#okay so this turned into a 'mickey made a friend on their floor ficlet' as well but I'm not too mad at it???

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 7: Meet-Ugly

And for my final trick: have 1,084 words of post-S11 bickering husbands and introspection, with a tiny sprinkle of angst and fluff.

Read below or on AO3.

---

What Those Assholes Know

It takes effort not to slam the cupboard door. It takes effort to pour a glass of water and drink it slowly. It takes effort to turn around, calmly, and look at Mickey rather than, says, storm past him and sulk on the balcony.

”What?” Mickey asks.

He's leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and staring at Ian with eyebrows raised.

It takes effort to just grit his teeth a little and to keep his voice steady. ”Think maybe you could stop doing that?”

”Do what?” Mickey asks.

It takes effort not to snarl you think you're playing dumb but you really are a fucking idiot, you asshole.

Ian closes his eyes for a moment, counts to three. They're adults. They're married. They need to talk about this stuff, and he won't let Mickey goad him into having a fight (likely to end in angry fucking) instead of discussing it like responsible, mature people.

He opens his eyes again and fixes them on his husband. ”Telling people that you used to steal shit from the store where I worked and that I got pissy when you punched my boss and took his gun and when I came to take it back you pounded the hell out of me and then I pounded the hell out of you, 'if you know what I mean'.”

”Least I leave out the part where you were fifteen and sleeping with your married boss.”

He does, and Ian supposes he should be thankful for small favours, but he doesn't feel like being thankful. He feels like throwing his empty glass at Mickey because he knows that Mickey is doing this shit on purpose. Mickey might not give a damn about what people think but he knows that Ian cares, at least a little, and Mickey isn't actually stupid so he knows how people react when he tells them stuff like that too.

And still he keeps doing it, whenever any of their new neighbors or the guys from their pilates class or one of the other security teams running weed asks about how him and Ian met. This time it had been the couple living two doors down; last week it was bartender at the pub they'd started hanging out at when they couldn't be bothered to make it over to the South Side and the Alibi.

”I don't know what the big deal is,” Mickey insists, with dogged casualness. ”I mean, it's the truth.”

”Yeah, but so is we met through my sister, she and Ian are best friends, and that doesn't make people feel so uncomfortable they start avoiding us.”

”No one's avoiding us, man.”

”No? What about Mrs. Jensen on the third floor? She practically threw herself down the stairs yesterday when she saw us coming.”

Mickey scrunches up his face. ”That old bat? You really wanna talk to her?”

And no, not really, since she yaps on endlessly about her dead dog and seems like she's secretly a racist, but: ”That's not the point. We–

”Isn't it?” Mickey interrupts. ”Listen man, if they can't deal with the way we got together, they ain't gonna like us in the long run anyway. Isn't it better to weed out the losers straight away than to waste time playing nice with people ain't ever gonna accept us for who we are?”

Oh. Ian blinks, because put like that...

”I mean,” Mickey presses on, ”unless you're fucking ashamed of it or something.”

He still sounds perfectly disinterested, like the topic doesn't concern him in the slightest, but he's suddenly avoiding Ian's gaze and rubbing at his eyebrow.

Oh, Ian thinks again. Okay, maybe he should have seen this coming.

”No,” he says carefully and with great emphasis as he takes a step closer to Mickey and tries to catch his husband's eyes. ”I'm not ashamed, Mickey.”

Not of how they started and not of anything that they are.

Not of Mickey, not ever.

”Just figured it might be easier for us here if we don't go out of our way to tell everyone how different we are,” he continues as he reaches out to put a tentative hand on Mickey's neck and run his thumb over the back of his head.

Mickey still doesn't look at him but he doesn't shy away from the touch either.

”Like, we don't have to be friends with anyone, but it would it really be so bad to be friendly with them? Make them less likely to complain to Melaine when we fuck too loud.”

Maybe it's cheap and sneaky to use that as an argument, but it seems to do the trick – or maybe Mickey's just reassured by Ian's professed lack of shame – because Mickey makes a face, but moves a bit closer so that Ian can wrap his arms around him and put his chin on top of his head.

”I guess,” he mutters into Ian's shoulder – but after a moment he pulls back to stare up at Ian with an intent look on his face. ”But you really think it's worth pretending to be some normal fucking Joe just so assholes you don't give two shoots about don't look at you funny?”

