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Periods had always knocked you the fuck out.
It was something you had to gently make Xavier aware of once your relationship really progressed into something serious. Something that meant nights spent at each other’s place, which could bring with it issues if his apartment wasn't well-stocked for your monthly needs.
He hadn’t even blinked when you first brought it up. He only asked you what types of products you preferred, nodding intently when you listed off your favorite brands along with the other necessities—painkillers (most of his were unopened and expired, as he neglected his occasional injures and “never got sick”) and a heating pad (again, old, as in it's like he’s had the thing for decades old, just like the one Gran had back home).
“I can get bad cramps,” you reply, a bit awkwardly as you notice his brows furrow, light eyelashes fluttering with a look of concern. You weren’t embarrassed—you just didn’t want to worry him. You were used to it, but he wasn’t. “Like, really bad. Back in high school I’d miss classes, or full days. All I could do was lie down in the bathroom until it passed.”
“Does it still get that bad?” His voice is soft, his eyes pained. There’s something that flashes through them too quick, but the only evidence of the fleeting, haunted expression is how he reaches for your hand and holds on tight.
You hesitate. “Sometimes.”
He stares down at your hand in his, tracing his thumb down over your veins. It rubs over your pulse point, and he’s so quiet for a moment, you wonder if he’s counting the beats.
Why, though, you’re not sure.
“I won’t die from cramps, Xavier,” you laugh, and his face pinches again, turning downwards until all you can see is his fluffy hair.
He presses a kiss to where your heart races underneath his lips, then peers up at you through his long, elegant lashes. You stroke your free hand over his cheek, gazing into those pools of serene blue. He nuzzles into your hand, getting as lost in you.
“Promise?” he mumbles quietly, and you fail to stifle a snort at his cuteness.
“Mhm.” You nod, giggling again at his petulant pout towards your noncommittal answer. “Promise.”
He walks to your favorite convenience store a few blocks away that night, picking out all the things you’d listed, and more. There’s electrolyte drinks and little cookies, and three heating pads in the bags he brings back. They all have different cloths and settings, and he insists you try out each to decide which one helps best.
A couple mornings later is when the cramps hit. It’s a lighter period, pain and flow wise, and you’re grateful he doesn’t have to see it so bad that first time.
Xavier wasn’t exactly the type to hover—even if he got clingy, he knew you were capable. But maybe that was the reason why your menstrual cycle always seemed to stress him out a bit. He just didn’t seem to like the idea of your own body taking you out of commission.
Curled around your favorite heating pad on the couch—one with a cute little star pattern on the fabric, you were happy at the coincidence since you liked its heat settings the most—you sip at one of the juice boxes he’d gotten for you, while he gently massages your feet in his lap.
For a moment, he seems to hesitate. Then he asks, softly, the words almost lost in the calm air of the moment, “Do you want me to track it?”
You blink, glancing at him. “Track it?”
“Yeah.” Xavier shifts, pressing his thumb into your heel in pleasant circles before meeting your eyes. “If that would help you be prepared for when it comes. Only if you’re comfortable with it, though.”
You smile, heart swelling with affection for this man who’d stumbled into your life—or maybe you’d stumbled into his.
Or maybe everything had been leading you to each other all along.
You’d agreed, and that was that. Xavier tracked your cycle alongside you with your consent, gently reminding you of its possible effects on you when your emotions were too high, and realization may slip.
Somehow, those moments didn’t frustrate you. Maybe it was just the gentle ease with which Xavier spoke, his boundless patience and genuine grace, especially when it came to you.
So you weren’t really sure how you both managed to miss it this time.
You were glad it had fallen on the weekend, at least, so you didn’t have to either waste a sick day or be forced to tough it out, going into fighting Wanderers while already bleeding. But you were also pissed as hell that your cramps kept you bedridden for both your days off.
Worse, you had to cancel your day trip with Xavier out to a popular new hotpot restaurant on the farther edge of the city.
Even worse than that, he knew right away that something was wrong.
Xavier was never one to be upset over canceled plans. He was just as happy curling up on the couch with you, enjoying some favorite takeout with a cheesy movie on in the background.
You usually weren’t so upset at waylaid plans either. You could be as much a homebody as your cozy boyfriend, especially considering just how cozy he could be when you were all snuggled up.
(Recently, you even had to make a rule to keep him in another room as you were getting ready to go out, so you wouldn’t be pulled into a cuddle session that ended up in missed dinner reservations.)
