#she had to sit through an hour of divorce and giving them couples counseling

[comradeboyhalo]

i know everyone tears up when bad sings "you are my sunshine" but this is my favorite version of it just cause astelic in the background takes me out every time.

[mcfiddlestan]

WinterFrost Single Dads AU

Hey, ya'll. Told ya I was working on this thing. I've got about six chapters done, but I'm not ready to post it to AO3 just yet. One big reason for that is I don't have a title yet. So I thought I'd post a couple of chapters, let ya'll get a feel for it, then take any suggestions you might have.

Just a small note: I tend to name fics after song titles that inspired the story or somehow fit with the plot.

Anyhoo...here's the first chapter. I *might* post the second tomorrow. We'll see how the response to this goes.

xoxo, La

Pairing: Loki x Bucky Barnes (there are others past and future, but I'm not giving them away just yet)

Rating: M

Word count: 1,775

Summary: Loki is living a great life as a Manhattan lawyer and constantly partying with Tony Stark, his best friend. Loki's life before he came to New York more than a decade ago is a mystery for those close to him. But it's all about to come to light when he gets a call from someone in his past.

Bucky is just trying to catch a break. A few hookups with a fellow soldier led to a quickie marriage and baby -- and two years later, a quick divorce. His daughter is now eight years old and the light of his life. But he can't seem to get his shit together. Struggling to find a job and keep a hold on his sobriety, it's a one-night stand that gives him the kick in the ass he needs to be the man his daughter believes he is.

Warnings: Mature language and situations, some drug use, and talk about addiction.

Chapter 1

The sound of his front door opening and closing pulled Loki from a deep sleep. So deep, it took him a moment to remember where he was and how he knew that was his front door. His eyes opened slowly, once, twice, and then again, to nothing but the darkness of what he was sure was his bedroom. Then he felt the pounding, incessant, pulsing around his entire head. Damn migraines. Loki let out a low groan, thought fuck it, and buried his face deeper into his pillow. Moments later, the door to his bedroom pushed open.

“Rise and shine,” a deep voice sang.

Loki grumbled at the familiar voice, and slowly, he turned his body, rolling onto his back. “Why are you always so chipper in the morning? Oh, for Norn’s sake!” He threw a pillow over his face as the curtains pulled open and let the blinding daylight flood the room. “Close them! I’ve got a damned migraine!”

“Ooh. So sorry, Mr. Friggasson. There’s a cup of tea on the nightstand. Would you like me to get you some water and a couple of ibuprofen?”

Another groan sounded through the room as Loki forced himself to sit up. “Yes, please,” he answered as he rubbed at his face before reaching for the two pillows to prop them up behind him. In his sleepy haze, he remembered to pull the bedsheet over his lap to keep his modesty. Loki reached out for the teacup first, cupping it in his large hand as he took a gentle sip. “Mmm, perfect. Thank you, Fandral. And, for the thousandth time, please stop calling me Mr. Friggasson.” He sipped again, ignoring Fandral’s giggle as he rummaged through Loki’s closet. “What time is it?”

“A quarter to eleven.”

Loki sputtered into his tea. “Quarter to eleven? Why did you let me sleep so late? I have meetings today.” Loki hurriedly set his drink down and started to rise, gathering the sheet to wrap around him. Fandral was suddenly there, nudging Loki back into the bed, “Relax, Loki. You’re fine. Your early meeting was canceled, the board meeting at the Tower was pushed to Thursday, and Mr. Stark canceled your lunch meeting.”

“Cancelled? Why?” Loki settled back in the bed, rubbing at his neck. “He didn’t say. But he left the message for me before three am, and there was a lot of noise in the background. So, take a guess.”

Loki snorted softly. “That’s your boss, Fanny. Don’t judge.”

“You’re my boss. Mr. Stark only signs the checks,” Fandral said through a smile as he laid out a pair of pants and a shirt on a chair in the corner for Loki to wear for the day. “Once the morning meeting was canceled, I thought I’d let you rest a little longer since you didn’t have to rush into the office.”

“Thanks,” Loki muttered from behind his cup.

Fandral gave him a nod and turned to head around the corner towards the master bathroom.

“Any other messages?” Loki called as he set the teacup back on the nightstand. He sat back, his face contorting in pain, willing the migraine to ease up. He made a mental note to see an optometrist already.

“Yes, a few. Natasha called. She got a lead on the security break from a couple of months ago, I guess? She said she’d have a report for you on the improvements she’s already made with F.R.I.D.A.Y.” Fandral stepped out with a small white bottle in one hand, a glass of water in the other. He handed the water to Loki before popping open the bottle and dropping two white tablets in Loki’s open palm. “Also, someone’s been trying to get a hold of you all morning. He’s called four times already. No real message, just ‘need to speak to Loki urgently.’ Someone named Thor.”

Loki went still. He swallowed down the pills and water in his mouth, watching Fandral’s retreating back. A million different questions ran through Loki’s mind, but he couldn’t decide on just one to ask, nor would Fandral be able to answer any of them, judging by what he’d just said. Fandral returned from the bathroom, and Loki hoped he didn’t look as panicked as he felt. “Someone named Thor, you say?”

Fandral, staring at his phone, made a noise of agreement. “Sounded foreign, but I couldn’t place the accent.”

“Norwegian.” Loki shook his head dismissively when Fandral looked at him with a quizzical look. “Did he say how to get a hold of him?”

“Yes. At least, I have the number for you.” Fandral lowered his phone, eyed Loki, who’d gone much paler in the last thirty seconds. “Are you all right?”

Not in the slightest. “Yes. Uh, Fandral, I’m going to take a shower.” Loki rose from the bed, his migraine still there but hardly forgotten. He held the bed sheet tight at his waist and walked around Fandral. “Listen, if he calls again, tell him I will call him back as soon as I’m free. If he doesn’t, when you hear the water stop, give me twenty minutes, then put the call through.”

Fandral frowned at Loki as he followed him with his eyes. “Sure, boss. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“Fandral. I’m fine. Will you order some food? Get me a sandwich, please. Something toasted, turkey.” Distracted, Loki didn’t wait for Fandral to confirm. He walked into his bathroom and started the water in the shower, then moved to the sink. He stood before the mirror for a moment, thinking, fretting, irritated. Why would Thor be calling him after all this time? What could he possibly have to say to Loki? After more than ten years of no communication, Loki felt as if they were strangers.

The steam began to fill the room, fogging up the mirror, so Loki dropped the sheet and stepped under the spray. He let the hot water wash over him, easing the ache of his muscles. He took the showerhead in hand, adjusted the setting of the water, and held it over the back of his head to let the hot water pummel the skin of his neck and his scalp, hoping to make the migraine go away. Though with the newly added stress of a phone call with someone from his long-forgotten past, Loki wasn’t sure it would go away now.

Washing his body and hair quickly, after just fifteen minutes, Loki stepped out and went through the motions of grooming then getting dressed. When he stepped out into the living room, Fandral was just taking his food from its delivery packaging.

“Did he call?”

“No. Feel any better?”

Not at all. “Much. Fandral, could you give me some privacy?”

He froze with a wrapped sandwich half out of the bag. Only his eyes moved in Loki’s direction, “Um, sure? Do you want me to come back in, what, an hour?”

Loki shook his head. “No. In fact, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?” Fandral dropped the sandwich on the table and faced Loki fully, crossing his arms. “Don’t look at me like that. Nothing is wrong. I just don’t know how this conversation is going to go, and I’d rather not have an audience if you don’t mind.” He spotted a bag of chips and snatched it up, ripping it open to pop one into his mouth.

Fandral, still frowning, reached into the bag once again to split the napkins between the two of them. He repacked his meal, then lifted the bag from the table. “All right. Your phone is on the counter. I input the phone number since he called the office, not your cell phone. And – I’ll be available, just in case.”

“Thank you. Fandral.” Loki gave his back a quick pat as he paused beside him. “I mean it. Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, I think we both know that’s a mutual feeling.” He reached for Loki’s arm, giving his wrist a quick squeeze. “Call me later? So I know you’re all right?”

Loki nodded and didn’t move until he heard the door close behind Fandral. It was true; he didn’t know how he would function without Fandral. They were classmates in law school, and both started at equally prestigious firms upon graduation. They were good friends but fiercely competitive, too. Loki credited that manic drive to one-up each other for getting him to the top five percent of their graduating class. But after a few years, while Loki had been on the up-and-up, Fandral was drowning, barely keeping his head above water as a tax lawyer. Loki watched one of the first friends he’d made in New York crumble under pressure and struggled to help him find a way to deal. Eventually, Fandral walked away from the six-figure salary, the company car, and all the perks that came with it. Loki was impressed that Fandral

dared to do it. After a few months of getting help and finding a better mental space, Fandral moved off of Loki’s couch into a modest apartment that was a fraction the size of the loft he was in before and looked for a less-hectic job. Loki had snagged a cushy position as Stark Industries’ in-house counsel, thanks to his friendship with its C.E.O., and was still getting settled. Managing New York’s richest son’s money, company, and public image was turning out to be a full-time job. And Loki needed help. He’d already recruited Natasha Romanov, a former N.Y.P.D. Officer, he brought her on for her computer and investigative skills. So he offered Fandral a position as his assistant. Fandral took it and promised to be the best right-hand man. Loki expected he’d be bored within a month just answering phone calls and setting up meetings. But Fandral’s duties, mostly taken on of his own volition, had grown exponentially in the past five years. He acted as assistant, maid, valet, and social buffer for the notoriously introverted Loki.

Loki would be a mess without him.

Because he was starving, Loki wolfed down half his sandwich and chips, grateful that the shower, the food, and the medication had helped relieve the worst of his migraine. Taking a deep breath, Loki picked up his phone from where Fandral left it for him. His thumb hovered over the screen, over the unknown phone number. And with his heart in his throat, Loki tapped it. He listened. He waited. And, finally, after three rings, the line picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Thor.”

[flowerfan2]

Part of You Indefinitely - Ch. 6

David x Patrick, 18k so far, M, A03. 

Summary:  An accident sends Patrick to the hospital and terrifies David.  What follows changes their relationship in ways David and Patrick never imagined.  A story of love and its challenges.

Chapter 6

They’re in the car, on their way to physical therapy, when Patrick abruptly turns off the radio.  “I need to tell you something.”

After their too short but still satisfying make-out session earlier this morning David doesn’t think Patrick’s about to ask for a divorce or anything, but it still doesn’t sound good.

“Okay,” he says, glancing over at Patrick, who is looking determinedly out the front window.  “What’s up?”

“I haven’t been going to physical therapy.”

This is patently untrue.  “Um, yes you have, I’ve been driving you there.”

“Yeah, but…” Patrick taps his hand on his knee.  “I haven’t kept the appointments.”

“What, exactly, do you do after I drop you off?”  Patrick has insisted on going inside by himself, and David has been spending the hour systematically trying out every half-decent coffee place in a five-mile radius from the hospital.

“I sit in the cafeteria.”

This is a strange revelation, and David takes a long breath, trying to keep an open mind.   

He slows down and pulls over.  One good thing about living in the sticks, there’s always a place to pull off the road.  He tries to focus on a practical response, while his mind spins.  “Okay, then… there’s not much point to this trip.  It’s certainly not worth going to Elmdale for the coffee.  Should we go home?”

Patrick looks at him.  “You’re not mad?”

David does a quick mental inventory to be sure.  He’s not mad.  He’s confused, and actually a little impressed with Patrick’s out of character refusal to color within the lines, as ridiculous as that is.  “Nope.  Your body, your decision.  Thank you for telling me.”

“Don’t you want to know why?”

David sighs, leaning his head back.  “Of course I do.  I want to know everything.”

“I’m not sure I can really tell you.”

<i>Then why did you ask?</i>  David thinks.  “Mkay.”

Patrick just sighs miserably.

“Ronnie thinks we’re going to break up,” David says, not sure where this comes from – it has been spinning around in his head all morning, but it seems like a non sequitur.

“Because we can’t talk to each other?”  Patrick asks, and yeah, that’s how it fits in.

“Pretty much.”

“Do you think that?”  Patrick asks.  He looks small, and scared, and just as lost as David feels.  

David thinks maybe it’s time to bring up the elephant in the room.  “You know, there’s a thing couples do sometimes, when they’re having…”

“Problems?” Patrick suggests.  

“Challenges.”  

“You think we should go to counseling?”

David has been considering it.  On the one hand, he’s not really interested in sitting on a couch with Patrick while some old white guy picks apart their relationship.  On other hand, he’s really not interested in any universe where he and Patrick no longer sit on the same couch, so giving counseling a try is a risk he’s willing to take.

“Yes.”

Patrick breathes out slowly.  “Okay.  Then take me to PT.  I don’t want to have to tell the counselor that I blew off another physical therapy session.”

*****

David has a feeling that Alexis convinces Dr. Lee to pull some strings, because they get an appointment with a couples’ counselor a few days later.

Margo is young, probably even younger than Patrick, and has several earrings in each ear.  She’s not at all what David expected.  Further, she’s quick and witty, and seems to understand what’s going on with them right from the start.

“Unfortunately, it’s not unusual to go through a period of depression after a trauma,” she says to Patrick, who looks like he’s ready to jump out of his skin.  “Or for situational depression to have a detrimental effect on a relationship, especially where your partner is doing the lion’s share of the caregiving.”  She goes on in this vein for a while until they are both calm enough to hear it, and encourages them to talk to each other after the session about what has been discussed.

But for all that things have been going better between them, they still can’t seem to delve into this stuff outside of Margo’s office.  

At their next session, Margo asks them how their follow-up conversation went.

David tries to stop himself from rolling his eyes, but Margo calls him on it anyway.

“If we had been able to talk about it with each other we wouldn’t be here,” he says, trying to keep his voice light.

“Do you agree, Patrick?”

Patrick’s gaze has been firmly fixed on his hands since they arrived.

“I don’t know if talking about it will help,” he says finally.  “I’m still…”. Patrick waves his hand vaguely at his legs.  “Talking about it won’t change what happened.”

“But would knowing how David is feeling about it, how he’s feeling about you, and sharing your feelings with him, possibly affect your feelings and your mood?”

Patrick glances up at David, who tries to smile at him despite the inner terror he’s feeling.  “I guess.”

David reaches over and grabs Patrick’s hand, trying to figure out the right thing to say.  “I know the situation sucks, but you’re doing better all the time.”  He looks at Margo and then back at Patrick.  It’s awkward as hell, but David’s dealt with awkward before.  “I love you, Patrick.”  

Patrick remains silent.  It makes David feel a little ill, to get no response at all to this.

David turns in towards Patrick, trying to block out his view of Margo.  “Hey,” he whispers.  “What’s going on?  What do you need?”

A tear rolls down Patrick’s cheek, and David just sits there, momentarily paralyzed.  This Patrick is so far away from the Patrick he knows, his confident, competent husband, and it scares him.  David reaches out and puts his arms around Patrick’s shoulders, pressing Patrick’s head against his cheek.  Patrick grabs him and squeezes back, hard, his face against David’s collarbone.  This is good, David thinks, he said he likes it when I hug him.  I can at least do this.  He drops a kiss above Patrick’s ear, right by his scar, and holds on.

“This kind of thing can be hard to articulate,” Margo says.  “Patrick, will you try to think about David’s question?”

Patrick straightens up and nods, wiping his face, and they move on to other topics.  Margo asks David about how they are doing at home, taking the attention off of Patrick for a few minutes.  Patrick chimes in after a while to talk about how he’s figured out how to coordinate with Johnny on the books for the store, doing some of the work himself and showing Johnny how to use his spreadsheets; David doesn’t mention how Patrick curses at the laptop when his hands get tired, or pretends that it’s fine when vendors leave him off their emails to David.

They don’t return to the topic of Patrick’s distress, but Patrick keeps a grip on David’s hand for the rest of the session.  David doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, but at least it seems like Patrick wants him there for it, whatever it might be.

******

“My parents want to come visit,” Patrick announces one night over dinner.  

David finishes his last bite of crab Rangoon.  “When?  I’ll reserve a room at the motel.”

“I didn’t say they were coming,” Patrick answers.

“Okay, that’s fine.”  

Patrick blinks at him.  Apparently he expected an argument.  “You don’t think they should come?”

“Well, they’re your parents.  And god knows I know what it’s like to want a little distance between oneself and one’s parents.”

“My mom keeps emailing me.  She’s worried.  She says she won’t be able to sleep until she sees me in person.”

David stabs his fork into the beef and broccoli.  “You could zoom her.  It might satisfy her for a while.”

Patrick considers this, then picks up his phone and starts typing.  

“Why thank you, David, that’s a great idea,” David says, and Patrick laughs.

******

They’re in the car on their way home after a physical therapy session when Patrick clears his throat and says, “I was afraid it wouldn’t work.”

“Pardon?”

“PT.  It’s supposed to get me back to normal, if it works.  But it might not work, there’s no way to know how much things might improve, or not.  So I didn’t want to go, because if I went and I did what they said and I still couldn’t relearn how to walk, then that’s it, it’s over.  I’m in the chair forever.”

David’s heart stutters in his chest, and he opens his mouth to argue, but Patrick beats him to it.  

“I know that’s not rational, but you deserve to know why I skipped my appointments.  That’s why.”

David is still processing this when he feels his phone buzz repeatedly; Patrick’s does too.

“What’s going on now?”  David wonders, hoping it will be about something less fraught than his husband’s all too understandable fears.