Ian frowns. There's no trace of feigned nonchalance in Mickey's voice now; there's no attempts to avoid Ian's stare. His husband is completely serious, and it occurs to Ian that maybe this isn't just about Mickey and Mickey's insecurities, but about Ian, too, and Mickey's concern for him.

Mickey's concern for Ian, who has tendency to conform to expectations of others, sometimes to the point of losing sight of his own wants and needs.

For Ian, whom Mickey never wants to see make himself small and bland and anything less than himself.

Letting go of a long sigh, Ian smiles, though the shape of it tastes bittersweet in his mouth, and he pulls his arms tighter around his husband and drops a kiss on his hair.

”I guess not,” he allows. ”But maybe we find some sort of middle way? A compromise?”

”Yeah? Like what?”

”I don't know. But we can think about it, maybe?”

”Yeah, okay.” Mickey sounds decidedly put-upon, but that's just Mickey. He makes no move to break away from the embrace.

Ian smiles and runs a hand through his husband's hair and loves him and it takes no effort at all.

---

HEY I MADE IT! One thing for each day of Gallavich Week DONE! There were quite a few times when I really, truly doubted that I’d make it, but here we are! I’m exhausted and delighted and I will be having champagne to celebrate now!

(I had thought to play this theme straight, btw, because I love meet-uglies and they work SO WELL for Ian and Mickey, buuuut... )

Massive thanks to @gallavichthings for putting this together yet again!  The effort you put in to make this happen for the fandom is much appreciated; you are a star! I'm extremely eager to catch up on all the exciting stuff I haven't had time to look at properly yet because I was busy writing my own little ficlets. To-read list is looking great. XD

#gallavich #gallavich week 2021 #gw2021 #ficlet #my stuff

[arrowflier]

One of the Girls (Ficlet)

Daily Speedwrite #8.  The struggle is real today; I spent longer than I meant to at work and haven’t done a single productive thing since I got back.  But now I locked myself in my study with a gin and juice and my computer, so let’s see what happens before I need a refill.  

When Ian told Mickey that girls wouldn’t want to hear about their sex life, he had no idea just how wrong he was.

He had been on his way down to the laundry room of their new apartment complex when he ran into Jill and her friends, holding a pile of stained bedsheets and boxers discreetly wrapped in a plastic bag.  One of these days he’d convince Mickey that they needed a basket, but for now this would have to do.  

They were wandering down the hall just in front of him, and he assumed they were heading out since they weren’t holding anything of their own, but to his dismay they turned into the laundry room before he did.

“I’m telling you,” one of Jill’s friends was saying, “you have to spice things up a little!”

Another woman laughed.  “Have you even met Alan?” she asked.  “I don’t think he’s up for spicy, Kelly.”

Jill gave them both a soft whack on the arm as she made for one of the machines, glaring back at them when she bent down to open it.  “Shut up,” she groused.  “We’re doing just fine.”

Ian hovered in the doorway a moment before sliding through quietly, hoping to avoid notice by taking the machine closest to the entry.  He set his bag down and started to rustle through it, wincing inwardly at the not-so-discreet sound of the plastic.

Just as he pulled the first item free, he was spotted.

“Ian!” Jill greeted, a little too eagerly.  She shushed her friends, clearly glad to have a distraction, and leaned forward to rest her arms on the top of her machine.  “This is Kelly,” she introduced, pointing to the blonde that had tried to give her advice, “and this is Ricky.”

They both gave short waves, Kelly looking him up and down in a way that made the back of his neck go red. 

“What are you doing down here?” Jill asked, going back to pulling her clothes from the washer.  She passed a few wet items to Ricky, who bent to throw them into a dryer across the narrow room.  “I thought Mickey did the laundry.”

Ian choked on a sudden laugh, and then schooled his expression when he saw Jill’s eyes widen.  “Uh, yeah,” he said.  “But he keeps bringing back the wrong stuff, so...”

“Oh yeah,” Jill realized.  “Alan went on forever about that damn shirt, even though you returned it.”  She shrugged.  “Oh well.  I’m sure Mickey is happy to pass off some chores anyway.”

Ian felt his eyebrows rise.  Just how often was Mickey down here, anyway?

