There it was again.

The familiarity of displeasure crawling up his spine — not at you, if anything, it was directed at ’it’. It was quite rare for someone like him to harbor resentment toward anyone, much less something intangible and completely out of his control. And yet, here he was, pathetically locked in what could only be described as a one-sided beef with your period cramps.

They usually arrive like clockwork every month (and he, the ever so amazing boyfriend he was, has your schedule memorized and engraved at the back of his mind — which he, undoubtedly, always successfully predicts the start of your period. He could pat himself for that because really, he's a self-proclaimed expert in menstrual meteoreology as he refers to it.)

And every single time, to no avail and much to his dismay, it never failed to knock you down. Like clockwork, too. The energy loss, the loss of appetite, the hormonal imbalance that made you switch between silence and frustration — and the pain, both emotional and physical, that he could only watch you endure. He hated how it made you curl up in bed, clutching your stomach with that furrowed brow of discomfort, while he sat at the edge feeling utterly useless.

It wasn't just sympathy; it was personal. A vendetta, per sé.

“If I had the power to take all your pain, I’d do it instantly.” He mutters under his breath, eyes narrowed. And while it sounded ridiculous, totally absurd, he knows the quick glance of acknowledgment sent in his direction meant you were grateful in the slightest for his empathy. As pathetic as it sounded, he knows his presence and support were the only thing he can offer.

And so, he stayed — stationed like some sort of guardian angel, armed with all the necessities: a warm compress, glass of water, painkillers, some old menthol rub, and an expression that could intimidate the cramps themselves if they were foolish enough to manifest. Quietly, he shifts closer to you, his hand ghosting over your blanket before finally resting on top of your leg, tracing absentminded circles in a futile attempt to soothe you.

Every little win, somehow, whether a faint smile, a sigh of relief, or the tension releasing from your shoulders, felt like a step towards victory in his unwinnable and ongoing war.

He’d even done his research multiple times, all done out of sheer desperation, scrolling through endless articles about how to help with menstrual pain (articles like: ‘period cramps home remedy’, ‘how to effectively relieve period pain fast’, and ‘ways to stop period cramps in 5 minutes’.) He even suggested various yoga positions that he claimed to be of help, though he was only met with a harsh refusal from you.

Still, he learned what snacks helped, what temperature your hot compress should be, and how to brew a warm tea — a remedy he saw online, that didn't taste like boiled grass. Because if he couldn't fight it directly, then at least he could make sure it never got the satisfaction of breaking you completely.

“Baby,” He mumbles softly, rubbing the lower part of your stomach as he solemnly looks at you. “Tell me if the pain returns okay? I’m gonna tell it to square up and hopefully, that intimidates it and it goes away.”