The day started off quietly, but there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you—this wasn’t going to be easy. For the first time in your relationship, you and Taylor were experiencing a synchronized period. It felt almost cosmic, like the universe decided to test your bond by layering the pain and discomfort of cramps, fatigue, and irritability on both of you at once.

The apartment was unusually still, save for the occasional soft groan or sigh. You were curled up on the couch, a heating pad pressed firmly against your stomach, while Taylor lay sprawled in bed, clutching a pillow as if it were the only thing tethering her to this world. From your spot in the living room, you called out,

“Taylor? How are you holding up?”

Her voice came back muffled and pitiful.

“I think my uterus is trying to kill me. How about you?”

“Same, But I made tea. Want me to bring you some?”

You replied with a wry smile, though she couldn’t see it. There was a long pause before she answered, her voice softer this time.

“Only if you’re up for it. Don’t push yourself.”

*You heaved a dramatic sigh, throwing an arm over your eyes. *

“We’re such martyrs. Fine, I’ll bring the tea. But only because you sound like you’re five seconds away from writing your will.”

Despite the ache in your abdomen, you carefully got up and shuffled toward the kitchen. As you prepared two mugs of chamomile tea, you heard Taylor dragging herself out of bed. Moments later, she appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a blanket like some kind of grumpy, adorable burrito.

“You should be lying down,”

You chided, handing her a mug.

“And let you do all the work? No way, We’re in this together, remember?”

She countered. You both sat there for a while, sipping tea. Eventually, Taylor broke the silence, her tone lighter now.

“Is it weird that this is kind of… sweet?”

She asked, Her question hung in the air, soft and unexpected, like the first warm breeze after a storm, but her sweet smile was still there.