“So,” Kelly started, moving forward to crowd Ian against the wall.  “You got a roommate?  That’s cute.”  She flashed white teeth at him, and he moved sideways until he was stopped by the washer he had claimed.

“Something like that,” he replied cautiously.

“Kelly, back off,” Jill said with an inelegant snort.  “He’s married.”  When her friend just looked at her, she added, “to Mickey.”

Kelly pouted, but backed away.  “Too bad,” she said, then, “I guess now I know what the big deal is.”

Confused, Ian just turned back to his task, letting Jill wrangle her friends.  He just wanted to get the laundry done and get back upstairs to his husband, who was impatiently awaiting the clean sheets.  Someday they’d have to get a spare set.

But as he pulled them from the bag, a pair of underwear fell free onto the floor, and all hope of avoiding further conversation was lost.

“Whoa, what happened to those?” Ricky asked from across the room.

Ian looked down, expecting a few awkward stains or something, and instead found Mickey’s boxer briefs, torn clear apart at the side seam with frayed threads visible against the tiled floor.

“Um,” he said.  “Nothing?”  He moved his tongue in his mouth, paranoidly checking for fabric in his teeth and thanking any deity that would listen when he found none.

“That,” Kelly said with a raised brow, “is not nothing, my new gay friend.”

Even Jill seemed curious, and they all came closer.  Ian glanced toward the open door, but it was as good as a mile away with the three women standing in front of it.

“Tell us everything,” Ricky demanded.

---------

Almost an hour later, Mickey wandered down to the laundry room in one of Ian’s old hoodies and a pair of too-large boxers, wondering what the hell was taking him so long.  Did he not know how to use the fucking machines or something?  Mickey did their laundry all the time, it wasn’t that complicated.

He heard the raucous laughter from halfway down the hall, and sped up when he recognized Ian’s voice among it.

“Moral of the story, ladies,” his husband was saying, “don’t add hot sauce to your food before you--”

“Ian!” he yelped from the doorway, taking in the sight of the redhead leaning casually against a dryer, surrounded by women who appeared to be completely enraptured by his story.

Ian cut off, and they turned to look at him as one.  “Mickey!” they all cheered, and he finally noticed the empty bottle of wine balanced precariously on a pile of clean clothes in Jill’s laundry basket.

Ian looked away first, confused, and asked “Wait, how do you guys know Mickey?”  Jill gave him a look, and he added, “Not you, Jill, shut up.”

Oh good, so his lightweight of a spouse had been drinking too.  Mickey sighed.

Jill answered anyway.  “Mickey’s in here all the time, isn’t that right girls?”

Kelly and Ricky nodded enthusiastically.  “He has the best stories,” Kelly gushed.  “Talks about his husband all the time,” she added slyly, and Mickey wanted to deck her when a smug smile blossomed on Ian’s face.  

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted.  “Hate to disrupt this love fest, but grab the sheets and let’s go, Firecrotch.”

“That’s what he always calls you!” Ricky chortled.

“Ooh, doing sheets again already?” Kelly added.  “Talk about keeping things spicy.” She waggled her eyebrows, and Mickey knew his own eyebrow was twitching. 

“No, no,” Ian said, “we just talked about that, spicy is bad!”

Then they were off again, until Mickey dragged Ian up by the arm and steered him to the door.

“That’s enough, man,” he complained.  “Stop tellin’ everyone our business.”

“But you tell them our business, Mick,” Ian said plaintively.  “Why is okay for you to do it?”

“I do not,” Mickey denied, but he was immediately undermined by Jill calling out, “See you next week, Mickey!  Bring a new story!” as they walked away.

“Damn women,” he grumbled as he shoved Ian ahead.  “Can’t keep a fuckin’ secret to save their lives.”

“Aw, don’t worry Mick,” Ian said as he slowed, making Mickey run into his back so he could get an arm up and around his neck.  “I think it’s cute that you’re one of the girls.”

Mickey shrugged out of the awkward hold, only to get up next to Ian and wrap an arm around his waist instead.  “You’re one to talk, Gallagher,” he said.  “Getting white girl wasted on laundry day, Jesus.”

Ian stopped again, mouth a perfect O, and slapped Mickey in the chest.  “Mick, we forgot the sheets!”

Mickey groaned, then turned around to face the music again.  Of course they fucking did.

