Mr. Murphy's Mattress

ix. Mr. Murphy's Mattress

Many sleepless nights filled with cramps and nausea went on, but at least you were next to the love of your life during those times.

Months went by, and you were incredibly pregnant. In fact, you were due in 2 weeks. Cillian was ecstatic to meet the baby you two made, and he made it clear by kissing and rubbing your tummy, talking to it like the baby was already born.

And it made you so soft, seeing how joyful he was to feel your baby. His baby.

One night, Cillian came home from work to find you sitting at the living room, rubbing your head out of stress. "What's wrong, Lolita?" He asked, walking toward you.

"I'm visiting my parents soon," you sighed, looking up at him.

"And?" Cillian shrugged, sitting beside you. "Why's that making you look so stressed?"

"I have to tell them about us." You looked away and lifted the blanket that was on your tummy. "About this."

Cillian went quiet for a moment before muttering "Damn." He looked around thinking, before looking back at you. "How are you gonna tell him?"

"He's gonna be so fucking mad. He'll kill me."

"No he won't." Cillian rubbed your back gently and kissed your head. "If he'd stay mad at you then he wouldn't be a good father."

"If Lucy got pregnant to her teacher, how would you react?" You looked at him. "Come on, Cillian."

He tilted his head. "Well, at first I'd definitely be mad. But I couldn't be mad at her forever. She's my daughter after all."

"It's also, like, I'm in my third fucking trimester. I can't excuse this big bump. It just won't work," you rambled.

"Y/N, hey, look at me." He held your hands and you turned to look into those piercing blue eyes. "Everything's gonna be alright. Okay? I won't let nothing happen to you."

"I love you," you whispered.

Those words left your mouth for the very first time, Cillian almost couldn't believe it. He'd never been told that in forever, and he almost immediately melted.

"I love you," he repeated back to you. You both smiled at each other. "And I'll make it work. I'll come with you. Introduce myself and get him to like me, you know how I can get people to like me."

"You're the most self-centered person in the world," you joked.

-

The next day, you and Cillian were packing to (hopefully) spend a night at your parents' place. Cillian was doing most of the packing and you were sitting back and watching.

"Can you believe we haven't had sex in 7 months? You suddenly asked, catching Cillian off guard. He turned to you and laughed.

"I guess it has been that long, hasn't it?" He continued packing. "Why do you bring it up?"

"I was just thinking about how time flies when you're pregnant."

"Happens all the time," Cillian teased. "But hey, pretty soon it's our one year."

"Five months," you said, nodding.

"Five fucking months." Cillian shook his head. "It's crazy."

"Are you going to propose to me?" You asked, twiddling your thumbs, waiting for a response.

"Well if I told you that, it'd ruin the surprise of a proposal," Cillian chuckled.

"No, I mean, do you want to marry me?"

Cillian furrowed his brows. "Well, of course I do. Let's just focus on packing, yeah?"

You nodded and stood up, heading to the bathroom to pack your toiletries.

-

"This is the world's longest drive," you groaned, flipping through the pages of a literary magazine as Cillian drove.

"Only another hour—"

"Another hour?" You sat up and looked at him. "I swear to God, you might as well start speeding."

"Cool your jets," Cillian laughed, turning on the radio. Radiohead was playing, and the two of you adored Radiohead. You hummed along and looked over at Cillian.

Soon enough, the two of you were belting your hearts out to Creep.

-

"I just texted my dad that we're a few minutes away!" you shrieked.

"What? Why's that a problem?" Cillian looked over at you, glancing back to the road. "What is it?"

"I said we're a few minutes away!" You tossed your phone to the back seat and covered your face. "I don't wanna look."

"He's gonna meet me anyway," Cillian chuckled. "Don't worry, Y/N. We're here."

"Already?" You unbuckled your seatbelt and looked at him. "I think I'm gonna shit my pants."

"Don't do that," Cillian sighed, getting out to grab the suitcases. "Go on in and hug your father."

You got out of the car and saw your father walk out onto the steps. "Hey, princess!" He called. You smiled and carefully ran to him, before hugging him. But he pulled away. "What's this?"

You looked down to where he was pointing. "Dad," you started. That's when Cillian came up behind you.

"Mr. Y/L/N," he said, extending his hand for your father to shake.

"You're the father of this?" Your dad asked, motioning to your baby bump.

"Dad," you sighed.

"It's okay," Cillian said to you, before turning to your father. "I know this is a lot to handle, but I can promise you that your daughter is in safe hands."

"You intend to marry my daughter?" He asked. "What the fuck is your name, even?"

"It's Cillian Murphy," he answered, grinning at your dad.

"I didn't know how to tell you dad, I—"

"Y/N," Cillian interrupted, rubbing your arm. "Listen, Mr. Y/L/N, why don't I pour you a drink and fully introduce myself."

-

"So you're my daughter's English professor?" Your dad asked, chuckling. "Wow."

"A handsome guy," your mother sighed as she smoked a cigarette. "When's it due? The baby, I mean."

"Two weeks," you replied, rubbing your tummy.

"Do you know the gender?"

"We want it to be a surprise," Cillian said, taking a sip from the beer he'd poured.

"I see," your father nodded before turning to you. "He's smart, he's handsome, he's nice. But why a man twice your age, princess?"

"I fell in love with him, not his age," you laughed. "Besides. He's much more mature than anyone in my year, daddy."

Your mother put out her cigarette and walked into the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready in a half hour," she called out.

"So, you were sleeping on Mr. Murphy's mattress for a while?" Your father asked.

"God, don't call him that," you sighed, rubbing your head. "Actually, he was sleeping on mine."

"That's my girl," your mother called from the kitchen, causing the three of you to burst into laughter.

"Mr. Murphy's Mattress," Cillian repeated. "It has a ring to it."

"Your next poem," you joked. Cillian turned to you.

"No," he smiled. "My next novel."