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The soft glow of the streetlights filtered through Megumi’s curtains, casting long, lazy shadows across the room. Yuji was nestled against Megumi’s back, his face buried in the back of Megumi’s neck, their limbs tangled in the easy, familiar way they always ended up doing during sleepovers. The rhythmic rise and fall of Yuji’s chest was a comforting lullaby, and for a while, Megumi basked in that sweet space between sleep and being awake.
For one blissful moment, Megumi simply existed. There was no school, no homework and no missions. Just Yuji’s slow and seedy breath against his skin.
Then his stomach cramped, Megumi frowned and shifted a bit to alleviate the pressure. His sleepy mind barely registered it as he shifted once more, a cold, unmistakable dampness spread beneath him.
Wetness. The telltale unwelcome wetness that never seems to forget destroying Megumi's life.
His eyes flew open, a jolt of primal dread shooting through him. He froze, every nerve ending screaming. He didn't need to move to know what it was. That telltale sensation, the heavy, metallic scent that was suddenly overpowering in the quiet room. The feeling of something thick making its way to his underwear, just ready to destroy Megumi's whole mood.
Without moving too much, he slipped a shaking hand beneath the blankets and brushed his fingertips against the damp fabric. When he pulled them back it was red.
“...”
Everything inside him seemed to stop.
No, no, no, no, nononono-
Not today, not now, not when Yuji was here.
His throat tightened painfully. He’d forgotten to check his calendar lately, forgotten that he was close. Forgotten—
God how he hated this.
He hated how his body never forgot. His breathing became shallow, it wasn't even the blood. Not really. It was what it represented and what it reminded him of. Every month without a stop his body whispered the same cruel lie.
You're not really a boy.
It didn’t matter that Satoru and Suguru fought the school administration until they changed every document they could. It didn't matter that Yuji had never once slipped up, not even when they first started dating and Megumi had just come out.
His body still betrayed him, every single month.
Another cramp hit. Megumi squeezed his eyes shut. He barely dared to breathe, the warmth of Yuji’s thigh pressing against his crotch suddenly turning into a searing brand of shame. He could feel it, the stickiness, the undeniable proof of his body’s betrayal, not just on the sheets, but on Yuji too, on their entangled legs.
A strangled gasp escaped him as horror crashed over him, so faint it was barely audible, but in the profound stillness of the night, it was enough. Yuji stirred, a soft hum rumbling in his chest.
“Hmm? ‘Gumi?” Yuji mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, his hand reaching to find Megumi’s waist. His fingers brushed against the damp, sticky patch, and he went still. The sleepy haze instantly evaporated from his eyes, replaced by a flicker of concern.
Megumi scrambled back so suddenly that Yuji also sat up.
Megumi felt his face burn, even in the dim light. He couldn’t meet Yuji’s gaze, couldn’t even bring himself to move. He was mortified, frozen in a silent scream of humiliation. This was his worst nightmare come true. He, who tried so hard to present as male, to live in his body as it felt right, was now undeniably, overtly, bleeding onto his boyfriend’s leg. The shame was a physical weight, crushing him.
“Megumi? What’s wrong?” Yuji asked, his voice now fully awake, gentle and soft. He carefully rolled onto his back, then propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at Megumi. His eyes, though still adjusting to the dark, almost immediately took in the dark stain on the sheet beneath Megumi, and the tell-tale crimson on his own thigh.
Megumi finally found his voice, a choked whisper. “I… I’m so sorry, Yuji. I didn’t… I’ve always been irregular but I didn’t know it was going to come now. I ruined everything.” Tears welled in his eyes, hot and stinging, blurring Yuji’s face. The embarrassment was too much. “I didn't mean to— I’m sor—”
He felt like he was suffocating.
Yuji didn’t hesitate. He didn’t flinch, didn’t recoil. Instead, he reached out, his warm hand cupping Megumi’s cheek. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s more than okay, ‘Gumi. It’s just… blood. It happens.” His thumb gently wiped away a tear that had escaped. “Don’t you dare apologize for your body doing what bodies do. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
Megumi shook his head, a fresh wave of tears spilling. “But… it’s all over you. And the sheets. I hate this. I hate it so much.” His voice cracked, the raw vulnerability laid bare.
Yuji pulled him gently into a sitting position, careful not to jostle him too much. “I know you do,” he said softly, his voice full of empathy. “And it sucks that you have to deal with it. But you’re not alone, okay? We’ll handle it. Together.” He looked around the room, then back at Megumi, a small, reassuring smile gracing his lips. “First things first, let’s get you cleaned up and comfortable. And then we’ll tackle the sheets.” He stood up and made his way to Megumi's dresser, looking for some clean clothes.