#daily speedwrite #gallavich #fanfic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #original character #but really #has Ian ever talked to a girl about Mickey that wasn't related to one of them #because I think they'd be more interested than he thought

[deathbecomesnerds]

“Girls Night” -- Raymond/Astrid

Just some fluff that I’ve been working on between Raymond and Astrid Smith. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna start posting all the ficlets I’ve done onto my A03 soon so everything is on the same outlet. 

She got comfortable with her third cocktail of the night; Astrid and her brood of friends had left the disco behind and went two doors over to the pub that they’d wanted to try but never got around to.

As they sat around the booth, drinking, Celeste started a game of ‘Truth or Dare’ which Astrid didn’t even know was a ploy to test her drunkenness.

“Astrid, truth or dare?”

Astrid thought for a moment “Truth.”

Celeste smirked “What’s the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done?”

Astrid thought about it, brushing hair away from her face as she did before chuckling to herself “…I licked Peanut Butter off my husband's dick.” She said confidently.

The girls gasped, and Celeste blushed--she didn’t know her friend and boss went that hard when it came to her husband; Celeste immediately turned to the bartender and smiled “Can we get 12 more of those cocktails?” she pointed to the drink in Astrid’s hand.

The others turned back to Astrid, Monica tried to stifle her laugh as she looked at her friend “And...was that something Ray agreed to, or wanted you to do?” she asked.

Astrid laughed out loud “You guys are so perverted,” she said, taking another sip of her drink “He went to this work dinner, and he got back really late and he brought a new jar of Peanut Butter and a spreader with him and said that he was going to lick it off of me--so I said: oh, okay--so you want to play that game tonight? Why don’t I lick Peanut Butter off of you!?” she explained.

“...and?” Celeste asked.

Astrid looked at Celeste “AND...we licked Peanut Butter off of each other all night. I thought we were gonna…” she grinded her hips against the air as she sat “...after awhile, but he said not until we used up the whole jar.” she explained.

They all laughed, and Amanda, who sat next to Astrid, blushed hard.

“It took three and a half hours.” Astrid said.

The girls gasped in shock again--nobody knew what to say as Astrid smirked and took another sip of her cocktail while the waitress came with four more cocktails and rested them on the table before leaving.

Amanda grabbed one and licked her lips, glancing over at Astrid “...what’s Ray like?” she asked.

Astrid glanced at her friend, before seeing the other three nodding in agreement with mentions of ‘seeing’ Ray, but now really knowing who he was. Astrid couldn’t help but let out a smile as she had forgotten the mystery that Ray had to him--since she knew all the facets of the man, she usually thought nothing of his broad and terrifying frame when he would come into the cafe with Mickey.

“He’s a bit of a perfectionist. OCD-borderline, seriously. Not in the cutesy way, but the actual: if I don’t do things this way, then bad things are gonna happen. He’s very giving, and very loving...it’s weird how people assume that I’m just a possession to him.” Astrid explained, finishing her cocktail--Celeste immediately passed her another.

Celeste nodded in agreement “He definitely is obsessed with you in a Gomez Addams sort of way.” she admitted.

Monica grabbed a cocktail “Yeah, he’s definitely scary when he comes in. The thought of seeing him smile makes me nervous.” she admitted.

Celeste snorted “I’ve seen him smile, it’s a trip!”

Astrid just shook her head at her friends and took a sip from her next drink, letting go of the conversation and enjoying her evening when out of nowhere she then lost count of her cocktails and sat with her feet up against the booth they were all sitting at.

Her friends all glanced at each other: time to call Ray.

Celeste watched Astrid giggle while playing with her cocktail straw as Celeste used Astrid’s phone to call Ray, who was referred to as ‘Raymond ❤️’.

As the dial tone rang, she almost didn’t expect an answer when the call was finally picked up and a voice could be heard in the background.

“Hello, my love.” Ray cooed.

Celeste blushed “Oh, this is so awkward. Uh, hey…Ray, it’s Celeste!”

“Is she alright?” His voice changed, the sultry lover going now full protective, and Celeste wasn’t going to lie—she was turned on by it.

Celeste shook her head “Yeah! Of course! She’s just a bit…no, she is completely three sheets to the wind.” She admitted.

“Are you at the club?” He asked, she could hear him moving around.

“No, we are actually at a pub, two doors over. They’re going to close soon, so the bartender keeps giving us the stink eye.” She explained.