Patrick reads the texts as David focuses on driving.  “Stevie’s stressed because our student intern unpacked a box of lip balms and got them all mixed up.”

David lets out his breath.  This is a problem he can deal with.  “Mixed up with what?”

“With each other.  Apparently there are five or six different kinds listed on the invoice, but they all look the same-”

“Because they’re all-natural and don’t have any artificial coloring.”

“So Stevie can’t tell them apart, and so she can’t label them, and if they aren’t labeled, she can’t sell them.”

“Tell her to sniff them – but don’t take off the cap, then they’ll look used.”

“She says she tried that, but she still can’t tell which is which, and there are hundreds of them.”

David sighs.  “Well that’s clearly an exaggeration, the box holds a gross.”

Patrick types, and then waits for Stevie’s reply.  “She says there are two boxes.”

“Whatever.  I suppose it’s no surprise that she’s hopeless at this.  Tell her I’ll come in tomorrow.  It’s Saturday, we don’t have to go to Elmdale, so I can get to the store early.”

“Maybe I’ll come too.”

It’s all David can do to keep his eyes on the road and not squeal with glee.  He can’t help the smile that tugs at his mouth, though, or chancing a look at Patrick to see that he’s smiling softly too.  Patrick hasn’t been to the store yet since his accident, and here he is volunteering to come in.

“Sure, that’d be nice.  You never know what else Stevie’s messed up that we need to fix.”

The next morning they get up a little earlier than usual, David making sure to get the coffee going before he gets in the shower.  When he comes out, Patrick is in his chair wearing one of his favorite blue button down shirts and his briefs.  His jeans are down around his ankles.

“Don’t laugh,” Patrick says, and David assesses the situation, deciding that this time a joke might not actually lighten the mood.  

“You could wear your sweats,” David says carefully.  “No one would care.”

“This from the man who didn’t want me to wear sneakers to work.”

“I’d like to think we can make an exception to our dress code from time to time.  We can write this one in right after the Stevie Budd flannel shirt amendment.”

Patrick is unconvinced.  He tugs on the waistband of his jeans, but can’t get them up past his knees.  Patrick has gotten much better at moving around, and hardly ever needs David’s help to get from their bed to his chair or vice versa, but this is a task he hasn’t tried yet.  Luckily Patrick doesn’t seem too thrown by the unexpected challenge of putting on his jeans.  “So, are you going to help me or what?”

“Happy to,” David says.  It takes a little wrangling, but between the two of them they have Patrick fully dressed a few minutes later.  David notices that Patrick has chosen not his Levis but a pair of jeans David bought him – designer, but subdued.  They do great things for his ass.  Not that Patrick’s ass is particularly visible from his chair, but still.  David appreciates the effort.

The hair on the side of Patrick’s head is now long enough to cover the red scar over his left ear.  Last week David gave him a trim so that both sides matched.  It would be hard to tell that the left side had ever been shaved, if you didn’t know.  

“You look great, honey,” David says, leaning down to kiss his husband.  “And you smell good, too.  Is that my aftershave?”

“Couldn’t find mine,” Patrick says, a light blush coloring his cheeks.

“Mmm, I like it.”  David loops his arms around Patrick’s neck and breathes him in.

“Let’s go,” Patrick says.

“Okay, but it isn’t even eight o’clock.  Do you want coffee, or something to eat?  I could make French toast-”

“No – let’s just go.”

Patrick’s clearly nervous, but for once his nerves don’t seem to be accompanied by a side of bitchy apprehension.  David will take it.

They park right in front of the store, and David moves as quickly as he can to get Patrick’s wheelchair out and the two of them inside.  He’s pretty sure that no one spots them, although he wouldn’t really mind that much if Twyla came by with some breakfast.  But it’s Patrick’s first time in town in the chair, and David would prefer for it not to be complicated with visits from random busybodies.

David’s been by the store a handful of times in the past few weeks, and he’s pleased to see that nothing looks too terribly out of place.  He has made both Stevie and Jocelyn facetime him so he can supervise whenever they set out a new product, but it’s not the same as seeing it in person.

David can’t help but watch as Patrick wheels slowly around the store.  It’s an odd sight, most of his body hidden from view as he moves past the display tables.  Then Patrick pauses by the register.  He can’t quite fit the wheelchair behind the counter, and even if he could, he’d be too low to work there very easily.  David cringes – he should have thought of this and at least checked to make sure the place was accessible.  He watches Patrick force a neutral expression on to his face, and it hurts to see it.

“We can move that,” David says, knowing he’s taking a risk by acknowledging the problem, but the store is Patrick’s baby too, and it’s just wrong that he can’t work the counter, or maneuver his chair into the small office space behind it.

“No, it’s fine,” Patrick says, backing himself out and turning around.  

“We can sort the lip balms over here,” David says, clearing an already mostly empty space on an easier to reach back table.

“Yeah, okay.”

“And I’ll look for a new counter tonight.  More of a table than a dresser.”  Patrick needs to be able to get his legs underneath.

“It’s okay, David,” Patrick says, his voice tight.

“It’s not, actually,” David mutters.  He lets the subject drop, and finds the two boxes of lip balms in the back room. They spread them out and start sorting.

It turns out it’s not quite as easy as David expected.  Their best seller, honey vanilla, is easy to identify, as is the lavender sage.  The apple rosemary is fairly individual as well, with a sweet fresh scent balanced by the deeper aroma of rosemary.  But the last two – pear basil and cucumber thyme – seem to be almost identical.

After about an hour they have finished a first sweep through one box.  The honey vanilla, lavender sage, and apple rosemary are all separated into baskets, ready to be labeled.  But then there’s still a big pile of “not sures.”

“We could label them all cucumber pear,” Patrick suggests.  “Cover all the bases.”

“Putting aside the fact that then we’d have to order new labels, that completely ignores the admittedly not very noticeable notes of basil and thyme.”

“Call them cucumber pear herb, maybe?”

“Why not just go with ‘fruit and/or vegetable’ and call it a day?”  David sighs.  It’s his own fault for letting this vendor get overly creative.

“’English garden’ might work,” Patrick says, smiling.

David laughs.  “Natural beauty.”

“Nature.”  Patrick takes a long sniff of one of the unknowns.  “Just nature.  Here, try it.  It definitely smells like nature.”

“Hey kids, what’s so funny?”

They look up at the same time to find Stevie coming in the front door.  She joins them in the back and examines the piles of lip balms, sniffing at each of them.

“You can’t tell them apart either, can you?”  she asks mildly.

“Of course we can,” David says, at the same time Patrick replies, “Nope.”

Stevie grins and then pushes past David to hug Patrick.  “Good to see you,” she says quietly, and hangs on to him for a long moment, her dark hair falling around Patrick’s face.

“Thanks.”

Stepping back, she surveys the scene.  “Looks like you made some progress.  Wanna take a break?  I stopped by the café, and Twyla’s dying for you to come in.”  She addresses this comment to Patrick, who gives David a panicked look.

Always good at reading a scene, Stevie backs off.  “Or I could go pick us up something and we could eat here?”

“That would be great, Stevie,” David says, laying a hand on Patrick’s shoulder.  “We didn’t have a chance to eat before we left the house, and I’m famished.”

“Shocking,” Patrick says, and David has to hide a grin at Patrick’s inner little shit showing his face at last.

“Just for that, I won’t let you have any of my pancakes.”

[fantastic-bby]

My Vow To You

Pairing: Reader x Jaehyun

Word Count: 3.1k

Genre: Angst

Summary: Reader and Jaehyun find themselves at what seems to be the end of the rope to their marriage but reader wants to keep trying to save it. She agrees to get a divorce but under one condition and Jaehyun agrees.

A/n: My friend requested this and I hate her for it shadjshdkajshdk. 

Warning: Cheating, mentions of divorce, death

He stared at a picture of them that was hanging from the wall of their living room. He sighed as he turned to look at the entrance to the kitchen, the sounds of her washing the dishes coming from inside.

“(Y/n), I’m heading off now.” Jaehyun called out before leaving their home. 

“Okay.” She sighed in response, waiting until she heard the sound of the front door closing. She turned off the tap and wiped her hands on a cloth before heading out of the kitchen. She stared at the front door, her thoughts filled with the image of him and that other woman as she felt her eyes well up with tears. She knew he was cheating on her but she didn’t want to say anything. She wanted to save their marriage. 

She sat on the couch, opening up her laptop as she looked through marriage counselors that were nearby and reliable. Unbeknown to her, he was heading off to his mistress’s house as she tried to find ways to fix their marriage. To him, he didn’t have the heart to break it to her but he also knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. He thought that meeting up with this woman would make him remember why he fell in love with (Y/n) but he didn’t. Instead he was falling in love with the other woman. 

“Jaehyun, you’re here early.” The woman opened the door and smiled at him. He entered her apartment and wrapped his arms around her waist, 

“I wanna spend more time with you before I have to leave.” He pulled her into him and hugged her, breathing in her scent. 

“That’s so sweet.” She smiled at him, returning his hug. “Are you hungry?” She asked as she pulled him into her apartment, closing the door behind them. “I just made breakfast. I had a feeling you were coming earlier so I made extra.” She sat him down at the dinner table and pushed a plate of toast in front of him. 

“Thank you, Cathy.” He smiled as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. Meanwhile at home his wife had managed to get her hands on a therapy session the next day. She picked up her phone, her finger hovering over her husband’s contact as she contemplated calling him or waiting until he got home. An image of him and his mistress ran through her head, making her put her phone down on the coffee table. That time she saw them together they looked so happy. He looked happy. Happier than he’s ever looked in the past year or so. 

They had been married for 2  and a half years and the beginning was as perfect as they wanted it to be. But no one saw expected for it to start deteriorating as quick as it did. It started out small. He was getting annoyed with the very same things that made him fall in love and soon their loving good night kisses turned into cold ‘good nights’ and occasional fights. He seemed to have given up but (Y/n) was determined to try and savage whatever she could. She still loved him. As foolish as she was being, she knew there was a part of Jaehyun that she knew still loved her as much as he did when they first started dating. She just had to find a way to bring it out of him. She would only stop once she was completely convinced that he was out of love with her. 

He came home right before dinner, hanging his jacket on the coat rack he walked into the dining room to be faced with a simple dinner spread. (Y/n) walked out of the kitchen, folding her apron and placing it on one of the chairs. 

“How was your day?” She asked as they sat at the dinner table. 

“Normal. Just helped write a few songs.” He shrugged as they proceeded to eat in silence. Her body was filling with slight anxiety as the marriage counselor made its way into her thoughts. 

“Jaehyun,” She spoke up, making him look at her. “I think we both know that this,” She gestured between the two of them, “Isn’t working.”  His heart stopped for a moment, this was it. He thought. “But I want to keep trying to save this.” She said, putting down her chopsticks onto the table mat. Jaehyun’s eyes widened,

“You wanna keep trying?” The tone of his voice sent knives through her heart but she maintained her composure.

“We can get a divorce and you can go and be with that woman guilt free.” The mention of Cathy made his heart ache, he didn’t know that she knew but what was he expecting? He couldn’t hide it from her forever. “We’ll get a divorce but under one condition.” She could feel her voice faltering slightly as the thought of them getting a divorce just seemed inevitable. Jaehyun watched her face, the hurt in her eyes as she tried to avoid eye contact with him, the stray tear that made its way down her face, the tension in their dining room was overwhelming him with guilt. She took a deep breath before speaking, “I want us to go for marriage counseling for three months then we’ll get a divorce.”

“Okay,” He nodded, letting out a slight sigh, “It’s the least I could do for you and it’s what I promised you when we got married.” He could feel his own eyes well with tears at the thought of the day they got married. (Y/n)’s head shot up at the mention of their wedding day. She didn’t expect him to even remember his vows. 

“You remember your vows?” She wasn’t able to stop the question from leaving her mouth. He winced at the question, his heart completely filled with guilt and anger towards himself for making her feel this way, but he nodded at her. 

“When I put this ring on your finger, I vow to keep you safe from everything and everyone. I will be bound to you and you only. If anything were to happen, I will do anything to save our marriage and save you. I will be by your side when you’re at your worst and I’ll do my best to make you happy.” He recited his vows to her, the salty tears making their way down his face. “I’ve already broken three of those. You deserve my effort to try.” He sighed, turning his head to look away from her. She didn’t know whether she was relieved to hear it or if it just made her feel worse. 

“I didn’t think you remembered your vows.” Her words were soft, barely above a whisper but he heard them. The low voices and depressing tension was worse than if they were screaming at each other. It made it feel more real to (Y/n) that they marriage was on the brink of death. 

“I’m sorry, (Y/n),” He turned back to her, his hand twitching as he contemplated holding her hand that was resting on the table. “I haven’t been the best husband and I’m sorry that I put you through this. You deserve better than me.” 

“I deserve nothing more than your love.” She smiled softly as she took his hand in hers, “I just want us to keep trying because I love you and I know there’s a small part of you that still loves me. If you didn’t love me anymore, why would you try?” His thumb gently ran over her knuckles as he smiled at her, 

“If it’ll help, I won’t see ‘her’ anymore.” He told her. She could feel her heart melting at his words. At that moment she knew that he was going to give it his all to try and save their marriage and she couldn’t have been more in love with him.

“Thank you, Jaehyun.” She smiled as she watched him hold her hand. It was the first time he touched her like that in months and she was missing his affection. That night before they went to bed Jaehyun took the effort to press a gentle kiss to her hand, 

“I promise I’ll try my best.” He said as he sat beside her on the bed. 

“I know you will.” 

~

“This is the place?” He asked as he parked the car. (Y/n) looked at her phone and at the building before nodding, 

“This is the place.” They got out of the car and stepped into the building. The inside looked like the layout of a typical therapist’s office. The walls were a pale blue colour, the floor was lined with a dark brown carpet and a receptionist’s counter was sitting outside of a white door. The girl behind the counter looked up at the sound of the bell at the glass door opening.

“Good afternoon, do you have an appointment?” She asked. Her voice was gentle as she smiled at the both of them. 

“Yeah, it’s under (Y/n). I called yesterday.” (Y/n) said as she stood in front of the counter. The girl typed in the name into the computer and nodded, 

“For the marriage counseling?” She looked up at (Y/n) who nodded, “Okay, step inside and have a seat. Dr Mia will see you in a moment.” She gestured towards the white door and the couple nodded. Jaehyun opened the door, letting his wife walk in before him and they sat on one of the leather couches. There was another door inside the waiting room leading into the actual office of the therapist. The anxiety between the both of them made the tension in the waiting room awkward, both of them not knowing whether they should talk to each other or just not say anything. Just as Jaehyun was about to speak up, the door to the office opened.

“Come on in,” The therapist smiled as she opened the door wider for the both of them. The therapist seemed to waste no time in getting to know them better to try and figure out the root of their issues and how much time it would take to try and fix what was broken. The hour in the office was spent with the therapist taking her time to find the issue between both of them. The session ended with mostly homework towards Jaehyun for him to try and turn his attention back to (Y/n) and for her to be more patient with him. 

Jaehyun’s phone buzzed with a notification just as they stepped out of the office. He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans to see Cathy’s name with a message attached to it, 

Why didn’t you come over this morning? 

He bit his lip as he looked over at (Y/n) who was talking to the receptionist. He had forgotten to tell Cathy that he wasn’t going to see her anymore but she didn’t know he was married. The whole time they had spent together, he had managed to hide the fact that he had a wife whenever he was around her. He thought of a response, deciding that coming clean was the only thing he could do. She didn’t reply to him once he mentioned (Y/n). He could see that she read it but once he realised she had blocked his contact he knew she didn’t want to be involved with him anymore. 

“You okay?” (Y/n)’s voice made him look away from his phone to see her looking at him. 

“Yeah, just some things.” He nodded, “Let’s go home. I need to be in the studio in a bit.” He said as they started walking out of the building. The drive home was silent, none of them knowing what to say to each other. The tension was oddly lighter than when it was when they were at the office but this had to happen every week for the next three months. Now with Cathy gone, Jaehyun had no one else to give his attention to but (Y/n). Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Once they reached home, Jaehyun got ready to head out to work. 

“Jaehyun,” (Y/n) spoke up softly as she walked into the bedroom where he was changing. He turned around to face her, noticing the expression on her face. She wanted to ask him something and by the looks of it, it was probably something serious. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, sitting her down on the bed. Her eyes were suggesting something he could read and he let out a sigh. “We’re not talking anymore if that’s what you’re wondering.” His words made her let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. “She blocked me when I told her I was married. I may have not mentioned it to her.” He sighed as he was finally realising how stupid he was. But the contact of (Y/n)’s hand on his made him look up. She didn’t say anything but just held his hand as she smiled at him softly. He returned the smile, “I’m sorry for being really dumb.” 

“It’s okay. We all make mistakes.” 

The next three months were spent with them attending the therapy. Jaehyun found himself appreciating (Y/n) more and more as the days went by. It was subtle at first; goodnight and goodbye kisses had returned to their routine. (Y/n) was surprised the first time he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving their home but she realised that his love for her was slowly growing once again. She also noticed that he had gone back to referring to her as ‘yeobu’ like when they first got married. But they had already agreed on it. 

“Yeobu?” Jaehyun’s voice called into the house as he stepped in. The house felt empty today. He laid his bag on the couch and walked into the bedroom to see a note on the bed. 

