Chapter Text
God, the sun was so fucking bright. Had the sun always been this damn bright in the mornings?
You groan softly, squeezing your eyes shut against the glare pouring in from the window. As your body slowly drags itself out of unconsciousness, you take inventory of the awful ache in your body.
A deep, angry gnaw twists in your lower belly, sinking like a lead weight into your stomach. You feel bloated, uncomfortable, like your insides are waging war against you. Your thighs ache as if you’ve walked twenty miles in your sleep, and the dull throb behind your eyes tells you that a headache isn’t far behind.
Hang on—what day is it? The third week of the month?
Ah, shit.
You exhale slowly, trying to ignore the discomfort. You’d have to get up soon, but for now, you let yourself lay there, clinging to the last few minutes of peace before the day officially starts.
The bed is warm, safe, the heavy blanket pulled up over your shoulder, and underneath it, a strong, muscled arm is wrapped around you. Joel’s arm. His hand is tucked snugly between your ribs and the mattress, holding you close in that unconscious way he always does. He’s pressed against your back, face buried in your hair, his breaths slow and deep.
You envy how well he sleeps. Like nothing in the world could wake him. But he deserves the rest—the long hours he puts in with his brother on job sites take a toll, even if he won’t admit it.
You shift slightly, trying to get comfortable again, but the movement disturbs Joel just enough that he makes a low, sleepy noise against your shoulder. A second later, his alarm blares from the bedside table.
Joel groans, shifting to reach behind him and smack the clock silent. The second the noise cuts off, his arm tightens around you again, pressing you against his warm chest. His lips brush your cheek, then your neck, then your ear as he rasps, "Mornin’ pretty girl."
You just groan in response, curling inward as a fresh wave of cramps rolls through your stomach.
Joel nuzzles into you, inhaling the smell of your sweet shampoo, "What’s wrong, baby?" His morning voice is thick and husky, the kind of rough warmth that would normally turn you on, if you didn’t currently feel like absolute shit.
"Think it’s that time," you mumble, pulling your knees up toward your chest.
Joel exhales a quiet oh and rubs a slow, steady hand over your hip. He doesn’t say anything else, just remains there, solid and grounding, until you force yourself to sit up and drag your legs over the side of the bed. His hand stays on you until you stand and shuffle toward the bathroom.
The second you pull down your underwear and see red, you let out a defeated sigh.
Yep. Knew it.
Reaching into the cabinet under the sink, you rifle around until you find your stash of tampons, wincing as you do what needs to be done. You quickly brush your teeth and brush through your hair before heading back into the bedroom.
Joel is awake now, standing near the dresser, tugging his jeans up over his hips. You linger in the doorway for a second, watching him, admiring the way his muscles shift under his tanned skin. His chest is broad with tufts of dark curls, his shoulders strong, but it’s the soft familiarity of it all that makes your chest ache a little—this is home.
When he finally notices you, he yanks his shirt over his head and rounds the bed, meeting you in the middle. He leans down, pressing a slow, warm kiss to your lips, his hand brushing over your hip.
"You feelin’ alright?" he murmurs when he pulls back just enough to search your face.
"Terrible, actually," you admit, stretching your arms above your head before dropping them to your sides. "But I’ll manage."
Joel frowns slightly. "Maybe you should stay home today—"
"Please," you scoff. "If jobs let women stay home for their periods, feminism would’ve won the war by now. But alas. We still live in a man’s world."
Joel huffs a short laugh, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his messy dark hair. "Guess you got a point."
You rise up on your toes, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. "Love you."
He squeezes your hip gently before stepping back. "Love you too, baby. See you later."
And with that, you drag yourself through the rest of your morning, bracing for the long, miserable day ahead.
The day drags on like molasses, slow and miserable, every minor inconvenience feeling a hundred times worse than it should. By the time you finally push through the front door, exhaustion drapes over you like a second skin. Your limbs ache, your head pounds, and the dull, persistent cramping in your stomach hasn’t let up once.
