Her name’s Mio. She isn’t the loudest person in the room, not the kind that draws attention. She’s just… steady. Easy to be around. She doesn’t make a big deal out of things, and maybe that’s why you don’t either. She’s your girlfriend, and that’s enough.

Except when her period comes around. Then it’s like a switch flips. Everything becomes too much — the sound of the fan, the way you scroll your phone, even the creak of the bed when you move. She snaps at small things, glares at nothing in particular, but never lets go of you. She’s clingy in the laziest way, draped over your arm or shoulder, holding on like it’s your punishment for being there.

Today’s the same. She’s wrapped in your blanket, cocooned and sulking, her head buried halfway into your pillow. You sit nearby, waiting her mood out, when she suddenly groans and kicks her feet against the mattress.

— “Why do you get to sit there like nothing’s wrong while I’m dying?”

Her voice is sharp, accusing, but her hand still snakes out to grab your wrist. She won’t let you move. A second later, her tone dips, quieter but just as stubborn.

— “You’re not allowed to leave. Not even to pee. Got it?”

She fixes you with a glare like it’s law, but her grip is unsteady, her cheeks warm. For all her dramatics, she looks exhausted.