Jaehyun,

It’s been three months. Like I said, after three months we’ll get the divorce you asked for. If you find this note, I packed my bags and I’m heading out to get the divorce papers signed. This is my goodbye letter to you, Jung Yoon Oh. It feels weird referring to you with your legal name since I’ve grown so used to calling you Jaehyun. Our relationship was like a flower that bloomed in spring, beautiful and bright, but winter has come and it has wilted. I wish spring lasted forever but everything has to end at some point. I’ll ask Taeyong to pass you the papers when I’ve signed them. I’m sorry I’m not saying goodbye to you in person but I know my strength will falter in front of you and I will end up asking you to stay with me when I know you don’t want to. So, this is my goodbye to you and our marriage. I have loved you more than I have loved anyone else. I will do my best to find my peace with being apart from you. 

Goodbye, Yoon Oh. 

He felt his heart shatter as he reached the end of the letter. He had completely forgotten that they had agreed on getting a divorce at the end of the three months and he realised he had never broken their agreement. He stumbled out of the bedroom and into the living room where his bag was, hands shaking as he pulled his phone out of his bag to search for her contact. His vision was blurred by his tears but just as he was about to press her name, his phone started to ring. Taeyong.

“H-Hyung?” He shakily breathed into the phone. The shakiness in Taeyong’s voice was obvious that something was wrong. His words were broken in sobs as he tried his best to explain to Jaehyun what had happened. 

“J-J-Just get here a-as f-fast as y-you c-can.” Taeyong stuttered out. Jaehyun was out the door even before he hung up, getting into his car he drove as fast as he could to the hospital but it was too late. He ran through the halls of the hospital and was met with Taeyong sitting outside the doors to the ICU, his head in his hands as he cried. 

“Hyung, where is she?” He asked. Taeyong looked up at him with bloodshot eyes and shakily pointed to the doors. Jaehyun tried to get in but was stopped by a nurse, “Let me in, my wife’s in there! (Y/n) is my wife! She’s in there, please!” He couldn’t control the level of his voice, his body shaking with fear and panic. 

“I’m sorry, sir but we can’t let anyone see her. Her condition is critical.” The nurse had a sorry look on her face.

“Please! I-I-I need to see her!” He begged, “Please, I need her to know that I’m here for her.” The nurse gave him a soft sorry, explaining once again that he wasn’t allowed inside before walking away. He moved to looking through the glass of the doors, trying his best to spot her. When he couldn’t he resolved to pacing back and forth outside the doors. He couldn’t sit still. The thought of losing her was already making him anxious and the thought of never being able to see her again was adding to his stress. The doctor stepped out of the ICU, turning to Jaehyun, 

“Are you (Y/n)’s husband?” He asked. “We did the best we could but her injuries were too great. She didn’t make it.” Jaehyun stared at him in disbelief, his mind struggling to process his words. He pushed past him and into the ICU. He found her bed immediately, making his way over he could feel his body numb at the sight of her body laying in the hospital bed. His hand was shaking as he reached for her pale hand. Bringing her hand to his face, he pressed a kiss to the wedding ring that adorned her finger, 

“When I put this ring on your finger, I vowed to keep you safe from everything and, and everyone. I vowed to be bound to you and you only.” He paused to let out a soft sob, pressing her hand harder to his lips as he struggled to continue, “When something happened, we both tried to save our marriage and I wanted to save you. I was at your side when you were at your worst and I didn’t try hard enough to make you happy.” He recited his vows, choking on his words. 

I broke my vow to you

[theritualofourexistence]

Grandmom

When I talk about my family, there are a couple different things I find myself saying often.

First, my family is my most valuable gift. I am so, so grateful to be a part of the family I have, and they mean more to me than anything else in the world.

I’ve also been known to joke pretty casually that divorce runs in my family.

While I usually say that with a smile, it’s not inaccurate. My parents are divorced. My parents’ parents are divorced. Though I would never imply that divorce was easy or straightforward, it has brought some pretty incredible people into my life.

When I was born, I had three full sets of living grandparents and a set of living great-grandparents. On my dad’s side, I had Grammy (his mom) and Pap-Pap, Grandpa (his dad) and Nana, and Grandma and Poppy (his mother’s parents). Today, four of those six people are still living, which is something I treasure beyond words.

My mom’s mom passed away when my mom was only 19, so I never had the chance to meet her. My mom, though, speaks very candidly about knowing that Dotty is still around and has been with her (and all of us, really) during the most important moments in our lives. My mom’s dad, my Pop-Pop, married Irene after he and my mom’s mom divorced. By the time I was born, the drama of that divorce was long gone and my mom’s whole family had developed a very special sort of relationship with Irene, my Grandmom. Irene made this easy. I think loving was a very simple thing for her. Not that it wasn’t a sacrifice, just that it came very naturally.

My mom was sick around my birth so my first home on this whole earth was actually under my Grandmom’s roof.

My Pop-pop had his first major stroke when I was only a couple years old. I wish that I remembered him better when he was healthy, but most of my memories of him are of him in a wheelchair. He could be difficult (that’s putting it mildly), but my Grandmom cared for him through three major strokes and countless mini strokes, right up until he passed away at home in 2004. I remember saying goodbye to him. We didn’t have much of a relationship, but I was old enough to recognize the impact his passing had on my mom and her family. I think he was very, very lucky to find Irene. Really, I think the whole family was lucky that he did.

My Grandmom has been dealing with multiple medical issues including crippling arthritis for a lot of years now. She has never complained about this pain. In fact, I’m not sure I ever witnessed her complain at all. The last few years have been especially hard as she lost her driving privileges and her mobility began to decline. She didn’t like being stuck at home. That did not, however, stop her from continuing to mentor younger members of her church who were seeking spiritual grief counseling. Over Christmas she said that it was harder over the phone but that it was worth it. It made her feel like she was doing good work, that she had some value. I mention this specifically because it goes back to what I said about her ability to love. I don’t know that I would call this fierce. I would call it calm but strong. She managed to love everyone the same way, the same amount, with the same steady current of support.

On Monday, my Grandmom had a stroke.

She began to decline a few hours after reaching the hospital.

She passed away yesterday.

I know she is at peace. And for that I am so, so grateful. I will miss her… really, I already do.

It hasn’t been a secret that she has been ready to go for a while. Not in a morose way, but in a peaceful, acceptance-of-mortality way. Often, at family gatherings, when you asked how she was doing, she would say with a laugh, “Well, I’m still here and I still remember my name!”

I am grateful that my Grandmom didn’t spend more than a few hours unable to recall her name.

Because of this peace she had made with her eventual passing, I had the privilege of saying goodbye slowly, over a couple of years. I’m very grateful for that too.

She was a genuinely remarkable woman and she shared a deep, deep love with a family she didn’t have any responsibility to embrace. We certainly embraced her right back though.

She’s been the matriarch of the family for decades. For those of you who know my love of musicals, it’s funny, but she brings to mind a specific character from one of my favorite shows. I haven’t thought about this until her passing, really, but I find myself thinking about it a lot over the past few days.

I don’t have any claims on an abuela. That is not my story. But Abuela Claudia’s trademark song in “In the Heights” is “Paciencia y Fe.” Though my Grandmom and Abuela Claudia are more different than they are alike, if there is one person in my life who has demonstrated patience and faith, it’s my Grandmom.

It’s no secret that I run hot. A lot of people in my family do.

But my Grandmom was able to care so, so deeply in the most rhythmic, steady way. I’ve used that word “steady” a lot already, but I can’t seem to find a better way to say it. She was a pillar. Unshaking, constant.

For myself, a lot of my personal rhythm is sort of like learning how to drive stick. It’s jarring at times and there is jolting and horrible sounds and stopping and starting and stalling.

My Grandmom was never like that. If I’m learning stick, she was a train on a well-known track. She was the metal core of a building’s supports that takes the vibrations of an earthquake and disperses them safely and evenly. She was the strongest roots of a tree, the calm surface of a deep lake, she was the roof of the house in Glenolden that has been in my family longer than I have.

My family will miss her anchor in our lives. But we will be fine because of how she built us up.

When I was a kid, we would play with my uncle’s old Legos in her basement. She would always get our favorite treats, Yoo-hoo and crumb-top donuts and all the yummy things we didn’t get at home. She and I made our Christmas punch together every year. She iced my finger and put a band-aid on it when I was stung by a bee for the first time. Every Christmas she would leave us a special gift by our bedroom door, either pajamas or slippers to wear when we gathered as a family to open gifts on Christmas morning.

My Grandmom has been a part of every Christmas I’ve ever had.

She was very quick to laugh, even when her physical condition started to decline. It’s her laugh that I know I will remember most often and most easily. Her laugh, and of course, her love.

No one in my mom’s family would be who they are without her. That’s the sort of quiet, strong impact she had.  She wasn’t the star on the stage, she was the stage manager—making sure everything went off without a hitch. It seems like the right thing was never a hard thing for her to identify. Not that she didn’t have to make hard decisions, just that she always handled them with grace.

Even when she chided me for misbehaving, she did so in a way that never made me feel bad about myself. I never doubted her love or her pride in me, in our family.

She knew when to push and when to leave something be. She loved to play games, I remember a lot of rounds of Upwords, and she loved to watch the birds in the backyard. I remember quiet conversations at night at the small table in the kitchen with just the light on above the sink. I remember that she came out to the bar with me and my parents when my 21st birthday happened to fall on the eve of my brother’s high school graduation. I have never been a drinker and even that night I don’t think I finished my beer. But she could tell that I was feeling low because I had spent my birthday playing second fiddle and she did what she could to soothe that. I remember just sitting quietly with her, so many times in so many ways over so many years. Being around her was peaceful.

She lived to welcome so many grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I truly just feel so fortunate that I got to be one joint on the web of people she knew and loved during her life. I share no genetic material with my Grandmom but that did not stop her from gluing my whole family together and very gently and carefully holding every piece in place until the glue set firm.

She may be gone but the glue remains, stronger than ever, fortified, eternal.

Thank you, Grandmom. You’ve played an instrumental role in giving me my greatest gift, my family. I wouldn’t be me without you. I’ll keep loving you from here, just like I know you’ll keep loving us from wherever you are now. It’s easy for me to imagine you blending into the bright force of light that is the love flowing in and around and through all of us. I will spend my life striving to have the impact on others that you have had on so, so many people. In a world where peace and love and strength are priceless currency, you were and will always be one of the biggest diamonds I’ve ever seen.

Once you’re done telling Pop-pop all about the Eagles winning the Superbowl, you’ll have to give him a kiss for me.

We miss you, but we’ll be okay down here. Thank you so much for everything you gave to us. It is such a blessing to know you’re now basking in the peace you so often provided for others here on Earth.

I love you, Grandmom.

[peachiefics]

30 Days

Pairing: Seungcheol x OC

Genre: Angst; Fluff; Domestic Life/Marriage 

Word Count: 4,772

Synopsis: It took almost a year to fall out of love, but can they fall back into it within 30 days?

Author’s Note: I had 3 different idols before Seungcheol, but he fits it better. Sorry about typos and whatnot, if anyone ends up reading this.

    Marlo lit another cigarette, letting the toxic smoke calm her nerves.  It was a filthy habit she had quit a few years prior but returned to due to all the recent stress she’d been under. Extra hours at work, an overbearing mother, a failed marriage-- if it weren’t for her five-year-old daughter, she would’ve gone insane by now.  

    She sat on the plush bed that had once been a source of warmth but was now as cold as she felt and stared down at the papers in front of her.  Taking a long drag of the cigarette before putting it out in an ash tray, she picked them up and headed down stairs.  Seeing her husband sitting on the couch, eyes glued to his computer, she walked over to him.

   “Hey…Can we talk?”  

   “It’s not important, is it?  I’m kinda busy right now.”  

    With a sigh, she walked around to the back of the couch, draping her arms over his shoulders.  “Well…How about we do something that doesn’t require any talking at all?” she trailed off, seduction falling from her mouth as it placed kisses down his neck.  He went rigid at the sudden display of affection.  

    Gently shrugging her off and sliding off his glasses, he inquired, “What is all this?”  

    Straightening her posture, she moved her hand to massage the tension building in her left shoulder. “It’s a test…and you failed,” she replied blankly, dropping the papers onto his lap.  He quickly picked them up and his eyes landed on one word in big, bold letters: “Divorce”.  There was a strong silence between the two, and she figured he wouldn’t say anything, so she decided to go back upstairs.  

    “Why?” he asked the simple question just as her foot grazed the first step.  

    “Because we’re not happy,” she answered, continuing up the stairs.  He hastily followed her, careful not to wake their daughter as they passed by her room and entered their own.  

    “What do you mean we-”  

    “Can you look me in the eyes and honestly tell me that you’re happy with our marriage?”  She turned to face him and stared into his eyes, but they quickly shifted downward, suddenly taking an interest in the shag carpeting that she had grown to hate over time.

   “Exactly.”  

    “Well, what can we do?  We’ve tried counseling and everything.  I just don’t know what’s wrong with us…,” he explained, eyes finally meeting hers.  

    “What do you mean you don’t know?  Seungcheol, we avoid each other like the plague.  We barely speak to each other anymore and you haven’t touched me in almost a year.  That’s what’s wrong.”  

    “Is that what this is all about?  Sex?  You know what, fine.  Let’s do it right now,” he said, hurriedly grabbing a condom out of the night stand drawer and opening it.

    “What the fuck, Cheol?  We can’t even make love anymore? You honestly think a quickie is going to fix this?” Marlo snatched the rubber from his hands and threw it on the floor, words rushing out into a traffic jam of aggression. 

    “Th-that’s not what I meant, I just…What do you want me to do?” her jaded husband sighed in frustration, running a hand through his dark locks.

    She took in a deep breath and answered, “Well, first I want you to sign those papers, and then I want you to be up and ready to meet the divorce attorney tomorrow. Nine AM sharp.”  

    He was about to reply, but a tiny voice called out from another room.  “Mommy!  Daddy!”  

     The two rushed into their daughter, Lynn’s, room.  She described a nightmare she had and they both calmed her down, leaving as soon as she went back to sleep.  

    Seungcheol closed the door quietly and said in a low voice, “So, did you even stop for a second to think about our daughter?”

    “Of course, I did.  She’ll stay with me,” Marlo stated matter-of-factly as they made their way back to their room.

     “There is no way in hell you’re keeping my daughter from me.  If there’s anything good that’s come out of our marriage, it’s her, and I’ll be damned if I let you take her away.”  

    “Well, it’s not really your decision, so-”

    “How can you be so selfish?  You know she needs me.”  

    “No, she doesn’t…Neither of us need you.”  

    “Look, just because you didn’t have a father growing up, doesn’t mean that you have to project your misery onto her by taking away hers.”  He took in a deep breath, realizing what he had just said and instantly regretted saying it.

    She looked at him with a sad smile, scoffing in disbelief before saying, “We’ll discuss this tomorrow morning. Now get out. I’m sure your spot on the couch is getting cold.”

     The next morning, Marlo sipped her coffee and sorted through some paper work at the kitchen table.   Seungcheol walked in, avoiding eye contact as he made his way over to the counter, poured himself a cup of coffee, and took a few sips.  The weight of the silence between them felt unbearable as he stared ahead out the window. Letting his head drop and releasing a heavy sigh, he finally spoke. “Look, I’m sorry.  That was a really low blow, but I just…,” he trailed off for a moment, wishing that talking to her was easy again.  “Don’t you want to try to work this out?” he asked, turning to face her.

    Without even bothering to look up from the papers in front of her, she replied, “We’ve tried plenty of times.  We need to move on.”

     “Fine.  Let’s go.”  

    The car ride was completely silent, like most of the meeting with the divorce attorney was.  Marlo and Seungcheol split the property and came up with schedules for Lynn but stayed quiet for the most part.  After signing a few papers, the attorney stood up, collected his things, and said, “Everything should be sorted out soon.  Give it about thirty days, and everything will be finalized.  Think you can stand each other for that long?” He joked, trying to lighten up the mood and cut the awkward tension.  The strained couple nodded and gave their best attempts at pleasant smiles.  

     A few days later, Marlo and her closest friend, Lena, were sitting on her couch having “girl time” while Lynn was out on a play date. The soon-to-be divorcee lit a cigarette, causing her friend to stare in shock.  

    “What? I’ve been under a lot of stress lately,” she said, defensively.  

    Her companion shrugged. “Hey, whatever blows your hair back…Speaking of, I guess you would go back to smoking, since this whole divorce thing has left you without your other stress reliever,” she smirked, making an odd gesture that Marlo assumed was referring to sex.  

    “Don’t remind me!” she said, putting the cigarette to her lips with a slight roll of her eyes.  

    “C’mon, admit it,” Lena smirked.  

    “Admit what?” Marlo muttered, taking a long drag.  

    “That you miss it.”  

    “Miss what? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marlo replied innocently, allowing the smoke to pass through her nostrils.  

    “THE SEX!  The hot, steamy-”

    Marlo threw a pillow at her face nearly yelling, “Shut up!”  

    The two friends couldn’t help but laugh, and once things finally quieted down, Lena hesitantly asked, “So…When was the last time you guys…y’know?”  

    Marlo took a quick puff and bit her lip, honestly not wanting to answer.  “About 11 months ago…,” she sighed.

   “You haven’t gotten laid in almost a year?!”  

    “Do you mind?! The walls are thin as hell in here! I don’t want the neighbors knowing all my business!”  

    “Well, apparently there isn’t that much business to know about!” Lena replied, doubling over in laughter.  