Megumi, still shaking, pointed vaguely towards his duffel bag near the wall. “In there. The small pouch.”
Yuji nodded, already moving. His movements quick and efficient, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers and a tampon from Megumi’s bag. He then walked over to the bathroom, soaked a small towel in warm water, and brought it back.
“Here,” he said, kneeling in front of Megumi, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to control his breathing. “Let’s get you cleaned up a bit.” He gently, without a hint of disgust, began to wipe away the blood from Megumi’s inner thigh and legs. Megumi flinched at first, but Yuji’s touch was so tender, so utterly devoid of judgment, that some of the tension began to ease from his shoulders.
“I’m sorry you have to see this,” Megumi whispered, his voice still hoarse.
“Megumi,” Yuji said, meeting his eyes “Megumi,” Yuji said, meeting his gaze with an intense, loving look, “there’s nothing you need to be sorry for. Ever. This is just another part of you that I love, and it doesn’t change anything about how I feel.” He finished wiping the last traces of blood, then carefully helped Megumi stand, guiding him towards the ensuite.
“I can't help but think about if everyone is pretending.”
"They're not."
“But what if—”
"I'm not."
Megumi looked at Yuji through teary eyes. This voice was quiet but unwavering.
“I’ve never looked at you and seen anything except my boyfriend. Now, let's get you properly cleaned up,” Yuji suggested softly, turning on the warm water in the shower while Megumi sat on the toilet to make use of the tampon. He doesn't necessarily like them, doesn't want anything shoved inside that hole but at the same time he is not the mood to be wearing something that feels like a diaper. Megumi finished the process quickly before washing his hands. Yuji didn’t push, he just stood by, offering a nice and steady presence. Megumi, still overwhelmed but beginning to feel a flicker of relief, stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash over him.
“I dont… I don't want you looking at me.” Megumi's cheeks were slightly flushed.
“Then I won't," Yuji said firmly, making sure that Megumi knows that he can have his boundaries and that they will be respected. “You tell me what makes you comfortable and I'll adjust,” he smiles gently. “We can shower with the lights dim and I won't look anywhere you don't want me to. Or if you want to shower alone that's fine too!”
Megumi just huffed a small watery scoff and rolled his eyes while tugging his boyfriend inside the shower with him. Yuji dutifully kept his eyes above Megumi's collarbones, always looking at his face or elsewhere.
Megumi closed his eyes. “I wish I didn't have to deal with it. I wish I could wake up and…” he wallowed thickly. “...Forget this body ever existed.”
Yuji rested his forehead against the top of Megumi's damp head. “I know.”
Yuji wrapped his arms gently around him in a hug, warm water cascading down around them. “I’ll keep loving you enough for the both of us until you're able to.”
Megumi cried again. Exhausted tears of having to feel like this for so long, his whole life.
Yuji cleaned Megumi's hair while Megumi quickly cleaned himself, but Yuji was faster. Leaving the shower with a quick kiss and ‘I'll change the sheets.’
While Megumi was in the bathroom, Yuji moved quickly, stripping the soiled sheets from the bed. He bundled them up without a second thought, carrying them to the laundry basket. He then pulled out a fresh set of sheets from Megumi's closet, making the bed with practiced ease. By the time Megumi emerged, wrapped in a towel and looking a little less distraught, the room felt calmer, the evidence of his earlier distress gone.
They were both wearing oversized hoodies and clean sweatpants, it looked like nothing had happened.
“Feeling a bit better?” he asked, his voice still soft and comforting. Megumi nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Thanks, Yuji.”
“Anytime, ‘Gumi. Always,” Yuji replied, pulling him into a warm, gentle hug. “Now, how about we get you some tea, and maybe a hot water bottle? And then we can just relax. No more worrying, okay?” Megumi leaned into the hug, finding immense comfort in Yuji’s steady warmth.
“Tea sounds good,” he mumbled, his voice still a little hoarse but with a touch more lightness. Yuji’s earlier words, that there was nothing to be sorry for, echoed in his mind, slowly chipping away at the usual shame he felt. It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling, this acceptance, and he found himself wanting to hold onto it.
