Spawned by the fact that cramps will have me bitching at anyone with a penis for the next little while.
That, and an irritable!Miranda just seems like such a cute concept to write. PMS, while being a reality that most women must face, seems to be treading on the waters of OOCness, so... this'll be a bit of a doozy. Just a forwarning.
Kanda found that this was one of those rare moments in his life wherein he had absolutely no idea what to do.
It wasn't an altogether pleasant experience.
The whole basis of this – relationship? Companionship? Whatever it was, came down to the fact that Miranda gave, always gave, and he took without looking like he cared too much.
It'd been like this for about four months now, random fluctuations. Some days he was completely aloof and uncaring; not even so much as talking to her for a week or two. And then there were those nights few and far between that confused him with the urgency to feel more human than he ever dared to allow himself to be.
She always kept her door unlocked.
Always. When he'd first started coming to her room, there had been instances wherein he'd have to muffle her screams of surprise with his hand at her waking up and seeing his face in such close proximity (why did she always overreact so much anyways?). Now, he supposed she'd somewhat gotten used to it. Most people barely picked up on his footsteps when he walked, but lately she'd always be awake whenever he'd sneak into her room soundlessly; and it left him feeling just a little odd, because he'd wonder if she spent nights awake and listening for him (even though he went so many days without even sending a look in her direction).
But this, right now, was quite... well...
Because when he'd stepped into the room and closed the door quietly behind him, he wasn't met with the sight of Miranda sitting up on the bed with her knees tucked in close to herself as usual. Instead she was groaning, clutching her stomach; her face half-buried in her pillow.
At hearing the door close, she looked up; and to say he was surprised by the look of irritation on her face was putting it exceptionally mildly (not like he let it show).
And she sighed. But it wasn't a relieved sigh, or a contented one, one of sadness or guilt.
One of those, "oh, you're such a clueless child, believing you can put your hand in the cookie jar and think I haven't noticed," sighs.
Directed to him.
He felt his brow twitch.
"And what the fuck is wrong with you?"
She'd sat up, wincing, but she'd crossed her arms tightly and scratch everything he'd thought previously – this was more than a little unnerving because sweet, docile, inferiority-complex ridden Miranda wasn't present right now. In her place was a woman whose body conveyed some degree of pain and discomfort; stiff as a board and her eyes looking hard and slightly (just slightly) frenzied; lips pursed in a thin line.
"Kanda Yuu, we need to talk."
Some part of his mind registered the impending doom in that statement.
He pointedly ignored it and crossed his arms in turn as well, brow furrowing.
"Che. As if there's anything to talk about."
And she sighed again, shaking her head, and seemingly finding his attempt at defiance inadequate.
She gestured curtly with her hand to the spot on the bed beside her.
Some manly sense of self-preservation told him to go along with it; and he did. Or perhaps he was just morbidly curious as to what could cause such a personality shift in the otherwise meek exorcist.
Didn't mean he let his mood lighten up on his face any.
"Kanda, as you no doubt know first-hand; I am a woman."
He blinked hard; incredulous. What did she take him for, an idiot? But one look from her told him that she wasn't finished talking, so he'd save the smart remarks for later.
"As such, God above has blessed me with the fact that once every month my uterus painfully sheds a lining of blood and tissue that would otherwise be used to fertilize an egg; which in this case will never produce a child. The sensation is somewhere along the equivalent of clubbing myself in the kidneys."
When she put it like that... why was he unfortunate enough to be here again?
"So, I regret to inform you that I won't be aiding you in your sexual endeavors tonight."
He made a move to get up and leave; the load of good being here right now would do him, but she'd grasped his wrist and he found she was keeping quite the firm hold on it.
"You're not going anywhere."
And that was how, half an hour of bickering later he found himself being used as a personal pillow; one of his arms behind his head and the other at his side as she rested her head on his chest, body at a bit more ease (he heard her mumble something like "warm") and nestled close against his form.
For whatever particular reason, he didn't think it'd be such a good idea to just say "fuck it" and leave like this. He was pretty sure the Order would end up being short one exorcist the next morning.
And no, he told himself sternly, he wasn't lifting the blanket and pulling it over the both of them because he cared; he was just cold, and that was all.