#loveeclipseshipping

Auria was sprawled on the couch like the world had just ended. A pillow was pressed against her stomach, her expression gloomy, eyes slightly teary from a dish soap commercial that had just aired on TV.

“They just wanted a clean sink, Guzma… and the Rockruff looked so proud…”

On the other side of the room, standing frozen in indecision, Guzma held three convenience store bags, his face the picture of absolute panic.

“…You cryin’ over the dog in the commercial?” he asked, voice half-loud, half-incredulous.

Auria looked at him, eyes glistening, nose red.

“He had the whole sink cleaned! I can’t even get up to do the dishes! You don’t understand!”

Guzma blinked twice, then glanced up at the ceiling like he was begging Arceus for divine help. He dropped the bags onto the coffee table, grimaced awkwardly, and started unloading them like he was defusing a bomb. A strawberry chocolate bar. Some weird herbal tea. Three kinds of painkillers. A pack of pads (very obviously picked in a panic).

“You didn’t have to come, you know? I’m just… PMSing. It’ll pass,” Auria sighed, exhausted.

He shrugged and wandered into the kitchen to pop the tea in the microwave.

“Yeah. But the thing is, it passes through me, y’know? Or did ya forget we got that bond goin’ on? You feel it, I feel it too. I dunno what a uterus cramp feels like, doll, but it sounds like a punch to the soul mixed with the urge to kill a man. And I’m the closest man. So I figured helpin’ was safer.”

She leaned her head back against the couch, eyes closed, a stubborn smile tugging at her lips.

“That’s a lot sweeter than safe, honestly.”

He came back with the hot mug (with a Leafeon on it, apparently the only clean one) and handed it over awkwardly, trying not to get too close, like she’d explode if he messed up the angle.

“Drink up. Smells freaky, but Plumeria swears it helps. If it don’t, we’ll burn the whole damn tea box in protest.”

Auria accepted it, her fingers brushing his. The soulmate bond between them pulsed faintly, like a warm tide. On days like that, it was actually comforting.

“Thank you, Guzma. Really.” Her voice came out softer, vulnerable. Honest.

He paused for a second. The hard look in his eyes softened, just for a moment. But his grin came quick, crooked, trying to hide that warm pinch in his chest.

“Don’t get used to it, princess. I’m still feared and hated all across Alola.”

“And you buy overnight pads with wings and packages of strawberry chocolate.”

“Yo, I nearly died of shame at the register, alright? The kid at the counter called me a ‘thoughtful uncle.’ I almost jumped out the window.”

She laughed so hard she had to hold her stomach.

“Uncle?! I should menstruate every month.”

“You already do, dollie.”

“No. I mean you should spoil me like this every month.”He made a noise of protest, but his eyes were shining; that messy, awkward, completely wrong and utterly sincere shine. He looked kind of proud. Proud that she was relying on him, somehow. -/-/-

The blanket was already a tangled mess around Auria when Guzma came back from the kitchen with two steaming mugs. One was tea (again). The other, his favorite drink,Tapu Cocoa.

“You already had like, three mugs of that weird tea, so I made a swap,” he said, handing her the hot chocolate. “If it doesn’t kill the cramps, at least it makes ya happy for a few minutes.”

She accepted without protest, feeling the warmth seep into her cold hands. Guzma sat down on the floor beside her.

The silence was comfortable for a while. Just the soft sound of the TV in the background, quiet sipping, and exhaustion settling like a slow tide.

“Still hurtin’ bad?” he asked, not looking at her.

She nodded, making a low, tired sound. “A little. It’s more uncomfortable than sharp pain now… but it’s not going away.”

She laid back a bit more, sighing. The blanket slipped, and she tugged it back up to her chest, curling into a makeshift nest. Guzma kept watching her from the corner of his eye, clearly restless.

“You want me to… I dunno. Do somethin’ else?”

Auria hesitated. Embarrassment bubbled up, but the discomfort, and his presence, won out.

“Can you put your hand here?” she asked quietly, pointing just below her navel, over her pajama shirt. “Your hand’s always warm. Might help.”

Guzma froze for a second. The “almost-boyfriend” part of his brain screamed. So did the “tough guy” part, though that one was more afraid than proud.

“Like… touch it?”

“Over my clothes, Guzma. I’m not asking you to reach in and rip my uterus out.”

He snorted, more nervous than amused, and climbed slowly onto the couch, settling next to her like she was made of glass.

Auria turned slightly, letting him rest his big, warm hand over her lower belly. The touch was solid, steady and warm. So, so warm.

“Better?”

She exhaled slowly, eyes falling shut. “Way better.”

Silence again. The TV was now showing a segment about whipped cream desserts. Neither of them was watching.

Guzma kept his hand still, though every now and then, his fingers shifted just a bit, small movements, almost unconscious. A clumsy kind of affection. A gesture he clearly didn’t know he was doing.

“…Are you shaking?” she mumbled, eyes still closed.

“Nah. Just… my hand’s somewhere it don’t usually go, cutiefly. Gimme a break.”

She smiled, lazy.

“You’ve touched way worse places than my stomach, Guzma.”

“Shhh. We don’t talk about that when you’re feelin’ all soft and emotional. You’re in that mode like, ‘why was the Rockruff in the commercial so sad,’ remember?”

She let out a quiet laugh and snuggled a little closer, her forehead resting against his broad shoulder.

Guzma swallowed hard, like he was standing on the edge of some emotional cliff and wasn’t sure whether to jump or back away.

“…You gonna stay?” she asked softly.

“Duh. Where else would I go?”

“I don’t know… somewhere where people aren’t crying over everything.”