    “Look, can we just drop this and change the subject?” Marlo asked, putting out the stub of burnt matter.  

    “Fine.”  

     Marlo looked up at the clock to see that it was half passed six, just about time for Lynn to come home.  She quickly got up, dropping the cigarette into an ash tray.  “Shit, shit, shit…,” she mumbled, swatting away the cloud of smoke that surrounded them. Lena chuckled as she watched Marlo frantically grab the air freshener and spray a trail of it behind herself as she made her way to the window, opening it to air out the room.  The room was finally clear when the doorbell rang.  

    “Mommy!” a small voice greeted as soon as she opened the door.

    Putting on her “happy face” as she crouched down, she wrapped her daughter in an affectionate hug.  Hearing a horn honk, the mother-daughter duo looked up and waved at the woman who dropped Lynn off.

    “Hi, Auntie Lena!  Wanna see the picture I drew?” Lynn asked as Marlo took off her coat.

     “Of course, I do!”  

    The little girl eagerly hopped over to the couch to show her artwork and Lena scanned over it, trying to maintain a smile despite the sadness in her eyes.  “Hey, why don’t you go pick out your favorite pjs and brush your teeth for bed, okay?”  Lynn nodded and ran upstairs, while Lena turned to her mother.  “You might want to take a look at this.”  

    “What is it?” she asked, taking the paper.  The picture depicted Marlo and Seungcheol with their daughter between them.  She was colored in pink with long arms that connected to both of her parents, while they were colored in blue.  

     Later that night, when Lynn was fast asleep, Marlo sat on the couch, staring at the picture and fighting the urge to cry until she was numb.  Seungcheol entering the room prompted her to quickly wipe her eyes, just in case.

    “You okay…?” he asked almost timidly as he observed her distraught appearance. She silently handed him the drawing, watching his expression drop upon scanning it. “Is this really how she sees our family?” he breathed, brows furrowed in a mix of sadness and confusion.

     Marlo dropped her head into her hands, unable to verbally respond as she felt her throat constrict.  Seungcheol awkwardly sat beside her, unsure of what to do.  He felt the urge to wrap her up in a tight hug but settled on comfortingly rubbing her back.  

    The next night, they decided that it was finally time to tell Lynn.  

    “Princess?  Mommy and Daddy need to talk to you about something,” he spoke softly, sitting on the edge of the small bed.  

    “About what?”  

    “About that picture you drew yesterday…,” he trailed off.  

    “You didn’t like it?” she frowned.  

    “Of course, we liked it…It was…uh, accurate…But, we wanted to ask you why you drew it.”

     “Well, Anna drew a picture of her family, so I wanted to draw a picture of mine,” she explained, pulling the picture off the nightstand.  “There’s me in the pink and there’s Mommy and Daddy in the blue.”  

    “Why did you use those colors?” Marlo asked.  

    “Because you and Daddy are sad, and blue means sad.  And pink is for love, so I’m pink because I love both of you….and because you and Daddy don’t love each other anymore.”  

    “Well, that’s not true.  Of course, we love each other,” her mother replied, folding her arms under her chest.  

    “Then how come you don’t hug each other anymore?” Lynn asked, on the verge of tears.  

    Her father pulled her into his lap and explained, “Sweetheart, there’s a difference between loving somebody and being in love with them.  Mommy and I aren’t in love anymore, but we will always love each other.  Your mom is special to me, because without her, I wouldn’t have you, and I’m sure she feels the same way about me.”  

   “We’re not going to be husband and wife anymore, but we’re still going to be Mommy and Daddy and love you just as much okay?” Marlo added.  Lynn nodded, trying her best to understand, and allowed her parents to tuck her into bed.

     About two weeks had gone by and things didn’t really change that much. Seungcheol and Marlo went about their business as they normally did, though they decided to at least be cordial for Lynn’s sake. On that Thursday, Marlo skimmed through her planner, eyes stopping at one specific date. “Dinner with Mom”….and she was supposed to bring Seungcheol and Lynn. Grabbing a pillow and burying her face in it, she screamed in frustration just as her estranged husband walked into the living room. He stood before her, bowl of ice cream in hand and spoon in mouth with his head tilted in confusion.

    “You okay…?” he mumbled, teeth clinking against the silver utensil.

     “Yeah, I’m fine…,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair and getting irritated once a finger got stuck in the kinky texture.

He set his bowl of ice cream down on the table and sat next to her, sticking the spoon into the mountain of ice cream. “We’ve been together for almost eight years, Marlo. I can tell when you’re lying.”

    Leaning her head against the couch, she nearly growled, “I forgot that I scheduled dinner with my mom for tomorrow.”

    “What’s wrong with that? Your mom’s great.”

    “Well of course you’d think that. She loves you,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.

     “Yeah, she does, doesn’t she?” he smirked. “But I’m sure it won’t be that bad. You’ll be fine.”

    “No…We’ll be fine…,” Marlo corrected, hope and optimism lining her tone.

    “What do you mean, ‘we’?”

    “Well……You and Lynn are supposed to be there, too.”

    “Doesn’t she know we…? That we’re…? You haven’t told her yet, have you?” he asked bluntly.

    “Not really…No,” her voice sounded timid. “It’s just not the right time!”

    “So, when are you going to tell her?” he asked skeptically, shoving a spoonful of cold vanilla cream into his mouth.

    She twiddled her thumbs for a second, knowing he wouldn’t like her answer. “I was planning on telling her…after…”

    “What? Why?”

    “So she wouldn’t be able to talk me out of it! ‘I swear, Marlo, you’re letting a fine young man slip right through your fingertips! What ever happened was probably your fault, so you should just apologize. My poor granddaughter is going to grow up with daddy issues and become a stripper!’,” she mocked her overbearing mother, causing Seungcheol to almost choke at that last statement.

    “Quite the pessimist, isn’t she?”

    “To say the least.”

    “…Here. You need this more than I do,” Seungcheol said, handing her the bowl of ice cream.

    She gave a weak smile and thanked him. “So, are you going tomorrow night, or…?”

    “I’ll think about it…But you should really tell your mother the truth...and do it as soon as possible.”

      When she got home from work that Friday night, she was surprised to see Seungcheol and Lynn fully dressed and ready to go to dinner. “You’re really going?”

     “Yes, now hurry up and get ready. I laid your dress out on the bed.”

    “Which one?”

    “The black one.”

    “Oh, good choice,” she muttered, making her way up the stairs.

    After about ten minutes, he figured she was taking too long and went to check on her. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he watched her attempt to pull the zipper of the dress over her child-bearing hips. “Here, hold still…,” he offered, stepping closer to hold her waist.

    Marlo felt tingles shoot through her nerves as he pulled the zipper up, his fingers lightly gliding against her skin. Rather than act on or even try to process the strange feeling, she simply thanked him as she turned around.  Noticing that his tie was crooked, she gave him a knowing smile. “You were never really good with ties, huh?” she all but giggled, reaching up to adjust the fabric for him.

    “I guess not,” he laughed lightly. He watched the concentration on her face, wishing he hadn’t forgotten what it was like being this close to her.  He didn’t even realize he’d been staring until she cleared her throat.

    “Well, uh, we should probably get going…”

     Marlo’s mother fawned over Seungcheol and Lynn, like she usually did, but kept her criticism of her daughter to a minimum for once. Things were going pretty well until he cleared his throat to speak up. “Miss Maria, there’s something we’d like to tell you.” Marlo’s eyes widened as she looked at him.

    “What is it Sweetheart?” her mother asked.

    “Yeah, Sweetheart…What is it?” Marlo asked with a raised eyebrow, almost daring him to say something.

    “It’s, uh….something very important,” he hesitated, feeling a bulge form in his windpipe.

    “Oh, you’re having another baby, aren’t you?! I thought you were looking a bit plump, Marlo!”

   “No, we are not having another baby! I’m not pregnant,” she quickly replied in irritation before sighing in defeat. “We’re getting….a divorce…”

    “What? How could you do this?!” The older woman began her ranting as Marlo stopped a passing waiter and requested the strongest alcohol the restaurant had.

     The ride home was quiet.  Lynn was with her grandmother, and that just left Marlo, Seungcheol, and the silent tension between them.

    “I’m sorry,” he offered, grip loosening on the steering wheel.  She merely shifted her gaze out the window beside her, perching her chin on her elbow.  With a heavy sigh, Seungcheol’s fingers tightened and eyes fixated on the road ahead.

    Marlo sat on the bed, staring at a pack of cigarettes, aching to let the tar ease her nerves.  A knock at the door broke her from her concentration briefly, and she called out, “Go away!”  To her annoyance, Seungcheol merely opened the door and stepped inside.

    “Knocking was just a formality. If you didn’t want me in here, you would’ve locked the door,” he quipped, causing her to roll her eyes as he plopped onto the bed.

   “What do you want?”

   “To talk.”

    “About?”

    “Us,” he stated simply.

    “In a week and a half, there won’t be an ‘us’,” she said quietly.

    “I know, and I want us to end on good terms. I really don’t want to resent the mother of my child.”

    “That’s all I am?” she asked, tone almost bitter.

    He felt the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement, dragging his fingers through his hair as he formulated a response. “Well, first you were my best friend…And then I thought you were the love of my life…But I would hope that we could at least be friends again.”

    For the first time since he entered the room, she looked at him, facing the fear of finding his eyes searing into hers. “What happened to us?”

    “I guess…We just got really busy with other things--especially our work schedules—and we just…drifted apart. It felt like I was coming home to a stranger.”  His eyes drifted from hers to the carton sitting between them.  Without thinking, he asked, “Why’d you start smoking again?”

   “Stress,” she nearly shrugged, voice somber and dry. Just as she reached for the pack, he placed a hand on top of hers.  

    “I’m sorry I pushed you to this.”

    With something resembling a smile, she looked up at him and replied, “You didn’t…And I’m sorry I pushed you away.”

    He slowly stood up, gently taking the cigarettes and tossing them on the dresser, ignoring her soft protest.  “Just for tonight,” he explained, and she nodded in agreeance.  “Well, um…Goodnight,” he added timidly, taking a step backward towards the door.

    “W-wait,” Marlo stuttered, holding out a hand to stop him. “You don’t, uh…You don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore—if you don’t want to, I mean.”

    A wide grin stretched across Seungcheol’s face as he reclaimed his spot on the bed beside her.  “Thanks.”

    Seungcheol woke up the next morning in an empty bed, slightly panicked that he would be late for work. He usually left before Marlo did, but ended up barging into the bathroom right as she was getting dressed, startling her a bit. He took in the sight of her lacey black bra and gulped, before turning in the opposite direction to hide his red face. “I, uh, I-i’m sorry. I just, um-”

    “It’s alright. I mean, I know it’s been a while since, but you’ve seen me naked before,” she chuckled, buttoning her shirt.

    “I know that. It’s just a little weird since, well, you know…”

    “Yeah, well I’ll let it slide this time, since we’re technically still married,” she smirked, brushing by him as she went to find her shoes. “See ya later!”

    Seungcheol gave a weak “bye” in response, watching her retreating figure as he slumped against the wall. Then he dragged his hands over his face, knowing he shouldn’t be feeling this way about his soon-to-be-ex-wife.

     Things had been going better in the past week or two than they had for the entire last year of their marriage and, honestly, it was giving both of them a lot of mixed emotions. Was going through with the divorce really the best decision? Neither spouse was completely sure at that point.

     Marlo stared into the swirling pot of sauce, nearly laughing at how similarly her head felt.

    “Smells great. What is it?” Seungcheol asked, leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

    “Spaghetti. Just finishing up the sauce and the pasta should be done in a few minutes. Here, try some,” she suggested, holding the spoon up to him. He tasted it and nodded with a broad grin.

    “That’s really good.”

    As she turned to stir the pasta, he picked up another spoonful and tasted it as quietly as he could manage. Suddenly, he felt something warm hit his forehead.

    “I can hear you slurping, you wet noodle,” Marlo giggled, watching the noodle fall from his face.  Seeing his playful glare crack, she decided to make a run for it, but he swiftly grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his chest. The smiles melted off their faces as they stared at each other, feeling compelled to lean in. But as he got closer, she realized what was happening and placed a hand on his chest to stop him. “Cheol…We can’t,” she whispered.

    “But I thought…”

    She shook her head and cut him off, pushing lightly. “We just can’t-- I can’t. I’m sorry.”  

    He could barely form a sentence as she made her way out of the kitchen.  “Wait, Marlo! I’m sorry! I-”

    “The food’s done. Make sure Lynn finishes all of her dinner. I’m going for a drive,” she hastily replied, grabbing her purse and running out the front door. Seungcheol threw himself onto the couch and sighed heavily, covering his face with his hands. After a few minutes, he heard something bubbling in the kitchen and jumped up to attend to it. “Shit, the spaghetti!”

     After that, the two made an effort to keep things from getting awkward again, but insisted on reducing physical contact as much as possible. With little understanding of where these newfound feelings came from, they decided it was best to go through with the divorce, so as not to risk any further emotional confusion—especially for Lynn, who was somehow under the impression that her parents were “turning pink” again.  

     ‘Twenty-nine days….’ Marlo thought, putting in her earrings. ‘A lot’s happened, that’s for sure…’ As she looked in the mirror, her thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. After quickly straightening out her dress, she went downstairs, immediately being met with catcalls from Leena. Covering her mouth to stifle a laugh, Marlo glanced at her daughter who looked back in awe, and then at her husband who… Well, she couldn’t really read his expression. Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she gave a quick twirl before asking, “You sure it’s not too much?”

    “Of course not! You look amazing. We’ll have a new husband for you by the end of the night!” Leena teased, nudging her shoulder.

    “Leena!”

    “Alright, sorry!”

    Seungcheol couldn’t help but furrow his brow at Leena’s comment, something that she happened to notice, although Marlo didn’t.  Lynn broke his trance by tugging on his pants leg.

    “Daddy, doesn’t Mommy look pretty?!”

    Marlo looked at him, slightly nervous yet eager to hear his response.

    “Yeah. She looks…absolutely stunning…,” he answered, talking more to her than Lynn. Leena smirked, noticing the romantic and sexual tension between them, and grabbed Marlo’s hand.

    “Well, let’s go celebrate tonight being your last as a married woman!” She started to pull her towards the door, but she resisted for a second to speak to Seungcheol.

    “I arranged for Jamie to pick up Lynn for a sleep over, so you could go out, too.”

    “Nah, I think I’ll just hang out here for the night. I’ll make sure to pack a bag for her, though…Have fun,” he said, giving her a dim smile.

     A few hours later, Marlo walked into the house, exhausted, but not from drinking or partying. She had spent most of the night making sure Leena didn’t get into too much trouble. After kicking off her shoes and tossing her bag on the couch, she made her way to the bedroom. “You didn’t have to wait up for me,” she yawned, walking in to see her husband at the edge of the bed, knee bouncing in anxiousness and eyes glossy and blank as they faced the television.  Without responding, he slowly got up and backed her against the dresser.

    “What are you-”

    “Please, Marlo…Just trust me…,” he whispered, placing a hand on her cheek. Feeling her breathing become labored, she placed a hand on top of his and nodded.  Her mind went blank as his lips met hers, and hands that were meant to push him away slid up to tangle themselves in his hair. To her disappointment, he pulled away to ask, “Now can you tell me that you honestly didn’t feel anything?”

    Feeling the blissful tingle fade away, she untangled herself from him and turned away. “We can’t do this again, Seungcheol.”

    “Marlo, answer the question,” he demanded, pulling her face back to him to force eye contact.

    “No, I can’t, alright? I can’t lie and say that I didn’t feel anything,” she admitted in frustration.

    “Then what are we going through with this for, Marlo?” he asked, voice teetering on desperation as his other hand cupped the opposite side of her face.  

    “It’s just too much of a risk.  I-i-”

   “Love is a risk. And I know that scares the hell out of you—it scares me, too…But it’s a risk I’m willing to take as long as it’s with you.”

    “And what if everything falls apart again? Us loving each other may not be enough,” she struggled to say, a single tear gliding down her cheek.

     He smiled softly, finding comfort in her vulnerability, and swiped his thumb along the damp path. “Marlo…I don’t just love you; I’m in love with you.  And I think that difference will make it enough.”

    She took a long pause before saying, “I’m in love with you, too.” That’s all it took to send the two into another passionate kiss as they stumbled towards the bed.  She shuddered, feeling her dress zipper glide down as he laid her on the plush comforter.

    “Then I want you to show me,” he breathed, voice heavy with desire. With a content sigh, she pulled his lips to hers, deepening the kiss hastily and harshly which earned her a deep groan from the bottom of his chest. It wasn’t long before their clothing was thrown aside, his mouth leaving bright marks along the column of her neck, drawing out sounds she didn’t even know she could make anymore.  And with wandering hands, shaky breaths, and longing glances, Marlo and Seungcheol made love for the first time in eleven months…and twenty-nine days.

     She woke up the next morning feeling warmth wrapped around her waist. Looking over, she saw the sleeping face of her husband under a mess of ebony hair. She ran her fingers through it and smiled.

    “Mmmm…Good morning,” he mumbled, pulling her in closer and giving her a peck on the lips.

    “Good morning…I wish we could stay like this all day.”

    “Well, Lynn’s with Jamie…and it’s only 8:26….,” he replied, checking his phone.  

    Marlo’s eyes widened and she shot up to a sitting position.

    “What’s wrong?” Seungcheol asked, slowly following suit.

    “The divorce is going to be finalized today at nine o’clock!”

