TO BE ALONE: a series of måneskin oneshots

settle down (v.da)

For maneskinvic
TW: loss

Sweat dripped down your forehead as you lurched forward over the toilet. You'd been sick like this for the past thirty minutes, and you were shocked that there was even anything left in your system to bring back up.

Bile stung your throat, and your teeth began to taste like blood as you sat back against the bathroom counter, flushing the toilet and waiting for your breaths to even out.

Your chest lurched for a final time, and instead of last night's dinner, a thin line of saliva coated blood splattered into the toilet.

You glanced over your shoulder and sighed a breath of relief as you heard your girlfriend's soft snores from the bedroom. You felt thankful that you hadn't waken her up with your incessant vomiting this morning.

You flushed the toilet and then stood up and examined your body in the mirror. Contrary to your current state, you'd been losing weight, and it was starting to show in your face. Your cheekbones were protruding further out by the day, and your eyes had somehow sunken further into your skull.

You blew Vic a kiss before heading out the door for work.

Vic had always needed to sleep later, as she had been running around with her band, Måneskin, working on producing their debut album.

You had chased your dreams of culinary success to the finest kitchens in New York City, and Vic was pleased to pull herself and the band along. The band appreciated the American influence on their art, and you were appreciating the demanding environment of the Manhattan kitchens.

You thankfully hadn't vomited in your chefs whites, only in your undershirt. Your skin was still slick from your morning endeavors, so you struggled to pull your sleeves on. Eventually, you got them on nice and taut against your clammy skin.

The routine in the kitchen was more stable than any routine Vic and the band had had in the past five years. If you asked them how they wrote such amazing music, they'd tell you that every song has a different recipe: sometimes they get drunk or high and the lyrics come from there, sometimes they dream it up while stone cold sober, sometimes the melodies wake them up in the middle of the night, and sometimes they just kiss the perfect stranger.

You and Vic were a lot alike with your love for routines. Rock n roll is such a touchy industry that Vic needed to find routine in everything. She always ensured nine hours of sleep for herself and always began the day with a coffee.

You had a similar routine, where you'd come home from the restaurant, Vic would be asleep, you'd shower the day's grime off of you, take your vitamins and sleep for hopefully a few minutes longer than four hours before your alarm was blaring to start the day again.

With both of your busy lifestyles, your relationship with Vic had been strained. Of course, you both still loved each other, but you hadn't been able to sit down, talk, and really hear each other in so long. You can't even remember the last time you had a good conversation with her.

Usually, the exhaustion and stress of your respective jobs turned any conversation into a screaming match, and one of you would end up sleeping on the sofa. However, there was one thread keeping you two together, keeping you two fighting.

Your baby.

In a rush, a decision fueled by love and passion, you both decided that you wanted to have children together. Vic, not one to ever believe in the old school tradition of marriage, had educated you on ways that you could both have and raise kids.

Soon after meeting with a few doctors, you were given sperm donated from a local bank, and your body was slowly working to develop a baby. Your baby.