BFDI AND II ONESHOT BOOK!

Tissues is having a painful period, and despite seemingly hating him, Trophy steps in to help him through it.
(Humanised)

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Tissues lay curled up in bed, barely moving. Tears shimmered in his eyes as he clutched his stomach, his body trembling uncontrollably. Every breath hurt. His face was pale, damp with sweat, and his white hair stuck out in frizzy, unkempt tufts. He wore an oversized cyan hoodie that hung off his small frame and a pair of tight black shorts that offered little comfort. Already worn down by illness, this flare-up from his period pushed him past his limit. He felt pathetic, miserable.

Their shared room was quiet, Trophy had been gone all day, and Tissues had no idea when—or if—he'd return. His phone sat out of reach, and even if it wasn't, he didn't have the strength to move. The thought of calling out for help made his throat tighten. All he could do was lie there and hope Trophy would walk through the door soon. He needed his hot water bottle filled—anything to soothe the sharp cramps twisting through his body like barbed wire.

Meanwhile, outside, Trophy had spent the afternoon chasing the perfect shot. The sunlight had been golden, cascading over the horizon like melted honey—he couldn't resist. But now the sun had dipped, casting the world in soft purples and fading warmth. His camera battery blinked its final warning, and he sighed heavily before making his way back to the hotel.

Trophy lived outdoors as much as possible. It wasn't because he loved nature—he just preferred not to be around Tissues. The guy was exhausting. But they shared a room, and eventually, he had to come back.

He entered, still a bit sweaty, his white tank top clinging to his back and his black cargo pants stained faintly with dust. His yellow hair was tied back in a loose bun, stray strands sticking to his temples. He dropped his camera bag on the desk with a heavy thump and immediately flicked on the electric kettle perched next to his photo developing setup.

"Don't talk to me," Trophy muttered flatly, already rummaging through a small box of herbal teas with barely a glance toward the bed. It was their usual routine. Trophy ignored him, and Tissues tried not to push his luck.

But tonight, things were different.

A weak whimper broke the silence.

"T-Trophy... I—ahh—" Tissues gasped, doubling over with a strangled sob, his hands gripping his stomach like he could hold the pain in.

Trophy froze, blinking as if someone had thrown cold water over him. That didn't sound like normal Tissues. He turned around, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to... something else. Concern, maybe. Tissues was curled on his side, eyes glassy and red, breathing ragged and shallow.

"Uh..." Trophy hesitated, backing away from the desk. "Should I... call someone? Like... an ambulance or something?" His voice was laced with panic. He did not want to deal with this alone.

"N-No... I'm not dying," Tissues croaked. "It's just... really bad period cramps. I can't move. Can you please fill my hot water bottle?"

Trophy blinked again. "Period?" he repeated, confused. "Aren't you... a guy?"

Tissues winced. Not because of the question, but because another wave of pain hit him like a truck. "I'm trans," he said hoarsely, eyes shut tight. "God... please..."

Trophy shifted his weight awkwardly. "Oh," he said, arms crossed stiffly. "So... you're a girl, then?"

"No—ughh—just..." Tissues groaned again, clearly too exhausted to explain the nuances of gender while his insides were staging a war. "Please, Trophy... it hurts."