    They looked at each other for a second before jumping out of bed, scrambling around to get dressed, and heading to the divorce attorney’s office. The two couldn’t help but notice the knowing smile on the lawyer’s face when they ran in with disheveled hair and half way buttoned clothes.

[cards-onthetable]

Surrender

(Chapter one) (Chapter two) (Chapter three) (Chapter four) (Chapter five) (chapter six) 

Chapter seven. 

The early morning sun on his face wrenches Jamie from a restless sleep. His head pounds, protesting the short four hours he managed to get since arriving home in the middle of the night. And his whole body aches after spending those four hours on the couch. But since he’s the one who brought up divorce, he’s the one who’s been banished to the living room.

Sitting up, he notes movement in the kitchen. Eddie’s back is to him as she pours her coffee as quietly as she can.

When she turns she looks surprised to see him watching her.

“Good morning,” she says coolly. “What time did you get in last night?”

“Late.”

“Well I’m sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep. But don’t forget, we’ve got an appointment at two and I expect to see you there.”

Jamie can’t help rolling his eyes. “Counseling? I don’t know what you think you’ll get out of that, Eddie.”

“Oh, I don’t know, my husband back?” she snaps.

He groans but doesn’t try to argue that he’s the one who’s been here the whole time — it was Eddie who transferred, who gave up on everything in the first place—

“I want to give us one more chance, Jamie,” she adds softly. “I want to do everything we possibly can to make us work. But this — this is it. Okay?”

“Where is the office again?” He sighs.

“Bergen and Court.”

He nods as he tries to rub the exhaustion from his face.

“This is really important,” she says, gathering her purse and keys. “I’ll see you at two.”

He says nothing as she sweeps out the door.

He waits a few minutes, partly to ensure that she’s really gone and partly because that’s how long it takes him to work up the energy to move.

It’s been his routine these last few days, since he’s been working late while Eddie’s on days. The decorative sheer curtains in the living room aren’t conducive to daytime sleeping so once she leaves, he sneaks into the bedroom to enjoy a few hours of actual rest, courtesy of their memory foam mattress and blackout drapes.

At least now he’s been getting a few hours a day in a bed.

He spent two nights at his dad’s house after that big fight, claiming the need to cool off. But it didn’t take long for Frank and Henry’s nagging to get to him and he went home. For a week, while he and Eddie were on the same schedule, it was nothing but the couch for him. So his switch to swing shift, and half a day of a real bed, was actually a welcome change for once.

Working different shifts also means less time having to awkwardly coexist in the same space as his wife. After he blew off the meeting Eddie scheduled with the counseling priest at church last week, that’s a good thing too.

After the missed session, while she yelled at him, he claimed he didn’t feel comfortable going before a priest with their relationship problems. Really, he couldn’t bring himself to admit that couples counseling is probably a good idea — maybe even the only real shot they have at getting back on track. Because admitting she’s right is the same as admitting that he was wrong. And he refuses to be wrong.

He didn’t expect her to turn right around and get them in to see a secular marriage counselor.

He’s not sure yet what he’ll do about that. But he’s got a few hours to decide. So he drags the couch throw blanket into the bedroom, lays down on top of the covers, and lets the cool darkness drag him into sleep.

***

This time it’s not the sun, but his buzzing phone that wakes him up.

Eddie: Appointment at 2. It’s just a short intake meeting. Don’t forget.

The next message is a maps link to the therapy office, followed by another text bubble.

Eddie: Please come, Jamie. I love you. I want to work things out. We’re pretty fucked up but we can fix it. But it has to be a team effort. If you can’t do that then I’m done. Don’t make me make that choice.

With a sigh he tosses his phone down on the comforter. It sounds like an ultimatum, but so has just about every other conversation they’ve had in recent weeks, maybe even months. It doesn’t scare him. He’s confident Eddie won’t follow through. He just needs to maintain the status quo until Eddie gives up her fight and things go back to normal.

When he opens the bedroom door the smell of strong coffee hits him. Eddie must’ve set the programmable coffeemaker for him before she left. At one time those little gestures filled their bubble of newlywed bliss with appreciation and happiness. Now, for a reason he can’t quite identify, his reaction is a mix of annoyance and resentment.

But that’s what they’ve turned into. Where there was once love, at least on his end, there’s now just this festering, destructive bitterness. When it gets intense like this — acidic, bubbling up like bile in his throat — sometimes he questions whether he ever really loved her at all.

Maybe he only wanted Eddie because for so long he couldn’t have her.

She was a safe, easy attraction — close enough that he could toy with her all the time, yet off limits so he always had an easy excuse to hide behind. What they had was fun and interesting, without crossing that line into anything dangerous and beyond his control.

Until they crossed that line. He recalls how quickly their dynamic changed after that morning when he dropped to one knee at the fourteenth hole of their favorite putt-putt golf course.

Eddie hesitated. She tugged him back to his feet and held his hands as she asked, “Jamie… are you sure this is a good idea?”

He’d given her some half-assed, adrenaline-fueled argument that they’ve been basically dating-without-benefits for nearly 5 years and what else did they need to do? With a breathy Iloveyou and a desperate, heated kiss, he had her saying yes.

Suddenly he had a life partner, someone with expectations he needed to meet, someone with whom he was supposed to share every aspect of his life. He had no clue how to do that, and nowhere left to escape.

Once the adrenaline melted away, the ugly foundations of their romantic relationship became visible. There was hardly anything there — friendship and professional camaraderie couldn’t bridge the gap that should have included dating and transitioning and figuring out together what it meant to be a couple.

They found themselves with questions and even fundamental disagreements that most couples worked through before they shopped for rings and venues. Much of that went unaddressed as they barreled headfirst into the rest of their lives. They were bulletproof.

But Kevlar doesn’t protect against threats from within.

At the kitchen counter, Jamie lifts the full carafe from the machine and empties it into the sink.

[smrwine]

"ex couple goes to court to discuss alimony and end up getting back together" happy new year!!

My drabbles are never really drabble length are they? I changed up the prompt just a little bit, but I still gave you the getting back together au you asked for. Sorry this is way overdue, but Happy New Year to you too!

“I apologize for my spouse,” Harry voiced with a bitter edge. “He was never really one for being on time.”

The woman beside him sighed as she tapped her impatient nails against the once warm ceramic of her tea cup. Hours of the day dwindled around them as Harry checked his phone for nth time. His outgoing messages remained unread and no new notifications were coming in.

The two of them sat awkward and uncomfortable around the edge of Harry’s dining table. Silence all around them saved for the unyielding tick of the sitting room clock. Harry felt his tendons tighten under the weight of the stillness. The aggravated clench of his jaw was nearly painful by now.

“I just don’t understand why he’s several hours late after fighting so hard for this meeting.” She wondered out loud.

“He’s does this kind of shit on purpose,” Harry answered. “He’ll set up dates where we meet to discuss our end, and he cancels, or never shows up, and he knows it gets under my skin. It’s not like alimony is something either of us can receive anyway, he’s just doing this to waste my time. Everything he does is to spite me, and it’s been this way ever since he left.”

Harry seethed in his seat, making the atmosphere even more tense and rigid than before. The woman beside him adjusted her position and shuffled through her papers as a way of distraction.

Neither of them wanted to be here. Especially not an hour longer than they needed to be.

“I understand your frustrations, Mr. Styles, but I am nothing more than a mediator, and I must remain neutral. I can refer you to counseling if you’d like?”

“No, no. Shit,” Harry mumbled under his breath as his fists clenched around a new wave of aggravation. “Sorry. I’m just—”

“Look, I’m just going to call it a day.” She stood from her seated position and began packing away her belongings. “Between you and I, it seems to me that Mr. Tomlinson is not completely ready to commit to this, but if he chooses to show up after I leave, I strongly advise that you communicate cordially and come up with a date and time that works best for you both.”

“Um….” Harry couldn’t help but be caught off guard. Just a moment ago she was neutral, and now she was offering up her opinion on this all. “Sure, yeah. I’ll um...I’ll see you soon then. I’m so sorry about all of this—for holding up your time.”

“No worries,” she huffed as she tossed her bag over her shoulder “You wouldn’t be the first and definitely won’t be the last.”

Harry stood up slowly and found himself following behind; walking out the very woman hired to mediate the terms of his divorce. As if she were a welcomed guest in his home.

Their home.

A place once brimming with love and affection, and the sounds of moans and laughter, now left in a haunting, dreary silence. Every second spent existing in this space was a cruel reminder of Harry’s reality. A dim, isolated, loveless reality.

With slumped shoulders and careful steps, Harry reached the door of his foyer and pulled it open. Fresh flowers that once adorned the entrance grew lifeless and wilted, and crunched under their feet as they made their way down the steps. Harry was sure she was speaking to him, possibly further advising him on his delicate situation, but he wasn’t present for it at all. Mind set elsewhere and body stiff, he stood motionless at his bottom step, and watched as she vacated the Styles-Tomlinson residence.

Or, what once was.

Harry stayed there long after she found her way down the remote and winding pavement, and long after the lonesomeness settled back into his bones. It was never easy slipping off his brave face and molding back into his desolate state, hoping and praying for a different outcome. He was a fool to build himself up with so much hope, but somehow, the slim chance of seeing familiar headlights pulling up his drive, and the even slimmer chance to see that one familiar face, felt worth it. It was hopeless, and often times he wasn’t conscious to himself doing it, but still, he waited.

It had been so long since he last saw him. Too fucking long, and with nothing but a handwritten letter and an empty house to remember him by, it only kept him curious. What did he look like now? How much better off was he doing? Did he ever fall out of love with the man he once gave his all to?

Before he could allow himself to feel, Harry shook himself from his mind numbing trance, and took himself back indoors. Back into his imminent solitude where his divorce papers awaited him.

Harry didn’t allow himself to miss him for too long. It wouldn’t be fair to Louis or himself. They separated for a reason and Harry agreed.

That’s what he told himself anyway.

***

Lips, teeth, and tongue stained red with wine and body lax against the cool sheets, Harry twisted the edge of Louis’ pillowcase between the bends and folds of his fingers. A place where he use to lay his head to rest, now settled indefinitely with dust and desertion. The cotton still lingered with his scent and Harry clung to all he had left of him.

He didn’t allow his mind to mull over what might have gone wrong between them. He has avoided that conversation with himself for long enough. Instead, he daydreamed.

The sun set around them as they made love in their garden. Earth, desire, and Louis laced between Harry’s limbs and made a home underneath the length of his nails. Their lips were inseparable, just as delight and the crinkles by Louis’ eyes. They only spoke in soft tones. Reminding each other of their love, promises, and how pretty their eyes shimmered when reflected against the sunlight.

In this daze, Louis was still around, and more than just a figment of his imagination. In this daze, they were still together, and not just a cat and mouse game of what day their divorce would be finalized. This daze was more than Harry has now or the lonesome year behind him. He immersed himself in his perfect world and refrained from reaching out for another glass.

Harry? Harry? His familiar sweet voice was distant and fleeting, even as Harry clung to him in his dreams. Are you here?

M’right here, my love. Harry whispered back in a haste, locking his fingers into Louis’ disintegrating frame, and pressing his lips to the center of his head. I’m here, I’m here! He shouted in a panic. Words falling out into a deafening void. I’m not going anywhere, please don’t leave me again! Harry begged and fought against his brain ripping his light away from him. It was agonizing that even in his dreams, Louis’ eyes went vacant and emotionless, and his body whisked away into the vortex of his mind without leaving Harry with another word—

“Harry?”

His voice came from behind the door that led to what once was their bedroom. The same door Harry didn’t think to shut as he curled in on himself, and conjured up his ideal world. His voice was clear and his body was physically present, yet even as Louis walked carefully towards him, Harry didn’t make a move to sit up. His hands still clenched to the fabric of his pillowcase and the short-lived perfection of his dreams.

“...Hey, sorry I’m late.” Louis spoke low and careful as he slowly approached the bedside. “You, uhh, you alright there?”

And only then did it hit Harry that Louis was back in his presence. Speaking, breathing, existing. Teasing him for being visibly shaken by whatever he just slept through. It wasn’t the effects of red wine, and even his favourite dreams could never do him justice. Louis was here. Louis was witnessing Harry pathetically cling to his old bedsheets like a vice.

“No. Haven’t been alright in a while.” Harry answered, unmoving. “But s’good to finally see you again. How the fuck did you get in?”

“Harry,” Louis’ tone was exhausted and somewhat on edge. Same as the sigh that followed and the way he pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Is the mediator even here? I didn’t see anyone downstairs.”

“No,” Harry clipped. “she left because you were over an hour late. She did, however, advise that we cordially come up with a date that actually works for us both.”

“Cordially?” He laughed around a breath of sarcasm. “What, as if we see each other enough to fuss over something as little as a date?”

“Well, you have missed the last few meetings that you set up. So, no, we don’t see each other enough to fuss over it, seeing as that’s the only time you’d come around anyway.”

With a roll of his eyes and a cross of his arms, Louis stepped away from the bedside, letting his aura go cold and frigid. Shoulders stiff and knuckles white, he shrugged with an obvious feign of nonchalance, and let the smile slip right from his face.

“I have more important things to do than finalize our divorce—“

“Then why do you even set it up?” Harry interrupted as he sat up in bed, the fabric of the pillowcase slipping from his fingers. “I’m here, I wait for you, I fucking lose sleep over the idea of us finally being done. But this is what you want, innit? To torment me by tossing around our end as if I don’t need time to heal. Is that why you never come through with these bloody meetings? Is this your way of getting back at me for whatever it is that made you leave?”

“Oh fuck off, Harry, quit convincing yourself of such shit. And you don’t get to give me anything about coming through!” Louis looked through him with raging eyes stemmed deep from pain. Harry has never seen him this livid. Louis never gave him the chance to. “If you want to get this over with so bad, we can do it without the bloody mediator! Is that what you want? Will that give you enough time to bloody heal?”

Harry’s chest stung with the scorch of his scolding and mocking, and his heart broke with every last word that left his mouth. If he had it his way, Louis would have never shown up, and Harry would never have to be ripped from the tender lover in the plot of his dreams. If he had it his way, he wouldn’t have to settle for dreams, and they’d be fully wrapped in each other’s embrace by now.

Alas, he slipped his hardened face back on, squaring his shoulders and clenching his jaw, and removed himself from off the bed.

“The papers are waiting at the dining table.”

Louis looked up at him through pinched brows and a scowling lip, cheeks lit scarlet in rage. Only up this close did it dawn on Harry, that Louis was dressed in one of his old T-shirts. Threadbare, torn, and ripped at the collar. He remembers that night well. Louis, insatiable and ravenous, and Harry more than eager to slip it off of him. Harry wasn’t even aware he took it with him when he left.

It killed him.

Before Harry could soften his demeanor, Louis was storming out of the room and down the stairs, without bothering to see if Harry was following behind. And for once, he wasn’t. He simmered in the final moments of peace in his home and what he thought could possibly be the last time Louis ever stepped foot in this room. The idea of permanently living with Louis’ ghost weighed heavy on his heart and angered him all the same.

He was never given a chance. They were never given a chance. Louis seemed to decide their fate for them without speaking a word of it, or attempting to fix it at all. The entire situation was bitterly unfair and every time Harry thought about it he became enraged unlike ever before.

Harry stalked out the room and stomped down the stairs to the end of the steps, picking up Louis’ shoes left at the bottom and tossing them far off from the foyer. It was irritating just how comfortable he made himself in home that wasn’t his anymore.

Harry fixed his face into a detached facade, slowly pacing around, rolling his neck and shoulders, bracing himself for the inevitable heartbreak around the corner. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to fucking end on a note like this.

“Have you even taken a look at these?” Louis called out to him with an irksome tone. As if Harry was a child he was getting after.

“I’m not exactly thrilled to flick through my divorce papers.” Harry fumed before moving to take his seat at the head of the table, Louis sat by his side. “I’ve unsurprisingly been avoiding it.”

“So you don’t have any idea of what’s inside or what my reason for leaving you is?”

“No, for fucks sake! No.” Harry sighed with a pull of his brows. “I wasn’t ready to know. I don’t know if I’ll ever be fucking ready to know.”

“Well, time’s about up, it’s best you get on with it.” Louis threw a hand up impatiently. “I’ve given you more than enough time to go over all of this—”

“I’m well aware. We’ve been separated for over a bloody year now.”

The words brought a stifling hush over the room and the two of them. Harry thumbing at the edge of the stacked papers and Louis crossing his arms beneath a bitten lip. Harry didn’t want to read these. He didn’t want the image of the words burned into the back of his eyelids every time he lay his head down to sleep. He’d rather have Louis tell him, himself, so his memory would serve to forget the angered tenor of his voice just as it has done before.

“I want you to tell me, how’s that?” Harry offered. “I don’t want to read over whatever complicated language your lawyers came up. I want to hear it directly from you.”

Louis stared back at him with a nervous twist to his face. “Harry, no—“

“Yes,” he insisted. “I deserve at least that much, don’t you think? You’ve ignored my calls for over a year—you never even gave me a clear explanation on why you left, or what I did wrong. You just fucking up and left without leaving a trace. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? How hard it still is?”

Louis looked away. Seemingly refusing to confront every wrong he has committed since walking out that door. Harry wished they’d communicate more. Wished he was given a chance to do that a long time ago.

“Just read the fucking papers, please.”

“No!” Harry answered stubbornly, shoving the papers aggressively to the side. “You, tell me what those papers say. Stop hiding behind them and talk to me for once!”

