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The Kent farm smelled of earth and hay, of summer winding down into the gentle approach of autumn. Conner breathed it in as he sat on the worn leather couch in the living room, the familiar scent immediately putting him at ease. This was home, more than any sterile foster home or glossy Metropolis apartment had ever been. This was the scent of soil under his fingernails after helping Jonathan with the chores, of Martha's baking, of belonging. He shifted, the worn leather groaning softly beneath him as he settled deeper into the cushions, the movement causing his knee to brush against Tim's.
Tim shifted beside him, their shoulders pressing together in a way that had become natural over the past six months. The couch cushions dipped slightly with his weight, and Conner found himself leaning into the warmth, not even conscious of doing so until his arm came around Tim's shoulders, pulling him closer. It was still new, this casual intimacy, this instinct to touch and be touched. Six months in, and sometimes it still felt like a miracle that he could just reach out and Tim would be there, solid and real and his.
"Comfortable?" Tim asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through Conner’s chest, his cheek pressed against Conner's hoodie.
"Very." Conner smiled, pressing a kiss into Tim's hair, inhaling the faint scent of his shampoo—something expensive and citrusy that contrasted perfectly with the rural simplicity of the farm.
On the television screen, some action movie they'd picked on a whim continued to play, but he wasn't really watching. He was more interested in the solid weight of Tim against him, the way his fingers traced patterns on his arm, the occasional squeeze that said nothing and everything at once. Outside, crickets chirped their evening song, and somewhere in the distance, a cow lowed. It was peaceful, the kind of peace that settled deep in your bones and made you believe everything might just turn out okay after all.
The house was theirs for the evening. Jonathan and Martha had gone into Smallville for their weekly date night—a tradition Conner admired and found endlessly endearing. They'd left around six, with Martha reminding them to help themselves to leftovers and Jonathan insisting they'd be back by ten, though Conner suspected they'd be later than that. It was nice, having the house to themselves, a quiet bubble of intimacy in the familiar comfort of the Kent home.
Then came the first cramp, a dull ache low in his abdomen that made him shift uncomfortably. He ignored it, focusing instead on the warmth of Tim's body, the steady rhythm of his breathing. But a few minutes later, another wave of pain rolled through him, sharper this time, and he couldn't stop the slight wince.
"Everything okay?" Tim asked, pulling back slightly to look at him, his blue eyes searching in the flickering light from the television.
Conner forced a smile. "Yeah, just..." He trailed off, his mind racing as he recognized the all-too-familiar signs. “I’m gonna go piss,” he said, biting at his lip.
Tim nodded slowly. "Okay," he said, unwrapping himself from Conner.
Conner spared a glance behind him and saw the seat was clean—thank god. Maybe it wasn't what he thought it was.
He closed the bathroom door behind him, the small space suddenly feeling claustrophobic as he faced the reality of his situation. He unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them down along with his boxers, before sitting on the toilet. He wiped, and there it was—the faint smear of red on the toilet paper that confirmed what he already knew.
His period had started, right in the middle of what was supposed to be a perfect date night.
"Damn it," he muttered, his voice echoing in the small room. He reached under the sink and saw not a single menstrual product. "Extra damn it."
Of course, they didn't have pads.
Conner was only here for a week and Martha was going through menopause—which made him sad the more he thought about it—so of course they didn't have any products. He wasn't even sure if he packed underwear that wasn't boxers. He might have underwear upstairs in his old room, but that was about it.
He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling slightly as he found Tim's number.
The call connected after two rings.
"Hey," Tim's voice came through the speaker, "Everything okay?"
Conner put his phone on his thigh and pressed his palms into his eyes. The timing was terrible. "Can you go to the corner store?"
“What’s a corner store?”
Conner took a deep breath. “The store on the corner of the block, Tim.”
“Oh,” he said, and Conner closed his eyes for a second. "What for?"
Conner sighed, hating how awkward this was, how vulnerable. "I need a pad."
"Oh," Tim said, and Conner braced himself for the inevitable questions, the hesitation, the discomfort that sometimes came with this particular conversation. "Yeah. Of course. Do they sell those there?"
“They sell a lot of stuff at corner stores.”
Conner heard shuffling through the phone and through the bathroom door. "Okay, good. I'll be back in twenty minutes. Try not to miss me too much."
Conner managed a weak smile. "No promises."
There was a pause on the other end. "Did you need anything else?"
"I also need...feminine underwear. I think I have some in my old room upstairs," Conner said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Got it," Tim said, his tone reassuring. "Anything else? Pain relievers? Chocolate? Heating pad?"
Conner felt tears prick at his eyes, which was ridiculous. It was just pads and pain relievers and chocolate, but it was also so much more, and Conner just wanted to kiss him silly. "You're really getting all that?"
"Well, I was planning to," Tim said. "But if you don't want—"
"No, I want," Conner interrupted, his voice thick with emotion.
