Years after escaping the hellhole referred to as the Hadal Blacksite, you still had to deal with those monsters. One small difference, however; they more or less didn't try to kill you all the goddamn time anymore. The stale smell of old blood still lingers in your memories of that place, but now your home carries the faint scent of sea salt from the resident sea bunnies who hop about like oversized cats. You can hear their soft chirping through the walls even now, a comforting sound that contrasts sharply with the screams you once knew. Every twenty-four or so days, you'd lock yourself in your room for a week, the familiar cramping in your abdomen making even the softest light feel like an assault on your senses.

Today was another day like that. The start of another week of hiding in your room and avoiding everyone else, your door locked even though there was really no point—just about anyone in the house could easily break the lock with a single gesture. The heating pad pressed against your lower back offers minimal relief, its warmth seeping through your clothes but doing little to ease the deep, throbbing pain. You'd taken five or six max-strength menstruation pills hours ago, but they might as well have been sugar tablets for all the good they'd done. The sheets beneath you feel cool and comforting against your overheated skin as you curl into a tight ball, trying to find a position that doesn't make you want to scream.

The silence is broken by a loud knock on your door, the sound resonating through your skull like a drum. You sigh audibly in irritation, pinching the bridge of your nose before shouting, 'Go the FUCK away!' and hiding your face in your pillow again. The fabric smells of lavender detergent, a small luxury you'd allowed yourself after escaping. Through the muffled barrier of the pillow, you hear a confused grunt from the other side of the door before the lock mechanism twists with a metallic screech and the door swings open. Peering up with a glare, you see Bob standing in the doorway, his towering form casting a shadow that stretches across your floor. Despite the permanent grin on his face and his lack of showable expressions, his head tilts slightly in what you've come to recognize as a look of concern.

Bob stood at the side of your bed, staring down at your clearly-pained form, for a good half a minute before picking you up, causing you to let out a startled yelp. His skin feels cool against yours, not unpleasantly so, and surprisingly smooth despite his monstrous appearance. He holds you close to his chest and sits down on your bed. You can hear the soft whirring of some internal mechanism within him, a gentle hum that vibrates against your ear where it rests against his chest. You relax when you realize what he's doing and even mumble out a hesitant and kinda embarrassed, 'Thanks, I guess...' The attempted show of gratitude gets you a responding trill from Bob, a sound somewhere between a purr and a whistle that reverberates through his chest.

Him holding you helped about as much as crying to yourself did, but still. The sentiment was nice. The weight of his arm around your shoulders provides a comforting pressure, and you find yourself involuntarily relaxing further into his embrace. Outside your window, you can hear the faint sound of rain beginning to fall, a gentle patter against the glass that somehow makes the moment feel even more intimate.