Louis shuddered at his tone and looked back at him through wounded eyes. He still didn’t speak. If anything, he curled in on himself more, and buried his hands in his fringe, nursing the pain that settled beyond his temples.

“Jesus Christ, please,” Harry softened his approach and breathed in deeply. He didn’t feel warm towards Louis anymore and he hated himself for it. “I come home one day to a letter saying you can no longer be with me, and then I never hear from you again? Your bloody lawyers speak to me more often than you do. Where did we go wrong, Lou? What sent you packing before I could even get a word in? We were so happy—“

“That’s how you remember it. I wasn’t happy at all.” Louis’ words cut deep, twisting viciously between the flesh of Harry’s ribs. “I didn’t feel connected to you anymore.”

Harry swallowed around the knot in his throat and darted his eyes away from Louis’ face. His cheeks heat up an uncomfortable shade of pink, one that was completely unnatural and unfamiliar to him.

“At all?” Harry questioned as he chanced a peek at Louis’ reaction. He received an unsure shrug and a careless blink of the eyes. “Why...why did you never let me know? Why did you agree to spend your life with me in the first place?”

Any hint of vulnerability vanished from the blue of Louis’ eyes as he crossed his arms again, and bit his lips in silence. If Harry knew his ex husband at all, he knew he already convinced himself he didn’t need to explain a thing, and that he was more than struggling to bite his tongue. He was always impossibly stubborn and closed off when anything got under his skin.

“Just tell me, please?”

Harry didn’t intend for a meeting between them to go on quite like this. With him begging for explanations and Louis gone practically mute. He supposed it didn’t matter, though. They needed this more than the space put between them, and if this was the only opportunity they would ever get, Harry was going to take it.

“Jesus, if you don’t want to answer for me, at least do it for yourself.” Harry rolled his eyes, impatient as ever. “I know you want to let me know how badly I cocked up. It’s probably been eating you alive since the minute you walked out that door, huh?”

Louis dug his nails into his own skin, forming red splotches, and angered crescent moons. He physically bit his lip in resistance and tensed up the more Harry poked and prodded with his pleas.

“Saying you were never happy is a crock of shit, Louis. Stop attempting to break me down.” Harry pushed and pushed. “Talk to me,” he insisted. “Don’t be such a bloody coward—“

“Don’t make me do this, Harry—”

“Just spit it out!” Harry demanded as he tightened his grip around the feeling of stress. “Swallowing everything I’ve wanted to say hasn’t been good for me and I can’t imagine it being good for you. Please.”

Louis’ eyes welled with the burning sensation of pent up emotion. His lips quivered and his face contorted into a raw image of pain. Harry wished he could reach out and soothe him like he did when they were younger. Take him right under his arm and press comforting words into the silky fringe of his hair. It wouldn’t be appropriate now. They’ve been strangers for too long.

“Louis—“

“I had only three days to prepare for you leaving!” Louis shouted in the space between them. “Even after I knew you had to have planned it out months in advance, you just sprung it on me as if it wouldn’t directly impact my life. We had never dealt with long distance before and I told myself every lie in the book—“

Louis cut himself off sharply with a quick duck of his head. As long as Harry has known him, he’s never seen Louis struggle to open up quite like this. His old lover’s fingers laced and fidgeted between themselves, and begged Harry to reach out and calm them. It wouldn’t be fair, though. And with that image, Harry finally allowed himself to miss him.

“I told myself you’d call. I told myself you’d put effort into making the long distance work. In a span of six months, I heard from you twice. Twice, Harry.”

“Lou, the first six months I was in the studio for ten to twelve hours a day, and in a completely different time zone. By the time I got down to seven hour days, you stopped replying to me, and another six months later, I come home and you’re gone.”

“Because I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Couldn’t take WHAT anymore?”

“YOU!” Louis’ gentle and closed off resolve crumbled. “Everything you didn’t do. Little shit that added up to the point where I didn’t even know you anymore.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Harry defended.

“It all started the second you decided to go on a year long holiday, with your posh new Hollywood friends, that you never even bothered to introduce me to.”

“I wasn’t on holiday, I was working! And those weren’t friends they’re writers and producers and sound engineers. I can’t help that my label sent me off with them!”

“No but you could help not extending the invite, or at least inviting me out to visit!”

“You were busy filming I didn’t know your schedule—“

“That excuse is rubbish, you never once made the effort to find out either!”

“I was bus—“

“And what about when I did get to hear from you, and you were elsewhere? Always murmuring to someone beyond the line that connected the two of us. I had to beg you to pay attention to me. YOU! My fucking husband! The very person who vowed to put our relationship before everything, and I couldn’t even get you to tell me how your day went.”

“Lou,” Harry voiced low and meek as Louis built up the courage to stand up for himself. “I didn’t...I didn’t know. I—“

“You cut your hair without telling me, you injured yourself without telling me, you never kept me up to date on the progress of your album until your posh little friends began to speak highly about it publicly, and by then you didn’t even realize I was already gone. I was married to a stranger and I felt like I had to leave you before you left me. I had to save myself from the ultimate heartbreak from someone I used to know better than I knew myself.”

Harry clenched his teeth and balled up his fidgeting fists in his lap. All this time he spent angry and confused, and it could only be pinned on himself. He was at fault. In his handwritten vows, Harry promised their love would always come first, and to be hit with the realization that he only abandoned his word, rendered him mind numbingly speechless.

“My reason for leaving you was abandonment. Every last one of my lawyers said it would hold up in court, or they would find a way,” Louis paused to look Harry in the eyes, unblinking, and rimmed red with hurt. “We were so happy, Harry. Then you found a side of life that made you happier than I ever did, and I was tired of playing your mistress.”

“What?” Harry felt the blood vanish from his face. “What do you mean?”

“Music is your only love, and I can’t give you what your label can. I was tired of competing with rich sods that whisked you away to private islands and gave you the world at your beck and call. I was tired of coming second to your studio sessions with names far bigger than mine—I can’t tell you how much of a fool I felt everytime one of my calls to you went unanswered or sent to voicemail. Of course you wouldn’t answer. S’only me, and what did I have to offer?”

“Louis, none of that means anything—”

“It meant something!” he yelled. “It must have meant a great fucking deal if you chose to have it all over your husband!”

“That’s your own perception and not at all how it went down! Everything I did out there was for you!” Harry felt his blood boil up to his cheeks in a vigorous and infuriated pace. “Every word, every chord, every bloody retake of every shitty song I wrote, was for you! It was all about you. Over two hundred songs made perfect for the only man I’ve ever loved, and you dare say you were a mistress to the music? Have you even given my album a listen?”

“Why the fuck would I do that—“

“If you did you’d know you were there through the entire process. You were the inspiration. You were the motivation. The entire project revolved and existed around you!”

“It was about the bloody idea of me, I was never there! You romanticized me do death and couldn’t even be arsed to pick up a phone and call.”

“I did call!”

“And by then it was too fucking late!”

Harry was stunned into silence by the strike of Louis’ voice. His hurt mirrored the miserable expression unmasked across from him. Mouth quivering, eyes welling. The mounted clock on the wall mocked them with every tick of silence gone by between them. Harry figured he’d have to be the first one to speak—

“I was so fucking envious. Music and fame got the good side of you and I was left here with nothing. You were mine before they got their hands on you. Mine. It wasn’t just some line in song, it was real.”

“We are real, baby—“

“Stop,” Louis seethed. “Don’t you dare try to charm me with your baby’s and sweetheart’s, just talk to me like the partner you once were.”

“Fine! I fucked up, Louis!” Harry exclaimed with a fist to the table. “I always knew you’d be upset after I left, and I knew you would be just as upset with me for dodging your calls when I was busy, but I also figured I could make it up to you with this album. I wanted to surprise you with every verse, title, and melody written with you in mind. I thought it would be worth it in the end but I could have never imagined it would send you packing!”

“All I wanted was your attention, I don’t need albums, or soundtracks, or people singing along to my song, I just need you. I need love.”

Attention and love. One in the same with a soul as vividly complex as Louis’. Harry always knew this. He always knew Louis demanded the attention of any room with his boisterous, alluring, electricity, and demanded the same intense focus with love and being tender. It’s just how he worked. And Harry obliged from his rightful place wrapped around his finger.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he leant his clammy forehead against his knuckles. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Or, I don’t know—”

Harry held on for as long as he could, biting his quivering lip to distract himself from the heartache. His chest burned with it, his throat closed up around it, his eyes settled on the holes in his old t-shirt draped around Louis’ bones. He felt so ashamed. So embarrassed. An uncomfortable warmth settled in his stomach and made his vision spin with nausea.

By now, he wished he had just read the papers instead. He’d rather live with contrived language from someone else rather than the humiliation he’s left with—

“I miss you, you know.” Louis’ voice was small and meek and his mumbling lips made it hard to decipher. “I think about us all the time and how I’ve been so lonely without you.”

Harry let his welled up eyes meet the sheen of Louis’ own. He shrugged his shoulders with his fidgeting hands in his lap, and Harry has never seen him look so small, or out of his comfort zone.

“I’m more miserable now than I was when I left.” Louis confessed. His voice edged on desperate and his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. Harry’s throat bobbed at the sight of him. “I thought moving on from you would get easier with time, but here we are, a year in, and I still want you, and I still feel like I ruined the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Lou, you had every right—“

“Do you really think we might still have time?” Louis interrupted with wide, pleading, eyes. “Like you said earlier?”

“I–yes. Of course I do, love—“

“But how?” Louis wailed in disbelief. “How could you ever forgive me? I left because I wasn’t the center of attention, I pretty much expected you to read my mind from three time zones away, and I’ve gone and threatened you with divorce—How can you ever move past that? I left you in such a cowardly way and never once opened up to you about what was bothering me. I purposely made you as miserable as I made myself, and I was just a jealous prick, h-how could you ever forgive that—“

His breathing became hindered and Harry pushed from his chair to kneel by his side, succumbing to every last instinct to soothe the man he loves. Still.

“Hey, hey,” Harry pulled him in, running his hands carefully across the blades of his shoulders, and providing a familiar and gentle relief. “Stop trying to justify your guilt by berating yourself, yeah? Just breathe for me.”

“I—I can’t,” Louis huffed into the shell of Harry’s ear, wheezing to the unsteady pound of his chest. “Can you hold me? Just hold me. Please.”

Never one to deny him, Harry crouched forward and let himself forget about his heartache, and the fucked up situation they were both swimming in. It wasn’t worth it to be prideful now.

“M’right here,” he whispered as he thread his fingers securely though Louis’ hair, and just for a moment let himself indulge in the feel of them. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry held his trembling little love tight and safe, calming him thoroughly with silence and the warmth of his body. It all felt so natural. Both of them a perfect fit in the swell of Harry’s arms. He missed this more than he initially imagined.

“I miss you, too.” Harry murmured against the curve of his ear. Lips caressing around every word. “I always miss you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Louis croaked against Harry’s neck.

“No?” Harry pulled back gently, hands still solidly cupped around the contours of his face. “Why is that?”

“I don’t know—you must be so angry. Or conflicted. I can’t imagine you’d miss me.”

“Conflicted?” Harry quirked. “About what?”

“Us, this meetup, the purpose of me being here,” Louis paused hesitantly. “Our future.”

“I’m not conflicted.” Harry answered surely. “I never wanted any of this and I’m sure you didn’t either.”

“Then why did you agree to this?”

“I didn’t,” Harry laughed bitterly. “All those calls you dodged from me in the beginning? That was my way of fully disagreeing and trying to convince you the same. But as time went on, and you stayed so stubbornly adamant, I had to respect what you wanted. Or what I thought you wanted.”

Guilt fled over Louis’ features as he sighed exhaustedly amongst himself. “I’m sorry,” he gripped on to Harry’s wrists. “I was an idiot to think we could go on without each other.”

“You’re not an idiot. We did,” Harry reminded. “We just weren’t all that happy.”

Louis twisted his lips into an attempted smile and let the corners wobble back down into a frown. His fingertips slid against the blue and green trails of Harry’s veins, tracing up to his steady pulse and back down against the ink of his skin. Harry shivered with it, and let his thumbs caress over the scruff of Louis’ cheekbones.

The clock didn’t seem to mock them now. If anything, time stood still.

“Do you still want me?” Louis asked, guarded and careful. “Even after all I’ve done?”

“‘Course I do.” Harry promised. “I want all of the struggle that comes along with you, too.”

Harry dropped his hands from Louis’ face and gathered Louis’ own between his. Their gaze didn’t break even as Louis looked slightly saddened by the reality of Harry’s words.

None of this would be easy and both of them knew it.

“Do you still want me?” Harry asked with the same careful tone. “Even after all I’ve done?”

The silence between them grew heavy and still as Louis considered his options and left Harry awaiting his answer. It should have scared him. It should have made Harry much more uncomfortable. But hope coursed through his veins, and that’s more than he’s felt in a long time.

“Yeah, I do,” Louis whispered. “I want all the bickering and tears, too.”

They stared back at each other through comfortable silence and misty eyes. Both afraid of the future but choosing to trust each other through the process. Louis ducked his head within Harry’s hold and blossomed under the radiant heat of his own pink blush. The type of pretty bashfulness Harry has conjured up in his dreams and missed every second of his days.

“‘Til death do us part, yeah?” Harry asked around a grin. “As long as there’s therapy involved?”

“Therapy and you.” Louis smiled. It read perfectly as a promise. “Can we go to bed on a note this sweet? I haven’t known rest since I last laid with you.”

Harry chuckled under his breath as he stood up and brought Louis with him. The cuddle that followed came naturally. Along with their sigh of relief and their hands clutching to the fleshiest parts of each other.

“Of course, my love.” Harry thought back to all the sleepless nights spent alone in this house, and how Louis endured the same elsewhere. At least now, they could be restless together. “Let’s get some sleep.”

[jepleurs-icry]

My Life, My Mess, My Legacy Part 2

If you read part 1, then you are getting a glimpse of my earlier years.  Time goes by.  At the end of part 1, I wrote that I should have ran from a relationship that was not easy, it was scary, fearful, confusing, it gave me low self-esteem because I was made to feel that way.

My daughter's are the reason I stayed with him for 11 years.  After 5 years of being married, I knew I had to leave but was not ready yet.  I needed to learn some skills, for work, to support myself for later on.

The divorce came after 11 years, and it was very rough on the girls.  They lived in suitcases for about 5 years of going back and forth, as that was how the divorce settlement was written up.  Not my choice for sure.

Eventually, I did learn that one of my daughter's was caught stealing.  I went right away to the Police station and talked to a Juvenile Officer.  I went to the drugstore and talked to the Manger.  She was pleasant and happy I was addressing the situation so my daughter did not do this again.

Seems like her troubles were happening when she was staying at her Dad's house not mine.  I contacted a good lawyer this time and it was settled that the girl's would stay with me.  They could see their Dad when they wanted, but no more living out of a suitcase.

After that, things settle down.  I moved on, went out, found a group for divorced parents, joined and had fun.

After about 2 years, I met a handsome man who was British.  He was newly divorced and at a dance.  My girlfriend handed him a piece of paper with my name and phone number on it.  He put it in his pocket.  I thought he would call but he did not.

But one day, out of the blue he did call.  He made a date and we went out to dinner that weekend.  We talked for a long time at the restaurant.  Maybe 4 hours.  He had 3 children.  He was smart, different, handsome.  I was attracted to him.  At the end of the date, we had a quick kiss and said goodnight.  That was in 1989.

It was getting close to Christmas and I hadn't heard from him.  He had given me his phone number, but I was not a call the guy type of girl, except this time I did.  He was going to England to see his parents for Christmas.

One Christmas Eve, 1989, I was visiting my Foster Mother in the country where I grew up.  Around 4 o'clock she suffered a stomach hemorrhage and vomited blood.  I called the ambulance, but by the time they reached us they could not intubate her and she passed away.

My daughter's were with me on that dreadful day.  They came with me to the hospital, and had to wait in the waiting room until the coroner came to get me and asked me what happened.

My Foster Mother was on blood thinners since she was 63.  She had surgery to repair the arteries in both her legs as cholesterol had built up.  On Christmas Eve 1989 she was 77 years old.

The coroner said her stomach lining had burst, as the blood thinners had eaten away the lining.

It was really tough to go through that.  It stayed with me for about 5 years and eventually I made peace with that day.  I realized it was a blessing that it happened while I was visiting her.  At least she was not alone.

Then, one day the "guy" called me.  I told him what happened.  He was sympathetic , but not overly so.  That kind of surprised me.  He did not ask me for a 2nd date.

A friend, from the divorced group called me; said she was going to have a dinner party.  A murder mystery dinner.  She was going to call the "guy" up as she had met him at another time and place.  She knew I liked him.

The evening of the party came and it was a lot of fun!  He was there sitting beside me.  But, I stayed cool,  I became sarcastic and indifferent towards him.  The dinner ended, the mystery murder was solved, and everyone went to sit down in the living room.

He could see I was upset at him for not calling me or asking me out again.  I knew he liked me.  Perhaps he was not ready for a relationship.  The time came to say goodnight and we walked out together.  When we got to my car, we kissed and talked for so long.  I knew I wanted this man in my life.

After that, he called all the time.  We went out, I eventually met his children, he met mine.  We became a family.  He was British, sophisticated as the English are but also depending what region they come they can be snobby. He told me or I guess one day I found out he did not like African Americans.

