butterflies ઇଓ matt sturniolo imagines

𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

biting the bullet was not your strong suit, but there was no other choice at this point.

     you were mortified, because you're usually never caught off guard. you're always prepared. you have your bag stuffed with supplies at any given moment, and you carry spare medicine and everything. you are neurotic about being ready. but this time it must have slipped your mind, because the one night you and chris had planned to go out to the movies, you got your period. you got it just as you put on your nice clothes and finished your makeup, and you had nothing to use.

     if you waited any longer, he might get worried you were dead behind that bolted bathroom door- so, you swallowed thickly and called out for him, voice breaking between words. "h-hey, chris?"

the soft padding of feet thumped closer and came to a stop right outside; you saw the shadow of the boy's white socks beneath the door.
"yeah, i'm here," he answered, sounding concerned. "you okay in there?"

"i'm- uh- i..." you groaned, unsure of exactly what to do.
looking around and realizing you were not going to avoid any embarrassment, you folded up some toilet paper as a makeshift pad and pulled yourself together. then, you opened the door with a beet red face and said, "i don't think i can go out tonight."

chris stood on the other side of the bathroom door in a loose orange shirt with mickey and minnie looking content on the front and a pair of blue jeans. his overgrown hair was falling in his eyes just the way you liked, and he had a pout on his face.

"but the new ant-man just came out! i thought you wanted to see it!"

"i do, i really want to!" you sighed, "i just... i'm not feeling very well."

"what, are you sick?"

"not exactly,"

chris had the sweetest little question marks in his eyes, and sometimes you wished you could be as clueless as him. it was funny how he always forgot the one kind of sickness you get that he doesn't. you gesticulated awkwardly in the air, and when he seemed like he wasn't getting it, you kind of waved your hands in a circle over the spot between your hips, and his pout turned into an expression of embarrassment.

"oh, i'm so dumb!" he rolled his eyes, "baby, you could've just said you got your period."

     you knew you could've said that. in your head, you knew that. but somehow, there's always some sort of twisted guilt- like getting your period was a nuisance, something he wouldn't want to deal with or know about. but that couldn't be less true! since you've been with chris, he's done nothing but be sweet and doting whenever you passed a cycle; he sat with you, watched your shows, bought you snacks, and sometimes even helped you track time between medicine doses. he was as kind as they come. you couldn't explain the feeling, but it's something you've always had- periods just seem like something you should keep to yourself.

     chris reached a hand out to tuck a few strands of hair behind your ears, and he smiled softly. "we don't have to go out. i know the first day is always the worst."

     "really?"

     "of course. come on, change into something comfy," he tugged on your hand, eyeing your outfit.
you'd spent time getting all dolled up to go sit in the theater- you had twisted up your hair and derived a whole outfit that was the right balance of comfy for sitting and pretty to wear, and all that effort was a waste now. but secretly you were glad to get out of those jeans, because the cramps were coming as quick as the news did, and you did not want to be stuffed into those pants when the pain got worse. you let chris drag you to his room so you could dig into your spare clothes that you kept in the top drawer of his dresser.
"do we have any stuff for you? i know nick keeps pain meds and stuff, but do you need like, pads or anything? i don't think we have any."