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“don’t.” you say scathingly, glaring at him through the corner of your eye from where your head is smooshed into the duvet. “i already know what you’re going to say.”
vincent halts in the doorway, throwing his hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say anything!”
it takes you a bit of work to roll over on the bed to face him completely, but you do anyway. “exactly,” you spit. “it’s why i said ‘going to’. future participle, watson.”
“wasn’t planning on it, sherlock,” he huffs, drawing closer to the edge of the bed. vincent shrugs off his sling bag, and it visibly takes great effort for him not to chuck it at you out of spite. “i got your… stuff.”
“just say pads, you moron,” you grouse, attempting to push yourself up into a sitting position. vincent at least has the decency to shoot out his hand to help you up. “thanks.”
“yeah, yeah, whatever.”
you reach for the bag, holding it up to peer through its contents. “...huh.”
“oh, don’t you ‘huh’ me,” vincent grumbles. “i got everything you asked for. chocolate, a fuckton of chips—there’s ice cream in the freezer, too, you’re welcome, by the way—and your stupid pads. all out of the goodness of my heart.”
you wince, feeling your stomach churn. “thank you,” you mumble again.
“the hell are you grimacing at?” vincent splutters, indignant. “i went to the feminine section for you, (name). alone. like, do you know how weird that must’ve looked to other people? seein’ a guy like me wander the aisle like a fool because there were too many wings and colours or whatever the fuck,” he fumes, storming over to his closet and yanking a drawer open to rummage for a fresh shirt. “a saleslady had to help me out.”
“and i got you at least three different types of pads,” he continues heatedly, flinging off his brown corduroy jacket and reaching back for the scruff of his t-shirt to yank it over his head. “hell, even those overnight ones you asked for, which don’t make fucking sense ‘cuz why would you need overnight pads right now, it’s three in the fucking afternoon-”
“for later, vincent.” your brow furrows as you screw your eyes shut, feeling a white-hot twinge stab up your abdomen. you double over, clawing at the side of your shirt with a pained noise. “fuck.”
“yeah, but-” vincent contemptuously turns on his heel to glare at you, a new shirt half-on across his chest. his furious ramble stammers into speechlessness, and he pauses, struck dumb by the sight of you writhing in pain.
the silence that suddenly falls over the room is staggering.
he lets out a heavy, drawn-out sigh of utter longsuffering, and you hear his socks shuffle over the hardwood as he crosses the room back to you. your fingers curl into the fabric of your clothes as the cramp persists, somehow more hurt by how quiet vincent had become.
though he doesn’t let it linger any longer.
“scoot over, tiger,” he mutters, drawing back the covers before he reaches for you, hauling you into his arms. “up you go, you can do it. that’s my girl.” vincent carefully drags you up the bed—his bed—and settles you onto the blue sheets.
“it hurts,” you whimper, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself. “hurts s’bad, vinny.”
“i know,” vincent murmurs, infuriatingly tender as he tucks the duvet over you. “heat helps, right?”
you shift and burrow yourself further into the blankets, but not without giving him a small nod. “do you… think you can throw a heating pad into the microwave for me? m’sorry, i know i’ve asked you for so much already.”
“mmm… no.” he quips, and you feel your heart drop into your stomach. the bed dips behind you as vincent makes himself comfortable, and a million anxieties hurtle around your mind until you notice his hand sneak under the hem of your shirt and settle over where it hurt the most. “this is better anyway, don’t you think?”
the warmth that emanates from his palm and blooms over your skin is nothing short of comforting. it all but spreads to your chest and the ends of your toes, and the heaviness that had coiled around your ribs melts away with a gentle exhale of relief.
“feel good?” vincent asks, slowly beginning to move his thumb back and forth above your belly button.
at the sound of you breathing out an ‘mhm’, vincent shuffles closer to you, pressing the back of your body to his chest as your form molds into his as one.
“that’s what i thought,” he chuckles, pleased. “look at you. you’re melting for me.”
“would it kill you to shut up?” you complain tiredly, yet still you affectionately reach up to thread your fingers through the back of his hair. vincent instinctively moves closer, nudging the tip of his nose against your neck.
“perhaps not.” his mouth curves into a smile that faintly ghosts over the skin of your right shoulder blade. “but it’s fun to see you squirm.”
you can’t help but let out a short, perplexed laugh. “ugh, i seriously hate your guts.”
“enough to make you want me to rearrange yours,” he shoots back.
before you could fire an irritated (and entirely untrue) retort back at him, vincent’s warm palm presses harder over your stomach, and you really couldn’t help but melt into it.
“uh-huh, i know,” vincent drawls, pulling you in closer. his lips quirk up into an amused smirk. “i hate you too, sweetheart.”