This was disturbing to me, as my Foster parents raised me that a person's color is just a difference.  Nothing to fear.  They were not racist and they taught us (me and my sister) not to be.

But my guy made racial comments at times and they were degrading.  He said it was because his brother who lives in South Africa, had trouble with the locals there.  That was his explanation.  Silently, I hated this part of him.

After 2 years of dating, we became engaged.  We got married.  His parents came over from England for the wedding.  They seemed nice enough.  I noticed that his Mother was scrutinizing me at times.  She would undermine things I said.  I complained to my finance, but he brushed it off.

We rented a convertible to get around in.  I was driving one evening, and ended up in another part of town.  This part of town was not so rich.  The houses were smaller, and you could tell it was a rough neighborhood. Our honeymoon was on Singer Island in Florida.  A rich neighborhood.

In the car he said to  me... What are you doing? Get out of this place.  It's bad people who live here.  Meaning African Americans.  He asked me if I was scared of the neighborhood.  I was naive, I said no.  Again the racial interlude showed it's ugly face.

Honeymoon was over in about 6 days, we returned home (one that I put the down payment on).  His parents had stayed to babysit my dog.  My boxer.  They did a great job and she was a great dog!  The Mother in Law still undermined me. After a week or so the in laws went back to England. Time went by.  We had been married less than a year.  The true colors of MY NEW HUSBAND came out even more..  He stopped paying attention to me.  He became rude, indifferent to my needs or concerns.

Having had an abusive 1st marriage, I was not about to go through this again.  We had been to family counseling prior the wedding.  This helped us because on some weekends, there were 5 children in the house and we did not want to have disciplinary issues.  Things had to be fair.

Like I was some kind of pawn.  He went away for two weeks.   When he came back I did not pick him up from the airport.  He took a taxi home. He entered the house,  I was on the sofa watching TV.   He said to me, " So did you cheat on me while I was gone"?.  I laughed and told him just because it happened to him while he was married to his first wife, I could not never do that. Plus I was still recovering and never went out of the house. For whatever reason, and I will never know exactly, but the idea crossed my mind that he was comfy now, had a home with me in both our names, he was no longer living in a friend's basement.  I will never know why he changed towards me the way he did, but it hurt and it reminded me of my 1st husbands abuse.

I could tell things were not getting better, so I went to see the counselor for myself.  The counselor asked me if my husband was drinking.   Yes, sometimes he would have a beer after work and a couple of them on the weekends.  Which is the norm for some people.  We had liquor downstairs and there were liquor glasses in the dishwasher.  That told me he was drinking after I went to bed. Eventually, while all this neglect and emotional deterioration was going on, I was getting sick.  I could no longer support the beauty salon I had purchased, as the clientele was not there.  The man who sold me the business had lied about the actual income too.  I was in the process of suing him. With the new marriage and the business going down the toilet,    my health paid the price.  I developed an auto immune disorder.  I was weak, had sinus after sinus infections, fever, loss of appetite, and I developed asthma. I was 31 or 32 years old.  I had to quit my job. This went on for 3 months.  During that time, his parents had invited us to go visit them in England sometime in May. They were going to pay for the airfare.  It was a nice gesture, but I knew I could not go. I was just too sick.  I could not face them or his brother and wife, etc. being so sick.   I explained to my husband that it was best that I did not go as I was too sick.  He told me I should go.  But I knew it was impossible for me to travel. As time approached to May his parents called and asked if I was going to come too.  He told them no, as I was still so sick.  Then he told me, I'm glad your not going because I will not let you come with me now. I was so crushed that he said that. So, I went to a support group.  It did not help, it was sad. Stories about their spouses drinking and how the coped with it.  I knew what I had to do.  I did not sign up for this kind of life. I wanted out.  I asked for a divorce in October 1992. The fighting for who was getting the house started almost immediately. I had put down $15,000.00 from my inheritance towards the purchase of this house. He paid the mortgage every month, but I bought the groceries and paid for the cable. He thought he would get the house and I would get nothing. This is what he told me. I responded in kind saying that no judge would give him the house after I had put the down payment and paid for groceries and other things. We finally settled on $10,000 payable to me, and he remortgaged the house and kept it for himself. I didn't care anymore. I just wanted out of the marriage and could hardly wait to start my life over again. So tell me. If you can? Why did I make such a costly mistake. He seemed genuine at the beginning. How did things go south so fast? This is my mess number 2 with men at least. The emotional cost and financial aspect blows my mind! This was a total of 11 + 4 years = 15 years of my life gone down the toilet. The only good thing was my two beautiful daughters. How could I have made such a mistake? I think a trained counselor could have helped me understand the situation. How many times in life do you have to pick up the pieces. I always thought I was smart, intelligent, witty, down to earth, could figure things out, was very independent. But when it comes to love I sucked at recognizing some signs I guess. But if the signs are hidden a person can never know what their future will be. The divorce was going through, and I moved out in December I believe.  He did not even fight for our relationship, which I thought was very sad. If you truly loved someone wouldn't you fight for them?  To make it work I mean. My new life settled in, I was working full-time by then, and seemed happy enough except for money struggles once in awhile I was doing pretty good. It took about 2 years for my health to return to normal.  I became active again in the singles group, joined a softball league, and went back to the dances. Two years past by.  I was starting to forget about "my guy" whom I was crazy about the first few years. Life continues as they say... and that's what happened... my life

continued. Thank you Chickapea

[smarmykemetic]

in another life, nephthys is sitting in a morgue. her fingers go over a body in little searching rivers. she will bring the hearse around and help the body in. in this life, she feels sometimes her real job is protector of the living, not of the dead. who else needs it, after all? the dead are the dead. she arranges them like flower petals. her funeral home comes smelling of coffins, but softly, welcoming. she is known for taking “hard cases,” makes a mangled body look beautiful, the same way she did once, a long time ago, for osiris, who calls her sometimes, when he remembers. anubis and neph get together and shit-talk. she likes dark wine a lot. he likes taxes. osiris is busy. sticks his hands in the dirt and shifts it around. when monsanto comes, osiris floods. catch him out with the bees. catch him telling them the right way to go, but gently. a good leader who is tired, right. had the pride dragged out of him. he likes superman a lot. feels a certain je ne se quoi connection to someone who can’t see through lead. osiris, half-there, half-gone. scattered to the ends of the earth like seeds. anubis - when he’s not folding a fitted sheet - lives in the world of forensic science and judging. dual degree, because he like being busy. meticulous. gets the details right. walks in the world of law and feels a little thrill (just quietly) whenever sentencing someone he knows is guilty. listens well, and always decorates tastefully. eats in tiny bites. likes to cook by weighing things. actually just likes to weigh things. he has a long love-hate relationship of digital scales - so accurate but so unbeautiful. a digital scale takes the uncertainty out. it knows how much a feather heart would be. it is unlike the scales of his hands, the sensation of good/guilty. the word “fair but harsh” follows at his feet. he likes wreaths, the arrangement of something dying. his guilty pleasure is crime tv, although neph won’t watch it with him any more because he can’t help but say things like “in reality, that wouldn’t be sufficient evidence” or “98% of murders go unsolved” or “i can tell by his eyes that he’s guilty”. hathor - twin to destruction - runs a couple’s spa. loves weddings and planning weddings and being at weddings and dancing at weddings. has an elaborate ballroom for elaborate parties where elaborate people go. of course situated on 500 acres of farmland with free-range cows. if you’re really nice to her and she’s really drunk, she’ll let you ride one. always knows what kind of bottle to bring to a party, loves long dresses that flow around her. knows instinctively if you need a hug and is always good for one. once dressed up as sekmet for halloween, to which everyone said “too soon.” has long hair and really bad at palm reading but loves giving advice about your love line. known for massages that are brutal but effective: a little hint of harshness, her twin’s reflection. cries at proposal videos and has a girl’s night every month where they all get together to watch chick flicks. most of them love it, sekmet pretends to hate it just because she likes to complain loudly. sekmet. poor lady. the problem with identical twins is that everyone thinks they’re one and the same person. hathor sprang from a mirror on the day that sekmet looked into her own destruction and split the love she has in her heart with the evil she had wrought. it was lonely, at the end of the world, and her sister came from that loneliness. wears a different pair of glasses every day of the week, always has a biting reply that is unfairly funny. loves glasses that have absurd rims, mostly because she likes watching people squirm when they want to mention them - “do you like them?” she grins, knowing they do not, knowing they will not tell her that, her eyes the unblinking sun glare she’s so good at. she hides in the shadows, doesn’t smile unless you’re uncomfortable, still agrees to get her nails done with hathor every week (coffin-shaped acrylics, obviously). absolutely knows your deepest insecurity instinctively. best friends (and maybe more than friends) with bast. they go motorcycling. bast, made kitten-woman from lion-heart, often gets underestimated, and she’s okay with that. a cat knows when to sheathe claws. how to purr in the right way only to save the fangs for a later day. loves winged eyeliner. buys low, sells high. also runs an all-inclusive women’s shelter and very good at group therapy. the group homes for “lost girls” sprawl across the country. she seems like she’s always there, ready. the minute things get tense and a girl starts acting up: suddenly, her green eyes, watching. that unnerving promise that the protection she offers does not include protection from the growl at the back of her throat. loves stock markets mostly because it’s watching a string, but with data. will also never admit that out loud for any reason ever even if it meant her life was forfeit. kind of has a thing for sekmet, kind of, because, like, who couldn’t. maybe it’s kind of happened a few times oops. often pranks ra, because, like, who wouldn’t. ra works on weekends in animal rehabilitation because where else can you get a hawk in this economy. tired, but good with a smile. teacher at a very fancy art school where he likes to see how many times the words “be creative” can be used in a day. really into that one “miley what’s good” moment from nicki minaj, which he still references even though it’s been a year. tagged it @aset. actually has learned how to get along with osiris, because being in charge honestly got to be too much stress. has convinced hathor his real name is greg. every year he changes it up to something more absurd. last year it was bob. when she gets drunk at the end of the year with sekmet, she always begs him to tell her the truth. he says “okay, okay, okay.” then convinces her it’s Microsoft Word. also owns a large collection of “#1 Dad” mugs. regularly challenges horus to arcade games. horus works in the department of defense. tries to actually defend things, works with the “eye in the sky” and media intake. really likes how cool his eyepatch makes him look. time in this world is so specific, and there’s so much to take in while his eye is wandering. it used to be a lot harder to watch over things. he secretly cries at the movies where the son says “no mom, i’m living your dreams!” but still gets coffee with aset. aset keeps her hair in a bun and her chin up. nobody tries her. on trains, there’s a big circle of space around her, even at rush hour. she bleeds authority. mogul at large, although her interests vary. whatever will bring her upwards, quickly. marriage counselling is quite fun, but she’s thinking about being a divorce lawyer soon. and yet, despite all this fire in her: sweet. knows when to make cookies. she did what she had to do to survive. if you’re loved by her, you’re safe. she doesn’t love often, but when she does, it expands to swell the entirety of space. has a collection of sand dollars and lipsticks. excellent at making someone feel a little less alone. she won’t comfort you with a hug. she’ll show up and be there and somehow, in that knifeblade power she wields, you feel better. whole. set is at the edges. turns out the problem with immortality is that everyone remembers that one time you cain-and-abel’ed your brother. “it’s like,” horus said once while drunk, “can i even trust you anymore?” it hurt worse than set expected. family didn’t matter that much until he was left without it. works in dentistry where he can put people in pain for a fee. secretly covets the color pink; that softer blush than the reds people paint him in. protector of the wild ones, the ones no one else will look after. the darker souls who are still asking for saving. he understands sibling jealousy a lot. sometimes calms people down, sometimes revs them up. cries in bathtubs. feels himself, full of rot. why is it that the gods were made so human, and he, so cruel, so twisted, so evil. to spit at him is good, after all. he breaks like a branch in a storm. goes to pride parades in a mask, wishing for a courage he doesn’t know the name of. he calls toth just to hear him breathe, and then immediately hangs up. and toth? in the land where words are so permanent and impermanent, where wisdom is both a click away and away from those who doesn’t want to see it - doesn’t he suffer the greatest. it was one thing when libraries weren’t a thing. it was another when the world is now a constant updating stream. he feels the echo chambers like bracelets on him. now there’s information everywhere - but nobody willing to actually read. how terrible, how frustrating. and yet: for every person who doesn’t understand “don’t believe everything you read”, there’s another book being quietly self-published that strikes his interest, his longing. in this life, when he can, he turns the computer off and goes for a walk. when he writes come, the gods come. and they talk.

modern (kemetic) gods.

this piece was written for me by the lovely @inkskinned. Thank you so much Raquel!!

[argyle-s]

SOMETHING JUST LIKE THIS CHAPTER 11/?

Rating: Mature (For Later Chapters)

Read at Ao3

Start at the Beginning

Alex shows up at Cat's office, but the visit isn't quite what Cat expects.

Chapter 11 - Of Lighthouses and Shovel Talks

If there was one thing in the world Cat hated more than rich white men who thought they were smarter than her, it was getting knowing looks from employees. Any other day, she would have curtailed it by just demoting someone to the mailroom, but her reign of terror was taking a serious blow, because she couldn’t stop smiling long enough to muster an intimidating glare.  What’s worse, instead of inspiring fear, like it usually did, she could see amusement on everyone’s face because they all knew *why* she was smiling.  She had seriously considering ordering them all into the conference room on thirty-eight and having maintenance brick up the door.  Sadly, that idea was ruined by the fact that her girlfriend would hear the screams and the cries of ‘For the love of God, Montressor’ and rescue the worthless minions.

Still, it was worth it.  Oh, she absolutely should have done the responsible thing and spent the rest of their scheduled meeting working out details and rules of their new relationship, because she was the practical sort.  Instead she’s spent ninety minutes on the balcony making out like she was a teenager.  If she was honest, she’s had honeymoons that made her less excited that getting to second base with Kara.

She’d wanted to take Kara out to dinner after work, but a broken tow line had resulted in cargo barge hitting a cruise ship in Nation’s bay.  Supergirl had spent hours holding the ship up out of the water while the coat guard had welded temporary patches over the huge hole in the side of the cruise ship. Kara had called her afterwards, telling her she needed some time under the sunlamps to recover.

They’d talked for a while.  Cat had teased Kara about the ‘mystery’ weekend, which was sadly still eight days away.  Kara had pouted, which was far less effective when she couldn’t bring the puppy dog eyes to bear.  Reluctantly, they’d said their goodbyes over the phone, and Cat had gone to bed wishing Kara was with her, and for the first time, not ashamed of it.

She’s been a little disappointed when she’d gotten an early morning text about putting out a wildfire upstate, but she was still ridiculously happy.

“Miss Grant?”

Cat looked up from the photo proofs she’d been reviewing to see Eve standing in the doorway to her office and an annoyed Alex Danvers leaning against Eve’s desk with an impatient expression on her face.

“It’s okay,” Cat said.  “Agent Danvers is always welcome.”  She saw the shock on Eve’s face, because the day she’d met Eve, she’d explained that the only people who got in to see her without prior approval were Carter, Kara and Lois.  Adding someone else to that list was a big deal.  “Add Eliza Danvers and J’onn J’onzz to that list as well.”

“Yes, Ms. Grant.”

Eve stepped back out of the office, and waved Alex through.  Cat set down the proof she was working on and settled back in her chair, bracing herself. She supposed she should have expected this.  After all, she knew how protective she was of Kara, and hadn’t she mentioned to the girl that there were plenty of people willing to burn the world to keep her warm?

“May I sit?” Alex asked.

“Of course,” Cat said, keeping the tension out of her voice by sheer force of will.  If this went badly, she and Kara might well be over before they even started.  Kara wouldn’t choose her over Alex for any number of reasons, not the least of which is there was no way in the world Cat would let her.  Eliza, Alex, J’onn and Winn were Kara’s family.

“Thanks,” Alex said as she sat down, and Cat couldn’t help but notice she looked like she’d been crying.

“Are you okay, Agent Danvers?” Cat asked.

“No,” Alex said.  “I’m really not.”

Cat felt her heart seize, because she could only think of one reason Alex would come to her when she was upset.  Apparently, her concern showed on her face, because Alex’s reaction was immediate.

“Kara’s fine,” Alex said.  “Well, fine might be a bit of a stretch.  She’s high as a kite right now, but that will wear off in a few hours.”

“High?” Cat asked.

“Yeah,” Alex said.  “She went to help put out a wildfire this morning, and it turns out the fire got started on a pot farm, and, well, unlike alcohol, Kryptonian physiology doesn’t process cannabinoids so fast it doesn’t have time to impact their physiology.  She put out the fire, but she inhaled enough of the smoke that she’s gonna be stoned for at least another five or six hours.”

“Oh, dear. Is the city’s food supply safe?” Cat asked, fighting back laughter.

Alex grinned.  “The DEO is ordering two large Hawaiian pizzas and fifty Mango Ghost Pepper Wings from Piefection every half hour.  Pot always makes her crave spicy food.”

“I’m afraid to ask why you know that,” Cat said.

“You’ve never noticed Kara’s ‘period chocolate’?” Alex asked, slightly surprised.

“I had,” Cat said.  “But I didn’t look too closely.  I go through three bags of Ghirardelli Dark Chocolate Peppermint Bark every month myself.”

“Kara’s had a medical card since she was thirteen. It’s the only thing mom could find that was effective at treating Kryptonian strength period cramps.  Fair warning, the little twerp doesn’t share.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cat said.  “So, what can I do for you, Agent Danvers?”