Ray gently grunted “Alright, I’ll be there in a bit. Don’t get into trouble.” He said before hanging up.

Celeste blushed again—now she understood completely as she glanced over at Astrid, Monica, and Amanda. This was going to be good.

He must have been around the corner, or possibly even speeding, because in five minutes on the dot—Ray pulled up to the pub. He walked in with swagger and confidence in his Mustard Yellow sweater and a pair of jeans which made all of Astrid’s friends swoon.

“Ray!” Celeste called out, getting his attention.

Ray turned to the table of drunk girls, and Astrid…who was being force fed water as Amanda put a straw to her lips. He sighed heavily as he approached the table.

“How much has she had?” He asked.

The girls looked at each other before Monica sighed “We lost count at 8.” she admitted.

“Oh, Astrid.” he murmured.

Astrid looked up at him and smirked “You remind me a lot of my husband!” She giggled.

“Oh, do I now?” Ray asked, before he motioned for Amanda to get out of the booth so he could retrieve his wife.

He laid a gentle, single hand on Astrid to scoot her to the end of the booth before Astrid got an attitude. “Hey—do you know who the fuck I am??! Get your hands off me!” She slurred, Ray couldn’t help but smirk.

“Star, it’s only me. Relax!” Ray said softly.

She grumbled, slowly getting out of the booth before Ray scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the car “Do you feel like you’re going to vomit at all?” He asked her softly as they left the pub, Astrid shook her head.

“You’re sure?”

Astrid nodded “Yes, Raymond.”

Her friends followed them out and watched the cute scene unfold where Astrid reached out for the drive side door and opened it, while Ray sighed heavily.

“Love, no! We’re not in the states.” Ray said.

Astrid glared at him while he opened up the backseat door “We’re not? Then where the hell are we?” She asked.

Ray chuckled “Don’t worry about it, we’re going home.” He said while maneuvering her into the backseat and buckled her in, stroking her cheek gently before closing the door and glancing at her friends.

“How bad is the tab?” He asked.

Celeste shook her head “Don’t worry, we handled it.” She said before handing Ray Astrid’s clutch.

Ray nodded as he took it “Thanks, Celeste. Goodnight, ladies!” He waved before getting into the car and driving away.

The ladies sighed with relief, getting ready to go back into the pub to grab their things.

“He is so fucking hot.” Monica murmured.

He managed to get her home and carried her inside before Astrid said she was going to throw up and wobbled her way into the downstairs bathroom and luckily made it to the toilet on time.

Ray slowly walked in to see his wife gripping tightly to the porcelain bowl that he was going to have to clean later—but it didn’t matter at this moment as Astrid slid in her heels and fell onto the floor, still gripping the toilet.

“Oh, my love, what are we gonna do with you?” He asked, kneeling down to remove Astrid’s high heels.

Astrid pressed her head against the cold bowl “Wait for the sweet relief of death, probably.” She whined.

Ray chuckled “Maybe,” he muttered to her.

He looked her over, still worse for wear as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear “You think you can stand up?” He asked.

She shook her head.

Ray understood, gently picking her up after flushing the toilet and carried her upstairs into their bedroom suite where he immediately sat her down by the toilet “I’ll be right back.” He said, quickly walking out of the bathroom to retrieve a glass of water.

Astrid groaned as she rested her cheek against the toilet seat, knowing that she would probably throw up again, but wasn’t sure when as she waited for Ray to return with a tall glass of water, and a Gatorade.

“Where did you get that?” Astrid muttered with a chuckle.

Ray smiled “I just found it in the back of the fridge--I guess one of us bought it awhile back and forgot about it.” he said as he rested both drinks on the counter and Ray kneeled before sitting next to Astrid “...do you still feel sick, my Star?” he asked her.

She nodded “I’m sorry, Ray.” she muttered.

“Why are you sorry, my love?”

Astrid shrugged “Cause I drank too much and you had to come get me…”

Ray stroked her hair “Nothing to be sorry for. Did you have a good time?” he asked.

Astrid nodded.

“Good.” he smiled at her.

Her face changed again, her pale skin going completely colorless and Ray knew where it was going as he practically leapt forward and pulled back Astrid’s hair from her face as she threw up again. Ray rubbed her back gently as his wife’s face was completely in the toilet before sitting back again and sighed heavily.

