catfish and the bottlemen imagines for rainy days + mondays

Sidetrack // Van

🌿 Van 🌹

"Fuck, fuck!" I snapped, mumbling to myself, I'd just stepped off a flight but it was the wrong flight. I should have caught the one before it, last night from LAX to London Gatwick.

I'd missed the first one, typical me, typical fucking me, too busy chatting away at the radio station, too busy getting embroiled in conversations I didn't need to have, getting distracted, absent minded as I always was. And now I was paying for it, 2 in the morning, freezing outside the airport, struggling to light my cigarette as I waited to see the taxis roll around the bend.

I was waiting to see y/n pull up but I had a sinking feeling she'd already driven home, why wouldn't she have?

I should have touched down in London early evening and instead it was the early hours of the morning. I wouldn't have expected her to wait, id have expected her to drive home fuming, and when I took my phone out of airplane mode and saw the texts and missed calls come through I knew before I'd listened to her voicemail that she'd just gone home.

The worst thing was though that she didn't sound angry, she sounded pissed off at first but upset too, and by the end of it I could hear the tears in her voice though she was trying her best to hide them. I'd let her down, there was no avoiding that fact, I hadn't just let her down I'd taken another huge chip out of her faith in me and slowly but surely I was fucking our whole relationship into the ground.

So I turned around and dropped my cig, dragging all my shit with me inside to try and buy a ticket for an internal flight up to Manchester, I could do the city to Chester in a taxi and that was probably my quickest route home, but it wouldn't be good enough.

Id no idea how I was going to make it up to her but I knew I had to. I could feel the desperation in my heart as I paid for a ticket and picked up the pace. The flight would be calling soon and if I missed it there's be an even more torturous delay. Self loathing curdling in the pit of my stomach as i paced an empty airport lounge.

Mind you, I experienced that anyway, after I'd gone through the rigmarole with my luggage and my passport, security checks and all the other distractions from the facts which I'd taken forgranted at the time. I'd rushed through every step not realising that at least whilst I was stressed and focusing on them I wouldnt have time to think too much about the mess of my relationship I was making.

Because this wasn't a one time thing. This was a recurring role I seemed to play these days. Y/N was the stability and the home comfort and she cared and she was dedicated and I knew every day that she treasured me and the life we had, the future we kept making plans for, because she showed me, even if only through texts or the way she made sure I never missed my mums birthdays or I never forgot to send someone a Christmas card, even if it was only through keeping our life on track whilst I was away. She was the stable, consistent one, and I was the one always sidetracked. Absent minded. Easily distracted.

I was the one desperately in love who just couldn't seem to get a grip on how to show it. I could write her all the songs in the world, go out every night on stage playing songs, playing at being a rock star to bring in the money we needed for our future playing happy families, but if I wasn't there for her what was the point. If every time I went away I forgot to call, forgot to reply to texts, forgot what time my plane left and made myself late coming home, what was the point. If she couldn't rely on me how would she know how much she meant to me, how much I cared?

Sometimes it even made me question myself, how could I know I really loved her if I was always sidelining her and prioritising other things, trivial things which shouldn't have meant more than her but somehow always did. How could that be anything but a sign of dwindling affections?