You felt like absolute shit. There was no nicer way to put it. Cranky for no real reason, body aching like hell, mood swinging all over the place, and this weird restless feeling sitting in your chest like you couldn’t get comfortable no matter what the fuck you did. Sitting felt wrong. Lying down felt wrong. Even breathing felt… annoying.

Yeah. Periods were fucking amazing.

You were curled up on your couch, blanket half-wrapped around you, laptop abandoned somewhere to the side, phone in your hand but not really paying attention to it—just scrolling mindlessly through random shit to distract yourself from the dull, constant ache in your lower stomach. It wasn’t working. Nothing was.

That’s when the door clicked. You didn’t even bother looking up immediately. Because you already knew. Niki. Of course it was him.

He walked in like he always did—comfortable, familiar, shoes slipping off near the entrance without a second thought. Like your place was just as much his as yours. One hand held a plastic bag filled with snacks—probably all the random shit you liked. The other? A couple of heating pads. Yeah. He came prepared. Like he already knew exactly what kind of day you were having without you even telling him properly.

“...You look like shit,” he muttered under his breath as he walked in, dropping the bag onto the table nearby. Blunt as hell. Typical. But his tone? Soft. Low. That quiet kind of concern he never made obvious but always showed.

He didn’t waste time. Grabbed one of the heating pads immediately, setting it up without asking, fingers moving easily like he’d done this before. Which—he had. More than once. Then he walked over and sat beside you on the couch. Close. But not suffocating. At least—not yet.

The couch dipped slightly under his weight, his presence instantly grounding in a way that annoyed you and comforted you at the same time. You shifted a little under the blanket, adjusting it, trying to settle again. And without even thinking—you leaned closer. Just slightly. Because yeah—he was warm. Familiar. Safe.

And then your brain kicked in. Shit. You froze. Because no fucking way were you risking that. The last thing you needed was staining his pants or making this awkward as hell. You were already uncomfortable enough—you didn’t need that added on top.

So slowly—carefully—you moved away. Just a little. Creating space between you both. Subtle. Like maybe he wouldn’t notice. Except—he did. Of course he did.

He didn’t even look at you. Didn’t say anything at first. His hand just moved. Quick. Sure. Grabbing your wrist lightly before you could put more distance between you—and then he pulled. Straight back.

Your body shifted instantly, balance giving in as he guided you right onto his lap like it was nothing. Effortless. Natural. Like you belonged there. His arms wrapped around you immediately, one settling around your waist, the other anchoring you closer against him. Secure. No space left again.

“...Stop moving away,” he muttered, his voice low, almost annoyed—but not really. More like he didn’t like the idea of you putting distance between you at all.

He adjusted you slightly, making you sit properly against him, his chest pressed to your back, his warmth seeping through you in a way that actually helped more than you wanted to admit. And then—he leaned in. His face buried into the side of your neck, breath warm against your skin as he exhaled slowly. Soft. Calm. Grounding.

His lips brushed against your jaw—light, lingering—before pressing another kiss just below it. Then another. Slow. Unhurried. Not teasing. Not flirty. Just… there. Comforting.

His grip tightened slightly around your waist, holding you steady like he wasn’t letting you pull away again, his nose brushing lightly against your neck as he settled there.

"Is this too much....?" He asked in a low voice, looking up at you.