“Do you feel better?” he asked her.

She nodded “Yes,” she told him “Can you get the mouthwash?” she asked him.

“Absolutely!” he said cheerfully as he stood up and grabbed his bottle of mouthwash and handed it to Astrid.

He watched as she poured an amount into the cap and shot it before swishing it around in her mouth for a bit and then spitting it into the toilet before slowly starting to stand up with the help of Ray.

The room was spinning as Astrid fell into Ray’s arms and her knees gave out, Ray panicked for a moment as he looked at Astrid.

“Are you going to be sick again?” he asked her.

“I don’t think so,” Astrid admitted.

Ray huffed, scooping up Astrid into his arms and hurried her towards the bed and laid her down “Don’t worry about a thing, my love, I will take care of you.” he said before taking off her glittery top and unbuttoned her pants before peeling them off.

Astrid groaned, feeling the cold air against her skin as she wrapped the comforter around her body and maneuvered her head to her pillow; Ray couldn’t stop himself from smirking as he was planning on dressing her in her pajamas, but it was obvious that the drunk American had other plans.

He quietly walked into the bathroom to retrieve the water and bottle of Gatorade and moved them to her night table, not wanting to disturb her before he looked her over one last time before gently backing out of the bedroom to finish a quick task in his office before returning to bed to be with Astrid.

#raymond smith #charlie hunnam #the gentlemen

[avaalons]

Chris Evans Fic: Starting Over

Lil’ angsty ficlet for you here with a smidge of hope on the horizon: another anonymous request. You nonnies are just loving the angsty break up fics lately!

Enjoy!

***

Chris drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, impatient for the stop light to flash green. He just wanted to get this over with, because it was going to fucking hurt.

Driving to his own home, where he wasn’t currently living, to pick up his kids just so he could see them was something he never thought he would be doing. He’d waited so long to actually settle down, waited for his career to be at the right point so that he could give his all to his future wife and kids, that he just kind of assumed that when he finally did find the ‘one’, it would be for good. Never, not for one moment, did he envisage eight years after his wedding day, he’d have to knock on his own front door for his wife to let him in.

But that’s what he was doing. Only, it wasn’t his wife, you, that answered. It was the angelic face of his eldest daughter that peered around the door.

‘Hey dad,’ her voice was subdued. She was still sad and angry that her dad wasn’t living in the same house as her at the moment, and her seven year old brain didn’t know how to deal with it. She didn’t know who to blame: him for leaving or her mom for not letting him back. As long as she wasn’t blaming herself, that was the main thing. She stood back to let Chris in and turned to shout back into the house. ‘Boys! Come on, dad’s here!’

‘Cassie, sweetheart, you know you’re not supposed to answer the door,’ Chris kept his voice steady, not scolding, 'Me or your mom will…’

He drifted off as he realised what he said. He wouldn’t be answering the door because he wasn’t living there.

Her lip wobbled and Chris immediately dropped to his knees, opening his arms to her, 'Come here, baby girl.’

She flew to him, wrapping her little arms around his neck, burying her face against his tshirt.

'I hate you not being here. I just want you to come home, daddy!’ Her voice was muffled but thick with tears and he squeezed her gently, trying to soak up all her grief. He could feel tears prick his own eyes.

'I love you and your brothers so much. So much. And that will never change, okay?’

'It’s just not the same. I wanted special Mickey Mouse pancakes for my breakfast this morning because it’s Saturday, but you weren’t here,’ her words were punctuated with chest-wracking sobs.

Jesus. He could barely breathe for his own desolation. It had only been just over a week since he’d packed up a few things and reluctantly left the house to go and crash at a buddy’s and it was still raw. So raw.

Chris had done a lot of soul searching over the past week, trying to work out where he’d gone wrong. There hadn’t been anything major. No one had been unfaithful, there hadn’t been a massive, ear-blasting argument. You had both just… stopped being in a relationship with each other. But had you fallen out of love? That was the biggest question. If it was a matter of talking more, more date nights, doing special things for each other… that could be fixed but if the love had gone, that was much more terrifying.

Chris had no answer for the pancakes comment. He wouldn’t be here to make them in the morning as a Sunday alternative instead. And he couldn’t make them for her where he was staying because there wasn’t enough room for the kids at his friend’s house. The very thought of having to find a rental, or even worse, a permanent place to live, made him want to be sick.

