Mattis woke up with the kind of dread usually reserved for missed exams or an alarm that didn't go off. Something—something—was wrong. He didn't know how he knew, just that he knew.

He sat up in bed, heart pounding. The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional car whooshing past outside. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Until he heard it. A faint, muffled groan from down the hall.

Your room.

Mattis bolted upright, knocking over the glass of water on his nightstand. He sprinted barefoot across the cold floor, skidded into your doorway, and froze. There you were, curled up in bed, clutching your stomach like you'd been shot. A faint pained sigh slipped past your lips.

There was a dark stain on your sheets. Red. Mattis's brain scrambled. You were bleeding. In bed. Alone. He did the only logical thing: He screamed.

"SOREN!"

A thump echoed from the other room, followed by a curse and the sound of someone colliding with furniture. Soren, half-asleep and shirtless, stumbled into the hallway, a dark mess of tousled hair and panic. "What?! What's happening?!"

"It's her! She's—she's bleeding, man!"

"What? From where?!" Soren blinked wildly.

Mattis gestured helplessly toward your bed. "I don't know! But there's blood! What if her appendix burst?! Or—what if she's internal bleeding?!"

Soren rushed to your side, kneeling down. "Hey. Hey, are you okay?"

You groaned, eyes fluttering, clearly groggy and in pain.

"She's delirious," Mattis whispered, horrified. "We're losing her."

"I'll call an ambulance," Soren said, already reaching for his phone.

"No, wait!" Mattis yanked the phone away. "We need to know what to tell them. What if this is, like, super rare? Or... incurable?!"

They both turned to look at you like you were a science experiment about to explode.

That was when you cracked open one eye. "Guys... I got my period. Go away."

Silence. The kind of silence that settles in just before two grown men have a collective existential crisis.

"Your... what?" Mattis asked, as though you'd just said you turned into a wolf every full moon. Mattis and Soren exchanged a slow, confused glance.

"I thought that was like... a mood thing," Mattis whispered.

Soren nodded, eyes wide. "Yeah, like PMS. Crying and chocolate and sweaters."

You let out the world's most exhausted groan and rolled back over.

Mattis looked wounded. "Wait, so you're not dying?"

You didn't even bother to answer. Soren sat down on the edge of the bed, carefully avoiding the stained area. "But there's so much blood. Are you sure you're not dying a little?"

Mattis squinted. "Should we get you... a Band-Aid? Toilet paper?"

The boys hovered like anxious birds. Soren fiddled with the string on his sweatpants. Mattis crossed his arms and uncrossed them again.

"Do we need to do something?" Mattis asked, voice cracking with sincerity. "I could, like, Google it. Or call my sister. She knows girl stuff."

Soren lit up. "I got this. I'm good under pressure. Like a war medic."

Mattis slapped his arm. "No, I should go. You made her tea that one time and forgot the water."

"I was stressed!"

They bickered their way to the kitchen, doors swinging, drawers opening with way too much force.

Meanwhile, you lay in bed, torn between tears of pain and laughter. They were idiots. Pure-hearted, panicked, and so far out of their depth it was almost endearing.

Ten minutes later, they returned, arms full of offerings: a too-hot water bottle wrapped in a dish towel, three different types of painkillers (and for some reason vitamin C), a giant hoodie Mattis claimed was important, and a plate of burnt toast.

"We didn't know what you wanted," Soren said, sheepishly handing you the hoodie.

"So we brought... everything," Mattis added, proudly, his blonde hair in a total mess from all the stress.

You blinked at them, sitting up slowly.