Yuji, ever attentive, gently pulled away, but kept a reassuring hand on Megumi’s back as they walked to the kitchen. He put the kettle on, moving with an easy familiarity that always calmed Megumi. While the water heated, he found Megumi’s favorite mug, a simple, dark blue one, and pulled out a ginger tea bag. The soft clinking of the mugs and the gentle hiss of the kettle filled the quiet apartment, a comforting soundtrack to their shared moment.
Soon, Megumi was settled on the sofa, a steaming mug of tea warming his hands and a hot water bottle tucked against his stomach. Yuji sat beside him, not saying much, just being present. He put on some quiet music, something soft and instrumental, and then simply rested his hand over Megumi’s, a silent promise of continued support.
The weight of his earlier emotions began to lift, replaced by a quiet, profound sense of peace and gratitude for the person beside him. The next morning, a soft sunlight filtered into the apartment, but it didn't quite reach Megumi's mood. He sat at the kitchen table, pushing around a piece of toast with his fork, a dark cloud hanging over him. Satoru and Suguru, who had arrived for their usual morning coffee, immediately picked up on the tension.
"Rough night, Megs?" Satoru asked, ever direct, as he poured himself a cup of coffee. Suguru, more subtly, gave Megumi a questioning look.
Megumi just grunted, not looking up. "It's fine."
"Doesn't look fine," Suguru observed gently. "You're usually at least pretending to enjoy Satoru's company by now." He shot a playful glance at Satoru, who just grinned.
"Just leave it," Megumi snapped, his voice sharper than intended. He slammed his fork down, the clatter echoing in the quiet kitchen. The usual morning chatter died instantly. "It's nothing. Just drop it."
Satoru raised an eyebrow, a rare moment of genuine concern replacing his usual playful smirk. "Whoa there, ‘Gumi. No need to bite our heads off. We're just asking."
That was it for Megumi. He pushed his chair back with a scrape that grated on everyone's nerves, stood up abruptly, and without another word, stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall towards his room, the door slamming shut behind him.
Satoru and Suguru exchanged worried glances. Yuji, who had been quietly watching the whole exchange, let out a sigh. He looked at his two teachers, who were now staring at him for an explanation.
"He... he got his period last night," Yuji began, a little hesitantly at first, but then growing more confident as he remembered his promise to Megumi. "It was pretty rough. A lot of pain, and he was really upset about it. He usually hides it, you know? And he gets really sensitive when anyone brings it up." Yuji then went on to explain how he found Megumi, the pain he was in, and how much it had affected him emotionally. "I think he might just need a bit of space right now. He's just... really not feeling great."
—-----------------------
Suguru found them cuddled up on Megumi's bed. Megumi was sprawled on his stomach in between Yuji's legs, head pillowed on Yuji's sternum and arms hugging his waist. His face was smushed by Yuji's hoodie, but he looked content on asphyxiating by his boyfriend. On the bed next to them, was the family laptop, some movie Yuji wanted to watch. Dozens of wrappers littered the bed and floor. Yuji was carding his hand through Megumi's hair, who looked like he was three seconds from falling asleep.
He startled a bit when his door creaked open, lifting his head to see who had disturbed their peace. When he saw that it was Suguru, he sat up.
Suguru walked over and sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him into a gentle hug. “You know,” he murmured. “Your body doesn't get the final say in who you are.”
Megumi’s voice was muffled against his shoulder. “It feels like it does.
Behind them, Yuji quietly reached over and took Megumi's hand. Their fingers intertwined. Warm, steady and certain, the definition of his boyfriend.
Suguru smiled when he noticed. “Lunch?”
Yuji answered first. “Only if Megumi gets lots of ginger."
Suguru chuckled, racing over and ruffling his hair. “That can be arranged.”
Megumi looked between the two of them. His boyfriend and one of his dads. People who looked at him so naturally, so effortlessly, as a boy that they never seemed to question it. Even when he couldn't stop questioning himself.
The dysphoria wasn't gone, the ache in his chest still lingered and his cramps hurt. But as Yuji squeezed his hand and Suguru ruffled his still-damp hair before heading downstairs to make lunch.
Maybe dysphoria could shout, maybe it could tell him cruel things from time to time. But it could never be louder than the quiet certainty in the voices of the people who loved him. And on mornings like this, when the weight of his own body felt impossible to carry alone, that borrowed certainty was enough to help him take the next step downstairs.
The dysphoria hadn't disappeared, it was still there, sitting heavy behind his
ribs. It would probably always be there. But it no longer felt like something he had to survive by himself. And somehow, with Yuji's fingers lanced through his and the sound of his family arguing over lunch downstairs, it made the weight just a little easier for him to carry.