But this date, you had been looking forward to. You’d set reminders on both your phones, and a heart nestled next to a star on the old-fashioned calendar hanging in his living room.
The food had sounded so good for the week leading up to it, and maybe that strong craving should’ve been a hint to check your own calendar system, in hindsight. But there hadn't been a mark for it on his, either. It had slipped both your minds this time around.
The pinching, throbbing pain in your abdomen waking you up on the Saturday you were set for your date let you know the gravity of your mistake.
“Fuck,” you hissed, clutching at your stomach as you pulled yourself up and into the bathroom, doubled over from the added nausea the pain brought with it.
It was a good thing you were sleeping in your own apartments that morning. Better not to scare Xavier with the potential of blood on his spotless white sheets or, worse, give him a heart attack if he woke up to find you curled up on the bathroom floor.
You don’t know how long your forehead was pressed to the cool tile, until you were able to pull yourself up enough to force down some pain reliever from the medicine cabinet. Stumbling back to bed with a cold washcloth pressed over the back of your neck, you grabbed for your phone to send him a quick text.
You blinked in surprise to find he had already sent two messages about an hour ago.
Morning, Starlight. Can I come over early
Can't wait to see U
Your phone pings again, and you rub your eyes.
bunbun bf poked you
R U awake
You poise your fingers to type a reply, pondering your excuses, but stop when another message bubble pops up from him.
It says read. U feeling okay
You sigh, rubbing your forehead. How does he already know?
I'm okay.
Hey, think we can do our hotpot date another day? Just feeling tired. I think yesterday's mission wore me out more than I realized.
Mid-typing another response, your phone pings again.
Liar
I'm coming over now
You groan, wondering if you wanted to push back on this, before tossing your phone to the side.
Maybe he could grab your soda crackers from the kitchen. You were still nauseous, and you didn’t have the strength to go crawling for them right now.
What felt like only a few seconds later had Xavier knocking on your front door, even before he used his thumbprint to let himself in. You wonder if he teleported down here.
“Sweetheart?”
His footprints lead straight to your bedroom, and you hear his breath catch the moment he sees you from the doorway.
Now you really wonder if he teleported, because he’s by your side in an instant, hand pressed to your forehead, gently turning your face so he can see you.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is hushed, sweet and gentle as ever. But you hear the undercurrent of worry that rushes his words just a bit, even quicker with panic the more he talks. “Are you sick? Are you in pain? Did you get injured yesterday? I didn’t notice anything.”
You shake your head, and his assessment scans down your body. He gently nudges away the sheets curled around your sweaty, clammy skin.
“Oh, Starlight,” he whispers, rubbing his warm palms around where you clutch at your abdomen. “I’m sorry, I must’ve forgotten to note it down. Shit.”
You manage to arch an eyebrow. Sure, Xavier could have quite the dirty mouth on him when the mood struck—especially when a certain mood struck—but something about this felt especially frustrated. An irritation turned inwards.
“Hey,” you murmur, nudging his thigh with your knee once you get it free of the sheets. “Don’t be mad at yourself. It must’ve come early. Or late, who knows. It happens.”
He sighs, focusing back in on you. His eyes are big and caring, blond hair shining with a golden sheen in the morning light that peeks through your curtains.
“What can I do for you?”
You just about melt at that, smiling weakly up at him.
“Can you get my crackers?”
He’s nodding, already moving towards the door. “Nauseous? Do you have your—”
“No, I’m out,” you sigh, pinching your nose as you remember you’d put off refilling your anti nausea medication. “Can you check for—”
“Gatorade, yeah, if there isn’t any I’ll order some,” he calls softly from rustling around in the kitchen, a place where you’d usually dread Xavier spending time in.
You don’t need to ask to know he’ll pay for rushed delivery if there isn’t any of your favorite flavor in your fridge. You also don’t need to tell him you’ll pay him back for it, knowing he’ll frown deeper and deeper at you until you relent.
Unfortunately, it’s a period that knocks you out. You’re out of commission for most the day, and that general feeling of malaise lingers into night.
Xavier refuses to leave your side. It lets him see firsthand how much you droop the closer you get to when your dinner reservation was, now canceled. Like a flower without sunlight, curling in on itself to drop all its petals, one by one.
He rubs his hand down your back or massages across your abdomen when you want it, and pulls back to give you space when you don’t. He plays your favorite music on his phone when you sniffle in the silence, and continues to hum the songs when his phone runs out of battery.