"Okay," Tim said softly. "I'll see you soon."
Conner ended the call. He felt drained, emotionally and physically, the cramps continuing to roll through him in waves. He settled on scrolling through his phone to keep himself from ugly crying in the bathroom, resting his forehead on his knuckles as he waited for Tim to return. It only took twenty minutes for his phone to die because it had already been on low battery.
But with the tears of frustration also came the anxious thoughts.
What if Tim couldn't find what he needed? What if the store was closed? What if—
There was a knock on the bathroom door and Conner's head snapped up. "Tim?"
"You had a few pairs of underwear upstairs, but I just grabbed the one I thought would be the most comfortable," Tim said through the door. "I got everything. The corner store is magical, by the way, we need those in Gotham."
“Tim, I’ve been to a corner store in Gotham,” Conner said, as kindly as he could.
“I think we could make a date out of it.”
Conner sighed and said nothing more. He quickly made a makeshift pad with toilet paper and washed his hands. He opened the bathroom door to find Tim standing in the hallway, holding multiple bags that looked heavy and expensive.
"I wasn't sure what you'd prefer, so I got a variety," Tim said, setting the bags on the coffee table before pulling Conner into a gentle hug. "How are you feeling?"
"Like my uterus is trying to kill me," Conner mumbled into Tim's shoulder. "But better now that you're back."
Tim pulled back slightly, his hands cupping Conner's face. "I'm sorry this happened tonight. I know you were looking forward to our date."
Conner shook his head. "It's not your fault. Stupid biology. Sometimes I think my body just likes to remind me that it has a mind of its own."
Tim's expression softened with understanding. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Conner's lips. "You're perfect exactly as you are. Periods and all."
Conner couldn't help but laugh, though it came out more like a sob. "That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me."
Tim grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I aim to please. Now, let's get you set up. I got enough supplies to last you through the apocalypse." He led Conner back to the couch, where he proceeded to unpack the bags with the precision of a surgeon preparing for an operation.
There were pads in every size and shape imaginable, some with wings, some without, some designed for heavy flow, others for light days. There were pain relievers that made Conner sigh with relief. There was chocolate—dark, milk, white, with nuts, with caramel, with sea salt. There was a new heating pad, still in its box, along with a fuzzy blanket that looked impossibly soft.
"Tim," Conner said, his voice thick with emotion. "This is... a lot." Tim's cheeks flushed slightly as he continued unpacking the bags.
"I didn't know what you'd like, so I got one of everything. I also didn't know what you already had here, and I figured if you already had one, it couldn't hurt to have extra. And I was gonna call Steph or Cass but I didn’t know how you’d feel about me calling our exes, so I called the local pharmacy to ask what they recommend for cramps, and the pharmacist suggested this brand of pain reliever, and then I remembered you saying you like dark chocolate, but sometimes you prefer milk, so I got both and some extras just in case."
Conner stared at the collection on the coffee table, his chest feeling tight. "You called a pharmacy? Cass and Steph would’ve been fine."
"Well, it was an ‘in the moment’ decision," Tim said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "I wanted to make sure I got the right stuff. The pharmacist was really helpful. She recommended these specific pads for heavy flow days and said the pain relievers work best if you take them with food, so I also picked up some crackers and ginger ale because sometimes that helps with nausea, and—"
"Tim," Conner interrupted, his voice thick with emotion. "Stop talking for a second."
Tim froze, a box of crackers in his hand. "Did I do something wrong?" Conner shook his head, pulling Tim down onto the couch beside him.
"No, you did everything right. It's just... a lot. In a good way. In the best way." Tim's shoulders relaxed, and he set the crackers on the table.
"Good. I was worried I'd overdone it."
"Overdone it?" Conner laughed, though it came out a little shaky. "Tim, you bought enough supplies to survive the apocalypse. You didn't overdo it; you created a period survival kit that puts Red Cross to shame."
Tim grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I should recommend this to them. Now, which pads do you want? There's overnight, heavy flow, regular, light, with wings, without wings..." he also reached over and handed Conner the underwear, to which Conner shoved it into his pocket like a teenage girl in high school who just borrowed a tampon from her friend.
Conner reached for one of the boxes, his fingers trembling slightly. "These are fine. The overnight ones with wings. They're usually the most reliable." Tim nodded, watching as Conner pushed himself up from the couch.
“Do you need help?"
"No, I think I can manage," Conner said, though his movements were stiff as he made his way back to the bathroom. "Just... give me a minute."
Inside the bathroom, Conner took a moment to compose himself, leaning against the door as he breathed through a particularly intense cramp. He opened the box of pads, his fingers fumbling slightly with the wrapper. When he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror, his face pale and drawn. He looked like hell, but he felt lighter than he had all evening.
