Red, White & Royal Blue Stories

• We'll Take Care of You • Alex § Henry § Romeo •

𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐

I should note these aren't written in any sort of order, not chronological or anything, just stories of random moments in Alex, Henry and Romeo's shared life.

• ———— •

Romeo awoke early one morning to a sharp, stabbing pain in his gut.

For a few moments he didn't move, squeezing his eyes shut and curling an arm around his stomach to will away the ache, but it grew worse with every passing second.

His thighs shifted, a pained groan easing past his lips. One feeling was familiar, at least, the moist patch soaking his crotch.

Pushing aside his blanket he hauled himself up, keeping his legs pressed together to avoid blood dribbling as he tugged open his bottom draw and grabbed a random pad.

This isn't the first time this has happened. Waking up in the middle of the night to find stains of red harsh against his pyjama bottoms, sometimes already leaked against the bed spread, but this was different. This hurt, and he had no idea why.

He did his best to clean himself up in his conjoined bathroom, shoving dirty clothes into a hamper and gazing at himself in the mirror. He looked a wreck, skin pale, eyes bloodshot. The coiling ache swirled in his stomach like waves, coming and going but never ceasing.

"Fuck" he whimpered, gripping the edge of his white, porcelain sink. He knew people dealt with pain during their periods, but he never has. Since his first period at twelve years old, a panicked Henry and a rushed Alex calling up every woman in the family he knew, he had been fine. If a little freaked out at first. June always knew how to make him feel better during them - gave him the advice Alex and Henry were clueless about, and showed the importance of wings vs lack thereof.

Cramps could be terrible, he's heard. But he didn't think they'd be this terrible.

With a stumble in his step he walked back into his bedroom, laying down and curling up into a ball to try and ease the throbbing, but it didn't help. No matter what position he laid in, it got worse. He clamped a hand over his mouth and let out a muffled cry.

He needed his dads. He wanted them, he wanted them to hold them and make the pain go away; but they couldn't. He didn't want to freak them out, either.

Leaving his bedroom he staggered down the staircase into the kitchen, rummaging through one of the lower cupboards for a box of painkillers.

"Fuck, fuck" he whispered, tears spurting from his eyes. "Shit, please" he said, begging to what, he didn't know. Anything listening with the power to make it end, maybe.

Finally, he found a box. Strong ones, too. Relieved he pulled himself up and popped three out of the packet, splashing some water into his mouth to help him swallow.

For a few seconds, he was fine. He didn't think anything about drinking water. However, all too suddenly, his stomach churned, his throat filled and he lowered down onto his knees.

He was going to throw up, he realised with surmounting horror. A sharp pain began digging against his lower spine seconds after, making the entire experience worse by tenfold.

"Shit" he said louder than he expected, forcing down the urge to start gagging. He couldn't spew his guts onto the kitchen floor. He wasn't a child with low self control, he could make it to the bathroom, toss up his mostly digested dinner, clean himself up and go back to bed with the painkillers kicking in at any second.

That's what he wanted to happen. That's what he desperately wanted to happen. But it didn't.

As soon as he stood and tilted his head up, a wave of nausea consumed him like a tsunami and he doubled over, stomach contents splattering across the floor without allowing him a choice. Everything forced its way up and out of him until his throat burned and tears spilled down his cheeks.