Xavier doesn’t comment when you turn over, just silently sets his book aside to hold you when you curl up on his chest. He doesn’t complain when the warmth of the heating pad begins to sear between you, doesn’t pull back when your tears stain his favorite white hoodie.
“Are you sad?” He asks quietly when your crying begins to ease. It may seem a silly question, but you know he wants to hear it from you, if there's anything in particular upsetting you.
You sniff. “No,” you mumble into his chest.
His thumbs massages circles into a tense muscle on your hip, and you sink into him. “Really?” He hums.
You stiffen, then sigh. “No.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
You shake your head. Then, a moment later, you confess anyway, feeling like you'll explode if you don't, “I just…I was looking forward to our date.”
“I know, baby,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We can always go another time.”
You feel the tears brimming again. “I know. But I—I wanted to go today.”
“I know,” he murmurs again, soothing and unbothered by your jumbled feelings.
“I wanted to go so bad and I’m just so mad—I hate when this happens, I hate how it just knocks me out.”
Xavier continues to run his soothing touch along your back in circles, letting you talk until you start to make sense out of your emotions.
“It’s not your fault.”
“It’s not,” you confirm his gentle reassurance, sniffling again. “It still sucks, though.”
“It does,” he reaffirms. “It’s not fair.” Then, quieter, “I hate seeing you unwell.”
You hold him tighter. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” He hooks his finger under your chin, lifting your face for a gentle kiss. It’s chaste, a familiar, unhurried gesture of affection. “I just wish I could help more.”
“You do more than enough.”
Xavier just hums again, stroking your back and humming your favorite songs until you fall asleep.
In the morning, you wake to find him gone.
You frown, confused and more than a little sad at the empty side of the bed. At least the cramps have eased enough that you can actually pull yourself out of it.
After changing your product in the bathroom, you stumble out into the living room only to find you weren’t so alone after all.
On the counter sits a little flower pot, and Xavier fusses around it, trimming bits of yellowing leaves and gently drizzling a glass of water over it.
“Xavier?”
The water sloshes a bit at your sleepy voice, and he sets the glass down, turning to you with a smile.
“Hey,” he calls, reaching his hand out to you. “Morning.”
“Morning.” You take his hand, letting him tug you closer, returning his quick kiss of greeting. “What’s this?”
“Oh.” He turns back towards the flower, scratching the back of his head. His hair was still a bit messy with sleep, even if he must have gone out to see Jeremiah for this flower, because you don’t recognize it from his apartment’s collection. “It’s a surprise. So, uh…surprise?”
You smile up at him, curiously stroking at the plant’s leaves. “What kind is it?”
“You.”
You blink at him, tilting your head.
“Well, it looks like you. The flower you were on the planet.”
Oh, you think, turning back toward the flower, now seeing its little closed bud. The exhibition.
“I showed Jeremiah the picture book a little while ago, to try and get an accurate version.” Xavier places his hands on your hips, resting his chin on your shoulder. “It hasn’t bloomed yet, but I wanted to cheer you up.”
His grip on you tightens, and his hands slide forward to hug you fully from behind.
“I don’t like it when you’re sick,” he whispers, and your heart aches. But he's gotten better at openly expressing his emotions to you, and you're so proud of that.
“It’s just—”
“I know,” he murmurs, hiding his face into your neck. “Still, I hate seeing you like that. I hate seeing you in pain. It…”
He falls quiet for a moment, and your hands find his, holding them as tightly as he holds you.
“It scares me,” he whispers, breath shaking.
You turn in his arms, palms cupping his cheeks. Xavier tries to look away, and you gently nudge his face back to you, waiting patiently until he looks into your eyes.
“I just want you to get everything you need to bloom, and be healthy.” His eyes flicker away briefly, then back again. There’s something shy in his gaze, and you get to witness it shifting into a confident determination. “I want to give you everything you need.”
Your eyes begin to water, and you try to blink the emotion away. You remember that planet that never existed, how he had given you his own light to bloom under. How he asked you to come with him when you called for him with all your soul, how his own soul answered.
“Well.” You clear your throat, trying to get rid of the tear-choked knot in there. “Good.”
Your fingers trace his face, and you stare at him with so much adoration until he begins to faintly glow. You keep staring, until his light burns into your retinas. Until you can see him in the dark. Until he's all that you can see.
“It’s good, then,” you say again, smiling at him, and feeling like a flower that's finally blossomed when he smiles back. “That you’re everything I need.”