All he could do was kiss her hair and hope she knew he loved her more than his own life.

'Where’s your mom?’ he asked gently.

'Right here,’ you replied from your spot in the doorway that lead through to the kitchen. You were stood with your arms wrapped around your middle and Chris had never seen you look so small or vulnerable. Your cheeks were damp from the tears you shed watching the emotional reunion of your husband and your daughter.

You watched Chris stand up, easily picking Cassie up as he went, keeping her head tucked against his neck as her sobs subsided into quiet snuffles.

He approached you slowly, like you were a wounded animal and you could barely look at him, the tragedy of this day overwhelming you and filling your eyes with tears again.

'Hi,’ he said, quietly, 'How have you been doing?’

You just shook your head, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth to try and keep the crying at bay.

'Sweetheart…,’ he whispered, pain etched across his features, but you shook your head again, holding a hand up to him to silently ask him to stop.

He sighed before continuing, 'Are the boys ready?’

You nodded and gestured to the room behind you, managing to get a few words out, 'Just getting their backpacks ready.’

'Okay. Cassie, have you got your things?’

His little girl pointed to a bag she’d set by the front door, her arm limp. Chris set her on the floor and she immediately clung to his leg.

'Can you do a big job for me?’ he asked, trying to placate her and she nodded, looking up at him with big blue eyes, 'Can you go and see what Freddie and Noah are up to? Help them get their bags ready?’

She sloped off to the kitchen, leaving Chris alone with you. You felt like your airways were closing up and you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

'Look at me,’ his voice was soft when he spoke but you knew you’d crumble completely if you looked at him and you promised yourself you’d keep it together.

You could feel him closing the distance and you backed up so you were against the wall. He reached out for one of your hands and turned it over in his before entwining his fingers with yours.

'What’s going on here? What are we doing?’ he pleaded.

You shrugged, 'I don’t know Chris. This just hurts too much.’

'I know it hurts, baby. I just don’t understand why, or how, we got here.’

'I guess we just… forgot how to be a couple. Were you happy? Like really happy?’

'I know I’m fucking miserable now.’

You did look up at him then, letting the tears come freely.

'Me too,’ you admitted, covering your face with your hands as let all your grief out.

Then two arms were around you: one around your waist, the other up your back so that his hand was cradling your head. You sobbed harder than ever and you could tell from his heaving chest that he was crying too.

'It’s going to be okay,’ he was adamant, 'We’re going to fix this, you hear me?’

You nodded against him, bunching the material of his tshirt between your fists. He pulled you back by the shoulders and tucked one hand under your chin so that you had to look at him.

'Firstly, we’ve got three gorgeous kids in there who need their mom and their dad. Secondly, we’ve been together ten years, married for eight, and we can’t just throw that away like this, right?’

'I know,’ you agreed, 'Thirdly?’

'Thirdly, I know you think I’ve fallen out of love with you, and I regret anything I’ve ever done or not done that has lead to you feeling like that, because you are my one. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible love someone else. So, if you still love me, then we’re going to fight for what we’ve got, okay? Because I am not giving up on this.’

Another wave of tears overtook you. Damnit! You just couldn’t get a grip on them.

'So do you?’ He asked tentatively, 'Still love me?’

You placed a palm on either side of his face, noting somewhere in your mind that he’d not trimmed his beard for some time. It was longer than he usually let it get.

'I love you, I do. But Chris, if we’re going to do this, we’ve got to get better at showing it to each other. I can’t be in a marriage where I spend half my time wondering if my husband actually even likes spending time with me or not.’

He closed his eyes, the words tearing at him, 'I’m so sorry, baby, so sorry.’

You rested your forehead against his, 'Let’s just get back on track, okay? I can’t deal with another week like this one, Chris, I can’t. I miss you so much, so much.’

The last words were barely above a whisper, betraying just how the previous week had torn at you.

'Whatever it takes. Do we need to consider therapy, together?’

'Got nothing to lose, have we?’

'Okay. You look into it, I’ll look into it, and we’ll see what we find.’

You nodded again, glad to have even one thing in pipeline to focus on.

'And I’m going to take the kids today, as planned. Could you drop them some overnight things off at your mom’s or my mom’s today?’

