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Summary
"Fuck," Eddie mumbled shakily, running a clammy hand through his bangs as he looked down at his boxers.
This must be some kind of sick joke, some kind of 'haha got you!' played on him by the universe just to mess with him a little more.
He would have give anything for this to all be a dream, to wake up in his bed at home, warm, comfortable, laughing about how silly he was.
How his cycle went away when he started testosterone, right? Wrong. Hell, at least if he had started there, he could dig into the old box of tampons he kept in the cabinet under the sink, probably collecting dust at this point. But, alas, he never was quite so lucky.
