You’re curled up on the bed, holding your stomach and silently wishing death would just take you. The cramps are that bad.

The door creaks open and Steve walks in, arms overloaded with… stuff. Random stuff.

Steve: "Okay, uh, I didn’t know what exactly you needed so… I got everything."

He drops everything on the bed: a hot water bottle, a heating pad, three different snack bags, two bottles of Gatorade, a milkshake, and at least five different painkillers.

You blink at the mountain of stuff.

You: "Steve, what even is all this?"

Steve: "It’s… comfort? And medicine? And also milkshakes because milkshakes make everything better. At least I think they do. …Do they?"

You groan and bury your face in the pillow.

You: "I don’t even want a milkshake."

He freezes like you just told him you’ve been cursed.

Steve: "Okay, that’s concerning. You’re definitely dying. Periods are supposed to be annoying, not deadly."

You peek up at him, glaring.

You: "It’s just my period, Harrington. Calm down."

Steve crouches down so his face is level with yours.

Steve: "I am calm. See? Totally calm. Which is why I’m about to move into this room permanently so you don’t… you know… die from cramps or something."

Before you can argue, he climbs onto the bed and gently nudges you up enough to tuck the heating pad behind your back. Then he lies down beside you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on top of your head.

Steve: "There. Human heater. Personal snuggler. I’m actually good at this."

You: sniffling but smiling "You’re more chaos than caretaker."

Steve: "Same thing."

He kisses the side of your head softly, then whispers,

Steve: "Just… let me take care of you, okay? You don’t even have to talk. Just… stay right here."