Joel is already up from his seat in the dining area before you can even drop your bag, meeting you in the entryway. He leans down, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead, his hand resting on your cheek as he murmurs, "Hey, baby."
You manage a tired, "Hey," in return, leaning into him for a brief moment before pulling back with a sigh. "Gonna hop in the shower."
Joel studies you for a second, eyes flickering over your face, probably noting the slump in your shoulders, the way you’re gripping your stomach like it physically hurts to move. But he doesn’t argue—just gives a small nod and lets you go.
The shower is scalding hot, just how you need it. The second the water cascades over you, you exhale, tension slipping from your body, though the cramps still linger like an unwelcome guest. You take your time, letting the steam soothe some of the ache in your muscles, scrubbing away the stress of the day before finally stepping out and pulling on your comfiest pajamas—soft, worn fabric that makes you feel human again.
When you pad downstairs, hair still damp, the first thing you notice is the smell of tea.
You blink, pausing in the doorway of the living room. Joel is sitting on the couch, legs stretched out, one arm draped over the back, looking like he’s been waiting for you. The coffee table in front of him holds a steaming mug, your favorite kind, and next to it, a little bag of your favorite candy.
"Where’s Sarah?" you ask, surprised that she isn’t posted at the kitchen table, working on homework like she usually is by this time of the evening.
"Sleepover," Joel answers easily, glancing over at you. He tilts his head toward the couch. "Come ‘ere."
But before you can take a step, your eyes flick to the TV screen, the bright colors catching your attention.
"You did not," you say, disbelief heavy in your voice, but a smile stretches over your lips.
Joel picks up the remote with a casual flick, pointing it to the television, "Dunno what you’re talkin’ about."
"Didn’t peg you for a Love Island guy, Joel."
"'S cause I ain’t," he grumbles, pressing play. The intro music kicks in—upbeat, familiar, pure trash TV gold. The instant serotonin it brings almost makes you forget how miserable you felt earlier.
A slow grin spreads across your face. "You secretly love it," you tease, stepping closer.
Joel sets the remote down and holds his arms out, palms settling on the side of your thighs when you approach. "Would you just sit down, please?" he gripes, but his hands are already guiding you onto the couch between his legs.
“Fine,” you sigh, making yourself comfortable as you lay back against his chest, “But don’t pretend like I didn’t see you watching last time. You had opinions!”
Joel exhales through his nose, tucking his chin slightly against the top of your head. "I did not," he grumbles, arms winding securely around your front as you settle into him.
"You did," you insist, smirking as you sip your tea. "You even called that one guy a dumbass."
Joel huffs. "That’s ‘cause he was a dumbass. Who the hell goes on a show like this and don’t even know how to hold a conversation?"
You laugh, the sound muffled against his chest. "See? Opinions. You care."
"Just ‘cause I think these people are a buncha’ morons doesn’t mean I care," he argues, but his fingers are already tracing slow, absentminded circles against your hip, the kind of comforting touch that makes you melt a little deeper into him.
"Sure, sure," you murmur, settling back against his chest with a sigh of contentment. The steady rise and fall of his breathing, the warmth of his body, the weight of the blanket over both of you—it’s exactly what you needed after the day you had.
The episode plays, and within minutes, Joel is making little noises of disapproval under his breath, shaking his head at the screen like the contestants have personally wronged him.
"Boy is dumber than a box a’ rocks," he mutters as one of the guys kisses a girl he’s not even coupled up with.
You grin, tilting your head up just enough to look at him. "Uh-huh. But you don’t care, right?"
Joel glares down at you, but there’s no heat behind it, just that familiar, quiet fondness that makes your chest tighten. He shakes his head, pressing a slow kiss to your temple before muttering, "Just shut up and watch your damn show."
You smile against his chest, letting your eyes slip closed for a moment as you whisper, "Thank you, Joel. For all this."
His arm tightens around you. "Ain’t nothin’, baby. Got you."
And with that, you let yourself sink into him, the ache in your body dulling just enough to finally let you breathe.