A groan escapes his lips as he sits up from the squeaky dorm mattress. He immediately remembers the boy sleeping soundly across the room, and grits his teeth as he tries not to groan again.

Gotta be quick, Matt thinks as he gropes around in his nightstand for a pad and some advil. He tucks the pad into the elastic of his joggers, swallows a couple of advil dry, and slides his glasses over unseeing eyes.

By the time he’s scurried back from the dreaded community bathroom, Foggy has woken up. The other boy sits on his creaky dorm bed, hair in an awkward bird’s nest.

Matt clears his throat, “Good morning.”

“’Morning, sunshine.” Foggy grumbles. Despite his sleepy appearance, his voice has that familiar touch of well-meaning sarcasm. Matt can’t help that his lips pull into a slight smile.

Matt throws himself back into his bed and curls into the smallest ball possible. He had planned to spend his weekend in the library studying, but he can’t imagine leaving this bed in the foreseeable future.

Matt hears Foggy wake get out of bed and

“You ok, man?” The concern in Foggy’s voice makes Matt want to bury his face in his soft comforter and disappear. The pain has started to radiate out into the joints of his hips.

“Yeah. It’s just...” Matt’s voice trails off.

Foggy knows about Matt’s ‘trans thing’ (as Foggy calls it). Foggy has been really supportive about everything. However, disclosing to his roommate with what’s going on with his uterus is a level of intimacy that Matthew’s not sure he can handle right now.

Matt feels the dip in the mattress as Foggy sits down beside him. The springs creak, and Matt wonders if these shitty beds can hold two adult men.

A new pang of dull pain makes Matt groan and roll over. He presses the ball of his hand into the soft bit of flesh between his hips, above his groin.

With a sigh, he gives in to the probably-very-concerned look that Foggy is probably giving him right now.

“It’s just. I have some cramps. They’re pretty bad.” Matt focuses on Foggy’s heartbeat, worried that he’s crossed some line that Foggy will be uncomfortable. The deep thud of Foggy’s heart seems close to normal. The heat and weight of his body doesn’t indicate that Foggy is trying to put any distance between them.

“Oh.” Foggy mutters. Matt turns his head toward his friend.

“Oh.” Foggy says, louder, as he finally gets it. Matt waits for the telltale signals of disgust or discomfort from his friend. Instead of fleeing the scene, Foggy sighs.

“Do you need anything? Like, can I help. at all?” Foggy asks.

“No.” Matt answers simply.

Matt can sense the concern in Foggy. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Matt continues. Foggy doesn’t believe him.

He’s not entirely sure that the rough sheets and creaking bed are a great alternative to the pain of the waking world, but he doesn’t feel up to doing anything else today besides sleep. He focuses on breathing, slow calculated breaths designed to relax his body.

Matt manages to slip into a deep sleep. At one point Matt can half-awake hear as Foggy gets dressed and leaves the room, but he doesn’t think much of it.

A few hours later, Matt finally stirs awake. The cramps have subsided for the most part, but Matt feels gross and smelly and in desperate need of a shower.

He gathers his towel and bag full of unscented soaps and heads to the showers. Luckily the dorm is pretty quiet on a Saturday afternoon, and nobody else is in the showers. The small cubicle feels cozy rather than suffocating. He lets the warm water run over his hair and body, warming him up and soothing the now dull ache in his tummy. He takes his time lathering shampoo. He takes time cleaning his body, running gentle hands over soft skin. He feels the increasingly-thick hair on his chest and smiles to himself. He takes his time drying off with one of his 'pretentiously soft' (another Foggy-ism) towels.

Matthew doesn't even bother putting on real pants. He pulls on soft joggers and zips his comfiest hoodie over his bare chest.

By the time he returns to his room, Foggy is back.

"Hey," Matt greets him.

"Put your shit away and sit down, I got some stuff for ya." Foggy's excited. Matt can hear it in his voice and in his pulse.

Matt can't help but smile. Something about Foggy's attitude is contagious and can get Matt out of the worst of moods. He stashes his shower supplies and sits down on his bed, facing his friend.

"I have taken it upon myself to make your shark week the least-shitty of shark weeks," Foggy starts, smugly.

"Foggy, you didn't-"

"Nope, you are not allowed to be humble nor reject my amazing gifts."

Matthew hears the rustling of a plastic shopping back as Foggy pulls items from it.

"I have for you, Matthew, one chocolate bar. It's the good dark stuff I know you hate the American milk-chocolate shit."

"I also have one of those giant bottles of ibuprofin. You probably don't need these super soft sleep socks but I saw them and thought of you. I also found this rice heating pad. Supposedly you microwave it and use it to calm your angry...can I use the 'u' word?"

Matt glances up toward Foggy's face, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Yes I'm ok with the word 'uterus'."

"Cool. You heat this thing up and it apparently calms your raging uterus."

Matthew can't stifle his giggle at that comment.

"I also borrowed the first few seasons of Law and Order. I'm pretty sure that eating junk food and marathoning Law and Order counts as studying, so you have no excuse to be self-flagellating about taking one day off."

"Thanks, Foggy. Really, you didn't need to do this."