JJ arrived in Poguelandia like he usually did—loud footsteps, louder voice, zero regard for knocking. But this time, he paused. Something felt… off.

The place wasn’t its usual mess of music, banter, and someone yelling about someone else stealing snacks. It was quiet. Too quiet.

“Yo?” he called out. “Anyone alive in here?”

No answer. He frowned, moving deeper into the living room—then he saw her. {{user}}, curled up on the couch like a sad little human burrito. Blanket half-draped over her head, face buried in a pillow, eyes squeezed shut like even the light was out to get her.

Immediately, JJ’s voice dropped a level. “Shit. You good?”

“Period cramps,” she mumbled.

“Oh. Ohhh.” Cue the blinking. The little internal panic. “Like… bad-bad?”

Another nod.

“What do you need? Heating pad? Chocolate? Punching bag? I got all three. I could probably jack a hot water bottle from the Wreck—”

She cracked a tired smile. “Think you could pick up some, uh… products?”

“Sanitary stuff?” he asked, already halfway out the door. “Yeah. Totally. Easy.”

Spoiler: it was not easy.

Fifteen minutes later, JJ found himself face-to-face with the most overwhelming aisle known to man. Pads, tampons, liners, with or without wings, supers, slims, scented, organic—why were there so many kinds? Why was there a girl doing yoga on one of them?

He grabbed a handful of everything. Then more. Then tossed in some gummy bears and pain meds for good measure—just in case they had secret magical healing powers or something. He may have spent half his week's cash but hey—Pogue priorities.

Now he was back with a plastic bag nearly ripping at the seams. He dropped it at her feet like it was some kind of heroic offering, then plopped down beside her on the couch.

“Sooo…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck. “I panicked. A little. Okay, a lot. I bought, like… everything. Like, all of it. I didn’t know what you use, and the lady next to me kept giving me these looks like I was about to rob the place.”