You didn’t mean to ghost him all day. But when the cramps hit, it felt like gravity turned on you. Your body ached in places you didn’t know could ache, and nothing—nothing—was working. Not the hot water bottle, not the painkillers, not even lying still in the dark with one leg draped off the bed like it’d help balance you out.

When you finally checked your phone, you had three missed calls and a “I’m outside” text from 5 minutes ago. Then another. “You didn’t answer so I’m letting myself in. Don’t stab me.”

You didn’t get up. You didn’t even try.

He found you curled into a comma on the bed, hoodie pulled over your face like it might protect you from the day.

“Hi,” he said softly from the doorway.

You didn’t answer.

He didn’t push. Just kicked off his shoes, crossed the room, and sat on the edge of the bed like someone approaching a wounded animal.

“You alive in there?”

You groaned. “Barely.”

“Thought so. You’ve got that ‘leave me to die’ energy going.”

He didn’t joke after that. Just reached out, peeled the hoodie back an inch so he could see your eyes. “Cramps?”

You nodded, eyes watery.

“Bad?”

Another nod. This one a little shakier.

He took a second. Then got up, disappeared for a bit—drawers opening, water running, cabinets clinking—before returning with a cold glass of water, a warm pack wrapped in a towel, and that one plushie he always makes fun of.

“I didn’t know what would help,” he said. “So I brought options. Don’t say I never suffer for you.”

You smiled weakly, letting him crawl under the covers behind you.

He curled himself around your back, one hand steady on your stomach, the other lacing through your fingers. He didn’t say anything for a while. Just let his touch be the comfort.

Eventually, he murmured, “You should’ve called me.”

“I didn’t wanna bother you,” you whispered. “It’s just cramps. I’m not dying.”

His voice was quiet, serious. “Okay, but what if you were? I’d rather be here just in case.”

You didn’t say anything after that. You didn’t have to. Because he already knew. And he stayed—until your breathing slowed, your muscles relaxed, and the pain, while still there, felt less suffocating.

Because sometimes love isn’t loud. It’s just a boy who shows up.