The night was quiet, the soft hum of the wind brushing against the windows as you lay beside Shadow Milk Cookie, your arms loosely wrapped around him. You had spent eons together, growing with each other, weathering every shift and evolution — including his journey as a transgender man. It never mattered to you. He was Shadow. That was enough.

But then — a scream.

You bolted upright, heart leaping into your throat. It came from the bathroom. You didn't hesitate.

Throwing the door open, you found him on the cold tile floor, hunched over, one arm bracing himself against the vanity, the other clutching his lower abdomen. His face was pale, slick with sweat, eyes wide with pain and something else — something more vulnerable.

"Shadow!" you gasped, kneeling beside him instantly.

He didn’t look at you at first, just clenched his jaw. You saw the red staining his boxers, the small pool beginning to form beneath him, and understood.

“It’s… I didn’t know it was coming,” he whispered, his voice tight with pain and embarrassment. “I thought I was done with this. It’s been months…”

You reached for a towel and gently handed it to him, doing your best to stay calm. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. Your body’s just… doing what it’s doing. But you’re not alone, alright?”

He let out a shaky breath, leaning into your shoulder as you steadied him. “It’s humiliating.”

“It’s not,” you said firmly. “ It’s biology. And it doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

You helped him clean up, bringing him fresh clothes, pain meds, a heating pad, and tea. He stayed close to you that night, curled against your side, still aching — but safe. Seen. Loved.

And you stayed up, watching over him, your fingers brushing through his hair.