and understanding washed over his features. To Nesta’s surprise, he pulled his phone from his pocket to glance at the date. His lips pressed into a firm line, and he offered a subtle, confirmatory nod to the screen. His hunch was confirmed, apparently.
"What can I get you?"
Nesta groaned. "A swift death?"
Warmth spread through her at the sound of his laugh, and the familiar comfort of it nearly brought a tear to her eye. "I'm vetoing that one. What about a heating pad?"
"Fine."
His steps thudded away, only for them to be retraced moments later. Cassian muttered a curse at the outlet being out of reach behind the couch. Without warning, he lifted the corner to move it away from the wall by several inches. Tension lined each of Nesta’s muscles at the sudden jostling, soothed by Cassian’s deep, quiet voice.
“Sorry, Sweetheart. The cord wouldn’t reach anywhere else. I’ll get you comfortable, okay?”
Nesta nodded, her irritation mounting. Part of it was due to his fussing, no matter how well she predicted it. The other part of it was with herself in realizing she was the one who desperately craved Cassian’s physical affection, his warmth and his doting. She had artfully convinced herself that she humored Cassian by allowing him to be a true mother hen that it disoriented her to rely so heavily on his comfort.
That didn’t mean she planned to deviate from their usual routine, if only to preserve some shred of dignity.
Cassian moved with practiced ease in rearranging the couch cushions to Nesta’s usual specifications. His hands were gentle when they turned to the button of her jeans, just barely easing the heating pad up her abdomen for better access. Shimmying her out of them, he tossed them on the chair nearby and grabbed a soft throw blanket from the basket nearby of Nesta’s favorites.
She groaned, shifting the heating pad back into its home for the foreseeable future. Cassian draped the blanket over her legs and stood to his full height.
“I’ll get you some water, maybe a snack. I’ll be right—”
Nesta took the offer for the opportunity it was. She’d officially held up her end of their little charade, and her patience waned with a savage quickness.
“Stop fussing,” she ordered, her tone firm but with less of a bite than usual. She didn’t have it in her. “Just— shut up and hold me.”
Cassian’s eyes softened, his sharp features morphing into unfiltered adoration. Nesta reminded herself of her blessings that such a man read between her harsh lines and saw the nuance beneath— that a man like Cassian loved her to madness.
“Alright,” he conceded, toeing off his shoes and removing his belt.
He stripped down to his boxer-briefs and his black undershirt, and Nesta took a moment to take him in. There was no heat behind the look, only a pure, objective appreciation of beauty. And the solid mass that was about to serve as her own personal furnace.
“Make some room for me,” he murmured.
Nesta wiggled pitifully toward the edge to make room for Cassian to slide onto the couch behind her. He was careful not to disturb her position as much as possible, and in return, Nesta bit her tongue when he failed. His effort was admirable enough.
Cassian settled his weight and tucked his arm beneath her neck, using it to cradle her head with his bicep and forearm. The other angled over her waist to pull her flush against him. Nesta melted against him, taking his scent into her lungs and allowing his body heat to ease her tension.
He tucked his fingers between her hip and the couch to keep his hold as stable and snug as possible. The likelihood that they slept that way was high, and he didn’t dare risk her rolling to the carpet. Nesta could only imagine how insufferable he’d become as a result.
No matter how entwined they were, it never felt close enough. Nesta moved her legs to lace with his, and in response, Cassian tucked his cheek against the crown of her head. Coccooned properly against him, she timed her breaths with his until blissful oblivion took them both.