“Call me Alex.”

“Okay.  I suppose you should probably call me Cat.”

“Right.  Okay. Um…” Alex took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “I need some advice.”

“From me?” Cat said.

“Yeah,” Alex said.

“I admit, I’m surprised.  I assumed I was in for a shovel talk.  Actually, I think I expected at least three of them. Possibly four, if I ever decide to let Clark back in the building.  Though I expected the one from Winslow would be especially amusing.”

“I would actually pay to see that,” Alex said. “But no.  Kara showed me the paperwork you gave her.  I’ll admit, I was pissed off by some of the things on the list, but I’ve seen you with her, and I know how much of your own time you’ve spent taking care of her with the whole Doomsday thing and the James thing. And I figure anyone who is willing to burn down thirty years of their life to make amends for it when they think they’ve crossed the line might be worth a second chance.”

“And you know I’ll already aware of what you will do to me if I hurt your little sister,” Cat observed.

“Yeah, they won’t find the body,” Alex said.

“If I ever hurt her, Alex, I promise you I will hand you the shovel.”

“After talking to Lois, I believe that,” Alex said.

“Lois Lane?”

“Yeah,” Alex said.  “I needed to deal with the Clark situation anyway, and I had to be sure. I mean, after the paperwork, I figured you were on the level, but this is Kara.”

“And Kara always wants to see the best in people,” Cat finished.

“Yeah,” Alex said.  “I mean, I get it.  It’s how she copes.  She gets up in the morning, and shoves down every shitty thing that’s ever happened to her into a place so deep it can’t hurt her, and the happiness and joy and optimism are the cork in the bottle.  But I’ve been looking out for her for some long it’s like a reflex.  I want to step on anything that so much as looks at her funny.”

“And I’m definitely a threat,” Cat said.

Alex shrugged.  “She loves you,” Alex said.  “I don’t know how long that love has involved the desire to do things that I beg both of you to never, ever tell me about, but she was star struck by you before she even applied at CatCo.  I’m pretty sure she’d do almost anything you asked.  So, I had to be sure.  I figured Lois would give me all the dirty, since, you know, you too make this huge show of hating each other.  Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be total bullshit, and I find out she’s in love with you too.”

Cat flinched, and immediately hated herself for showing weakness.  “I think you’re reading a little too much into whatever it was she said.  Any feelings Lois might have had for me are long gone.”

“Maybe,” Alex said.  “I mean, her exact words were, ‘Clark is the love of my life, but that doesn’t mean I ever stopped being in love with Cat, or that I will ever be over her,’ so I could see how I might be misinterpreting things.”

“Well, Lois’ has never been good at laying out her point in a clear and concise manner,” Cat said, but than a little surprised to hear what Lois had said.

“I know,” Alex said.  “You��d think a Pulitzer Prize Winner wouldn’t be so damn vague, but once I told her why I was calling, she told me a lot of stuff.  About how the two of you got together.  About how much she loved you, but how she couldn’t seem to stop herself from hurting you.  About how much she wanted to be with you and but couldn’t convince herself to take the hit that coming out in the early nineties would have been.  About how you begged her to go to couples counselling, and about how she left you because she thought you deserved someone who wouldn’t be ashamed of what they felt for you.”

“That’s why she left?” Cat asked.  She regretted it immediately, because the question had just slipped out without any filter at all.

“According to her,” Alex said.

Cat took a deep breath and let it out slowly, repeating the process several times as she stomped down on her anger.  “Well, if that’s the case, I think I’m going to speak with my accountant and see about sending her a bill for all four divorces and twenty-five years’ worth of therapy bills.”

“I know the feeling,” Alex said, and Cat was a little surprised at the anger in her voice.  “Trying to understand women is a little like trying to understand Morse Code over a staticky line while your being shot at, and the person transmitting is sending a message in ancient high Kandoran.”

Cat let out a small laugh and had to reach up to cover her mouth to keep from laughing harder, but Alex looked up at her, and Cat could see the annoyance behind those eyes for a moment.  If faded fast though.  When Cat was sure she could control herself, she moved her hand.

“Romantic difficulties?” Cat asked.

“Kind of,” Alex said.  “Honestly, that’s sort of why I’m here.”

“Oh?” Cat said.

“Yeah.  I um… I mean, we don’t know each other well, and I don’t usually ask anyone for advice, but Kara is always talking about the way you’re able to cut through the bullshit and get right to the heart of the problem.  And considering you’ve got my sister, Lois and Lucy Lane, and pretty much the entire Autostraddle readership worshiping the ground you walk on, I thought maybe you could help steer me in the right direction.”

“You’re asking me for romantic advice?” Cat asked, not quite sure how this conversation had taken a turn for the surreal so quickly.

“I guess so,” Alex said.  “Kara said you’d even written a book.”

“Not one of my better works,” Cat said, “but yes.”

“I, um…  I met this woman,” Alex said.  “And I developed feelings.”

“That does happen,” Cat said.

“Yeah.  Um, not so much to me before, but yeah.  She called me out on it, and it scared me, but I got over it and I came out to Kara, and I told this woman how I felt, and I kissed her and…” Alex trailed off, the words clearly coming with increasing difficulty as she got closer to the point.

“She didn’t feel the same way,” Cat said.

“No,” Alex said.  “She didn’t.  She said she didn’t want to get involved with someone who was fresh off the boat.”

“I see,” Cat said.  “What exactly are you looking for, Alex?”

“I don’t know,” she said.  “I mean, it’s not really a break up, but if I’m honest, I was always relieved when a guy dumped me.  Which probably should have clued me into the fact that I’m apparently a huge lesbian.  This… it hurts.  I think about her all the time, and I just hate that I still want to be with her when she doesn’t want me, and I feel humiliated that the first time I’ve ever cared about someone like that, I’m not good enough for them.  And I just…  I need to know how to move on.  And I don’t want to drag up any painful memories for you, but when Lois told me what happened, I thought…  You’ve been through this and maybe you could tell me how to make it stop feeling like someone cut me open and hollowed me out inside.”

Cat watched as Alex sat there, pouring her heart out.  Somewhere about half way through, Alex had started crying, and Cat felt her heart breaking for the other woman.  She normally hated seeing people cry, but apparently, women named Danvers were a weak spot for her otherwise prickly exterior.  Besides, this one was an easy fix.  After all, she had written the book.

“She didn’t say she didn’t want you,” Cat said.

“What?” Alex asked.

“Alex, if you’re telling me everything, then she didn’t say she didn’t want you.  She said she was nervous about getting involved with someone who’d just come out. And given that, prior to your sister, the most meaningful relationship of my life turned into a disaster because, among other things, the woman I was in love with was so deeply closeted that she would treat me like she hated me in public, and I was so hurt I couldn’t stop myself from lashing out in return, I can understand her point.  It doesn’t mean she’s right, but I can understand it.”

“Then what do I do?” Alex asked.

“Don’t be fresh off the boat,” Cat said.  Alex gave her a confused look, and Cat sighed and reached down, opening one of the draws in her desk and pulling out a paperback book. “I had originally intended to give this to your sister when she was pining for Oslen, but then two of my employees went all revengy, aliens mind controlled the whole city, and before I could give her the book, the two of them seemed to sort it out.  So, today is your lucky day.”  She held out the book to Alex.

“The Lighthouse Technique?” Alex asked, giving the book a dubious expression.

“Yes,” Cat said.  “Like I said, not my best work, but it got me a spot on Oprah.  The point is, this woman…”

“Maggie,” Alex said.

“This Maggie is interested, but she afraid you’re going to get cold feet and go scampering back to Narnia, or realize this is just an experiment, or something equally ridiculous.  So, you need to allay those fears.  Show her you’re the outest, proudest lesbian on the block. Make yourself shiny and attractive, but most of all, make yourself unavailable.  When she sees everything you have to offer being offered to someone else, it will drive her crazy, and sooner or later, she’ll come to you, hat in hand.”

“But how do I do that?”

“That’s a good question,” Cat said as she reached for her phone.  “Are you free Friday night?” Cat asked as she flicked through her contacts.

“Baring an alien invasion,” Alex said.

“Good,” Cat said as she hit the send button, and raised the phone to her ear.

“CAT!” the woman on the other end of the line responded.

“Hey, Claire,” Cat replied.  “How are you this morning?”

“Oh, you know how it is.  I deal with nothing but lawyers and FBI agents all day.”

“You’re a Federal Judge, Claire,” Cat said.

“I know,” Claire replied.  “My mother is so ashamed.”

“Your mother is a Hippy who hasn’t realized the sixties are over.”

“This is true,” Claire said.  “Now, tell me darling, why did you call?  Finally decided you needed a younger woman in your life after all?”

“Yes, but her name is Kara, and she’s the jealous type.”

“The assistant!  Oh, Cat, that is so cliché!  I love it!”

Cat glanced up at Alex who has an utterly bewildered expression on her face, and grinned.  “Well, you’re going to love this even more.  She’s got an absolutely gorgeous sister who’s an FBI agent.”

“Please tell me she’s gay,” Claire said.

“Just out of Naria, dear,” Cat said, smiling at the sudden look of panic on Alex’s face.  “The problem is, the toaster oven recipient doesn’t want to date someone who’s fresh off the boat.”

“Oh, the poor little baby gay!  This will never do!” Claire replied.  “Send me a picture.”

Cat took the phone away from her ear and activated the Camera, snapping a picture of a slightly shocked Alex and sending it to Claire.

“Oh, the poor dear has been crying, too,” Claire said. “Friday night?”

“I’ll text you her phone number.  Seven O’clock good for you?”

“Yes,” Claire said.  “Tell her to bring her handcuffs!”

Cat laughed as Claire hung up.  She looked over at Alex.

“You have a date with Claire Deangelo Friday night at 7:00 PM,” Cat said.

“The warrant judge?” Alex squeaked.

“Oh, you know her then?” Cat asked.

Alex shook her head.  “Not personally, but she signs about half our warrants.”

“Well, I suggest you don’t take any for her to sign Friday.  But do dress up.  I’ll have Eve arrange a town car.”

“Um… but… where will I take her?” Alex asked.

Cat rolled her eyes.  “You really are just as bad as your sister.  Eve will arrange a town car.  GLAAD is holding a fundraiser Friday night.  I usually just send my donation by courier, but you can take the tickets.  There’s an open bar, and Claire is a divine dance and despite being a huge flirt won’t expect anything but a bit of pleasant company for the evening, so relax. You’ll go, you’ll get your picture taken with a beautiful, successful woman on your arm, and if those pictures just happen to find their way in front of Maggie, well, it’s not your fault.”

Alex stared at her for moment, her jaw hanging down slightly, before she seemed to shake herself out of it.  “I’m not sure if you’re brilliant, or crazy, but please don’t ever go Supervillain,” she said.  “We wouldn’t have a chance.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Cat said.  “I’m me.”

“Thank you,” Alex said.  “Not just for this.  For taking care of my sister, and for dealing with Clark and James.”

“You can thank me when your Maggie comes to you begging for a date.  Now give me her contact information so I can make sure she sees the pictures of you and Claire.”

[justaprettylittlesoulwriter]

Chapter One Excerpt

Another Excerpt from Chapter One of You & I

The oven beeps loudly, over and over, reminding me that the casserole is done. I ignore it for a few moments as I study the pictures on the hallway wall. Pictures of my mom and dad smiling, young and free. I can see where I get pieces of myself from them; dad’s blue eyes, mom’s sharp jaw and long nose, dad’s thin lips and his hair color before he began to bald. Sometimes when I really take the time to look over these pictures, I like to imagine the kind of couple they were before they had me.

There are stories I’ve heard from family events, the rare times we see extended family during holidays, of how dad used to buy mom flowers and serenade her with gifts to show his undying love for her.

I tear myself from the hallway to pull the casserole from the oven and turn the timer off. I set the steaming glass pan on the stovetop and look up in surprise when sharp, stiletto footsteps enter the kitchen.

“Mom.”

“Melody. How was therapy?” She sets her bag down onto the kitchen chair and shrugs off her coat.

I watch her for a moment, the way her shoulders roll, the way her arms move and I almost smile. Almost. Somewhere she’s still the mom that held me close when I was a little girl.

As mom turns to lean down and tug her high heels off, I turn the oven off and grab two plates, one for me and one for mom. I scoop casserole onto each plate, hesitating on a reply for her question. I know she’s waiting for a response, especially when she asks me again as though I didn’t hear her the first time.

“Yeah, no I heard you. It’s fine mom.” I set the plates on the table and move towards the fridge to pull out juice. “Same as always.”

“Are you opening up to her? I do hope you aren’t being stubborn about this, Melody. I don’t pay for you to go for you to not actually participate in it.”

Mom settles down at the table and takes a bite of casserole as I pour juice into glasses for us. I set one before mom and take my seat across from her with my own. Mom glances at the juice for a moment, then looks over at me.

“Well?”

“I don’t know mom.” I mumble. “I’m trying.”

“Are you? I know your idea of trying.”

I shovel a forkful of casserole into my mouth to avoid snapping a response. Mom gives me a frustrated look, but drops the topic for a few minutes while we eat. I take a sip of my juice and finally answer her.

“I am trying. I just don’t know what you think this is going to help with. Do you think I’m going to change my mind about my passions, or magically stop feeling sad? Do you think I’m going to start participating in life more, or get over… her. I don’t really know what you want from this.”

“It’s not for me, Mel.” She says, exasperated. “It’s to help you. I don’t agree with some of your choices for the future, and I have no problem voicing those issues and trying to guide you in a better direction, but the therapy is to help you. I want you to feel happier.”

“It’s not going to happen just because I talk about things, mom.”

Mom sets her fork down and places her full attention on me. “It might, you don’t know.”

“No, I think I do know. I think I know my body and my mind better than you do!” I snap, unable to help myself.

“You’re being dramatic now. You’re fine. I wish you could see that. I hope that Dr. Bailey will make you see that.”

I shove my chair back and stand abruptly. “I’m not fine. I don’t know why you can’t understand that.” I retort.

I take my plate to the sink and allow it to clatter loudly before I storm towards my room. I slam the door shut behind me, then lean against it. I slowly sink to the floor, tugging my knees to my chest and leaning my forehead against my thighs.

To mom, the sadness and lack of motivation and negative thoughts were simply because you left, but if she’d only paid more attention, she’d know that these things have been present for years, even before you came into my life. When you left, yeah, it hurt more than ever before, but it wasn’t the cause, and it certainly wouldn’t go away if you came back.

You used to sit on the phone with me for hours some nights when I couldn’t sleep because the thoughts were so intense; low self-esteem and hate for myself. You’d try and tell me how beautiful I was, how intelligent, how important I am in this world, and even though the words were honest, sometimes it just made me feel more hallow.

 After a while, I get up and gather pajamas before heading towards the bathroom. I turn the water on as blistering hot as it will allow and strip my clothes to get into the shower. The water scalds my skin; not enough to leave burns, really, but enough to turn my skin red and irritate it. The pain temporarily numbs the insanity inside, and I stand in there long enough to prune. I debate on staying in until the water turns cold, but a bang on the door and the sound of mom’s voice shouting at me to get out makes me turn the water off.

She sounds unhappy, but that’s not a surprise. Her voice fades away, her irritation turning towards dad, who must be awake now. I dry myself off and tug on my pajamas before wrapping my long hair in a towel. I leave the bathroom with my dirty clothes and try to escape back to my room, but mom shouts for me.

Sometimes I think she has the ears of a bat.

I drop my dirty clothes off in my clothes hamper and trudge back towards the living room where she paces and dad sits on the couch. He looks less drunk, but he still reeks and his eyes are still bloodshot. I stand in the archway, arms crossed over my chest as I wait for whatever it is she wants to say.

“Melody, your father and I have been talking.” She looks over at me, green eyes shielded.

Dad fidgets on the couch, turning some to look at me over the back of the couch. Unlike mom, his blue eyes look sad.

“Okay?”

“Your father and I are going to separate.”

“You mean a divorce?” I look between them in confusion. “Why?”

“You know why, Mel.” Dad says softly.

My heart squeezes in my chest. “Because of the drinking? Can’t you just got to AA meetings or something, try to work it out? What about marriage counseling? You’ll send me to therapy, but you won’t try therapy to work through things?”

“I don’t have the time for therapy.” Mom interjects. “And I don’t want to work things out with your dad. He’s made his choice; alcohol.”

I flinch at that, her tone sharp and hard. It was no secret that dad was an alcoholic, but I always thought that if it really came down to something like this, mom would give him a chance to make it right. Here we are though.

“Mel, it’s okay.” Dad speaks up. “It’s okay.”

I swallow hard and look between them again, mind racing. Maybe it was partially my fault; I wasn’t the greatest daughter, and I should have encouraged dad to try harder and go to meetings, or remind mom of how much dad loves her, or done something to help keep this from happening.

“I’m going to bed.” I say. “Night.”

I turn abruptly and head back towards my room. The minute I leave the living room, I can hear the two of them arguing again. It makes me sick to think of what might happen; who will have custody of me, and where will dad live? What if his drinking just gets worse?

I climb into bed with a heavy heart, incapable of sleeping but trying nonetheless. It takes hours before sleep sneaks up on me and I give in, anxious for what the morning will hold.

[solisluccile]

Can Your Spouse Stop You From Getting A Divorce Eye-Opening Useful Tips

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Stop Sbp After Divorce

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How To Save A Marriage During Separation

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