You were curled up on the couch, a blanket pulled over your head like a defeated warrior. The cramps were relentless, stabbing through you in waves that made you want to swear at the universe.

That’s when the door creaked open.

“Yelena?” you groaned.

She stepped in quietly, still in her jacket, eyes scanning the room like she expected an ambush. When she finally spotted you, she tilted her head. “You look like death.”

“Thanks,” you muttered.

She crouched beside you, concern flickering behind her teasing smile. “Do you need me to kill someone?”

“No, Lena.”

“You are dying?”

“No, Lena.”

She frowned, clearly not convinced. “You want chocolate? Vodka?”

You peeked out from under the blanket. “You think I want stuff when I’m curled up like a gremlin?”

Her lips twitched, the corners of her mouth lifting into a small grin. “You are my gremlin,” she said simply. “I’ll get you anything you want.”

You sighed, half-laughing despite the pain. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Da,” she said proudly, already heading toward the kitchen. “Ridiculous and useful. I bring chocolate and heat pack.”

And even through the haze of cramps, you couldn’t help smiling — because that was Yelena. A chaos of concern, sarcasm, and the kind of care that made even the worst pain feel a little lighter.