You looked at him in confusion, 'What? I…’

'Well, I think we need to go on a date tonight. Let’s start simple, yeah?’

'O-okay? Shall I meet you somewh-’

'No, stay here. Be ready to go for eight, okay?’ Chris was in full planning mode now, not wanting to lose this opportunity. He recognised he’d been given a shot and he intended to take it.

He rounded up his daughter and sons, helping them on with their back packs, and herded them into his waiting car. You waved to them from the top step of the porch, framed by the doorway, as Chris pulled away.

Once you were alone, you closed the door gently and leaned against it, trying to process everything that had just happened, and then set about preparing for the evening.

***

The kids seemed to be having fun at least, having temporarily forgotten the turmoil of the last week. Chris had taken them to the aquarium as they were all quite science minded and were interested in all the things they could learn about various aquatic creatures. Freddie especially was enthralled by all the shark exhibitions ('But they’re friendly really dad!’ He’d tried to explain but Chris wasn’t convinced) and Noah liked the turtles and frogs. His little princess, to his horror, fawned over the snakes, calling them cute, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head when Cassie asked if she could get a pet snake.

They all ate lunch in the aquarium restaurant, sat in a booth shaped like a captain’s cabin and Chris was able to quickly get on the phone and make some reservations. He felt positive, a definite improvement on the overwhelming sadness he’d experienced for the last week, and spending some quality time with his children was helping to lift his spirits also. He wanted his family back together as soon as possible, of that he was certain.

After they’d spent a small fortune in the gift shop, Chris typed out a quick text to you:

Grandma’s or Nana’s? xx

Your reply was quick:

Nana’s. Your mom has Carly’s kids over tonight and I didn’t want to to double her workload with ours xx

He smiled at the chatty nature of your reply and the use of 'ours’. You were still a unit.

Okay, see you at 8 beautiful xx

What’s the dress code? xx

Whatever you want. Put your sweats on and still be the most stunning woman around xx

All right Casanova, calm down. I’ll see you at 8 xxx

Your husband of eight years had actually made you blush over text.

***

You were ready. You dug around in your wardrobe for a dress you hadn’t worn in years and managed to put an outfit together that you thought would pass as date clothing. It was a deep muted purple pencil cut with a Bardot neckline. Simple, but sexy. You chose some white gold and diamond earrings that Chris gifted to you on one of your anniversaries and some black strapped heels, your favourite, sinfully high pair that went with everything. You teased your hair into loose waves and combed a deep side part in, tucking the small side behind your ear for an old Hollywood glamour feel. A touch of smoky eye, lashings of mascara and a swipe of soft nude lipstick completed the look and as you stood in the full length mirror, you couldn’t even remember the last time you looked like this.

It had been so long since you dressed up for Chris and you wondered if you should do it more often. You knew he actively liked your yoga pants and thin tshirts and ponytails, you knew he found casual sexy, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t like to see you dressed up once in a while, knowing it was all for him.

When you finished, it was seven forty and you headed to the kitchen for a small glass of Prosecco just to calm your nerves. For some reason, this was more nerve wracking than any first date you’d ever been on, but you guessed it was because there was so much more riding on it. A whole future, in fact.

Well the doorbell rang, you jumped a little even though you had been expecting it. You switched all the lights off as you moved through the rooms, grabbing your clutch bag as you passed the side table in the hall.

You opened the door, anticipation making your hands tremble a little and there he was, looking sharp in a well cut dark grey suit and crisp, white v-neck shirt. He smiled, his blue eyes twinkling, and he held out his hand, pulling you to him to drop a kiss against your cheek when you placed your hand in his.

'Hi, I’m Chris, it’s so nice to meet you, finally. I’ve heard so much about you. Can I just say that you look absolutely breath-taking?’ His polite smile turned to a cheeky grin as he watched your surprised reaction at his game.

'It’s nice to meet you too,’ you replied, playing along. 'Where are we off to tonight?’

'It’s a surprise, but I think you’ll like it.’

He held out his arm for you to hold on to as he escorted you down the steps and into the passenger seat of the car.

You watched him walk around the front of the car, illuminated by the headlights. He settled into the driver’s seat and took the handbrake off.

'Ready?’ he asked, a questioning expression on his face.

You answered with a definitive nod of your head, linking your hand with his over the armrest between you.

'Ready.’

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