↳ 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗲𝘃𝗶𝗹: 𝘃𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

𝘿𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙡𝙖 𝘿𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙪 - 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

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[ female reader ]

An appreciative sigh finds your ears as your husband rolls his sleeves to his elbows, easing into his seat at the table. He wastes little time in digging into the food you lovingly prepared for him. His stomach rumbling after a long days work the moment he tastes it.

You fold the towel and leave it beside the sink. "I overheard you talking to one of your coworkers today. About the new intern and how sweet she was in her interview."

He swallows, eyes briefly bouncing between you and his dinner. "Yeah." The spoon swirls around the bowl. "Trust me, it's a breath of fresh air to have someone new down there."

"I bet." Your smile is drawn on. A vague frown crosses his features but he's quick to shrug off the mild confusion, guiding another spoonful to his mouth. "You always did like new shiny things."

"What?"

"She sounds lovely."

Again, his eyebrows knit together. "She is."

"Hey, Dean. Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah." He chirps, glancing at the newspaper as he shovels in another mouthful. Your eyes glisten as you watch him take another.

"Is she as sweet as she used to be?"

He stops chewing, lifting his gaze to your innocent half-smile. Swallowing slowly. Almost reluctantly. Peering down at the bowl with a newfound disgust.

"[Y/n]."

"Yes honey?"

"What's in this?"

"Don't you mean who?"

The metal spoon clinks harshly against the plate the bowl is sat on, threatening to chip the ceramic under the force. He smacks a hand over his mouth, chair legs scraping across wooden floorboards as he takes a shaky breath.

"What's the matter?" You feign sympathy. "Is she not as sweet as you thought she'd be?"

"Dear god." He springs to his feet, kicking his chair over as he stumbles over his own feet on his way to the bathroom. When you calmly follow, lingering in the doorway, he's knelt over the toilet with knuckles ghostly pale, red flooding across the back of his neck.

"Pathetic. Clean up your mess when you're finished." You reach for the handle and close the door. Returning to the kitchen moments later to resume washing the plates.

It's some time later when he wanders aimlessly down the hallway into the kitchen. You're seated at the table with a bottle and an almost empty glass keeping you company. His shirt is crumpled, greying hair dishevelled, eyes swimming in lines and dark circles.

The ticking of the grandfather clock bites away at the thick silence. You take a sip of your drink, observing his wrecked state with a hint of amusement bubbling below the surface.

His hands move. "You wanna explain?"

"Could ask you the same question."