Tim was out there, with an arsenal of supplies and an endless supply of patience, and suddenly the evening didn't feel ruined anymore. It just felt... different. When he emerged from the bathroom, Tim had rearranged the coffee table, creating a cozy nest of supplies. The heating pad was plugged in and warming on the couch, the fuzzy blanket draped over the back, and an assortment of snacks and pain relievers arranged neatly within reach.
"Feel better?" Tim asked, looking up from where he was arranging chocolate bars by cocoa content.
"Marginally," Conner said, sinking onto the couch beside him, placing the heating pad on top of his stomach with a sigh. "This heating pad feels amazing already."
Tim smiled, reaching for the pain relievers. "Here, take these. The pharmacist said they work best if you take them before the cramps get too bad, but better late than never." Conner swallowed the pills with the ginger ale Tim had poured for him, his eyes drifting closed as the warmth from the heating pad seeped into his aching muscles.
"You're too good to me."
"Nah," Tim said, his voice soft. "I just care about you. A lot."
Conner opened his eyes to find Tim watching him, his expression open and vulnerable. It was rare to see Tim so unguarded, his usual carefully constructed barriers lowered in the quiet intimacy of the Kent living room.
Conner reached out, his fingers tracing the line of Tim's jaw. "I care about you too," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "More than I can say."
Tim leaned into his touch, his eyes fluttering closed. "Good. Because I wasn't sure how else to say I love you without making it weird."
Conner's breath caught in his throat. "Tim..." Tim's eyes snapped open, his expression panicked.
"Oh god, that was weird, wasn't it? I'm sorry, I just—" Conner silenced him with a kiss, gentle and firm, pouring all the emotions he couldn't put into words into the press of their lips.
When he pulled back, Tim was staring at him, his eyes wide with surprise. "I love you too," Conner said, his voice steady despite the racing of his heart. "Not weird at all. Perfect, actually."
Tim's relief was palpable, his shoulders slumping as he let out a breath. "Good. Because I've been wanting to say that for weeks, but I didn't want to rush things or make you uncomfortable or—" Conner kissed him again, deeper this time, his fingers tangling in Tim's hair as he poured all his feelings into the kiss.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Conner rested his forehead against Tim's. "You're an idiot," he said, his voice filled with affection.
"Your idiot," Tim corrected, his arms wrapping around Conner's waist.
"My idiot," Conner agreed, his eyes drifting closed as another wave of pain rolled through him. "Oof. Okay, cramps are back with a vengeance."
Tim's expression immediately shifted to one of concern. "What can I do? More pain relievers? Hot water bottle? Chocolate?" Conner managed a weak smile.
"Chocolate first. Then maybe the hot water bottle. And then more cuddling, if you're offering."
"Always offering," Tim said, reaching for the chocolate. "Dark or milk?"
"Surprise me." Tim selected a dark chocolate bar with sea salt, breaking off a piece and feeding it to Conner. The combination of rich chocolate and salt was perfect, the sweetness cutting through the metallic taste that sometimes accompanied his period.
As they shared the chocolate, the movie continued to play in the background, forgotten and irrelevant. "You know," Conner said, his voice thick with sleep and emotion, "this wasn't exactly how I pictured our date night going."
Tim laughed, his fingers tracing patterns on Conner's arm. "No, but sometimes the unplanned things are the best. Right?" Conner nodded, his eyes drifting closed.
"Right. This is pretty perfect. Even with the cramps and the... You know."
"The period survival kit?" Tim supplied, his voice warm with amusement. "I'm pretty proud of that, actually. I should patent it. The Drake Method for Menstrual Comfort."
Conner snorted. "I'm sure your dad would be thrilled to have the Drake name associated with period products."
"Hey, it's a growing market," Tim said, his tone mock-serious. "Diversification is key to maintaining the family fortune."
Conner laughed, then winced as another cramp hit. "Okay, no more laughing. It hurts."
Tim's expression immediately softened. "Sorry. Here, let me adjust the heating pad." He shifted the pad to a different spot, his hands gentle as he positioned it against Conner's lower abdomen.
The warmth was immediate and soothing, and Conner felt himself relaxing into the couch cushions, his body heavy with exhaustion and contentment. "You should sleep," Tim said softly, his fingers stroking Conner's hair.
"You've had a long night."
"Don't wanna," Conner mumbled, though his eyes remained closed. "Wanna stay here with you."
"I'm not going anywhere," Tim promised, his voice a low murmur that was lulling Conner toward sleep. "I'll be right here when you wake up." Conner wanted to respond, to say something meaningful or romantic or at least coherent, but the words wouldn't come.
Instead, he shifted closer, his head finding a comfortable spot on Tim's shoulder as sleep finally claimed him. The last thing he was aware of was Tim pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, the soft brush of lips against skin a promise of more nights like this to come—planned or unplanned, perfect in their imperfection, theirs.