𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐀 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 ༄ 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯

𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐚, 𝗉. 𝗀𝖺𝗌𝗅𝗒

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 // profanity
𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 // anon
• 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦.
• 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳! 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳, 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 '24

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

Your husband was acting like a dick, and so going into the heart of Milan to do some shopping was just the therapy you needed after the argument you had with him earlier that day. It had been the same old thing, the exact topic that had been the root of your feuds for the past few months; him accusing you of cheating on him, and you giving out about him even imagining that. As much as you often get pissed off at him, you would never cheat on him.

It was unnerving sometimes with the way he spoke down to you; it made you feel below him, and you knew you weren't at all. You just wished Søren would finally put his trust in you once again and not be so doubtful about your full devotion towards him that you had vowed to continue for the rest of your life almost a year and a half ago. This whole situation made the once-vibrant and pleasant world you lived in begin to blur around the edges.

But the one thing that always helped you relax was going shopping. Not only did you enjoy buying gifts for others, but it brought you immense satisfaction to spend your hard-earned money on yourself. And at a time like this, it assuaged the unfurling feelings of regret and indignation. It was handy that one of the fashion capitals of the world was a short car ride and brisk walk away from your home. It meant that you could quickly grab anything you needed and head out the door before things got too heated, instead being able to revel in the grand stores throughout the city.

You walked out of a boutique with a large bag in hand, adding it to the little collection you'd begun gathering as you went in and out of big entrances and crystal and copper doors. The evening air chilled your bare hands as you held the handles of various silks and ribbons. The streets were still busy with people making their way around, and after having wandered around for the good part of an hour, you figured you could grab something hot to drink at a café. Around the corner would be the quaint one you enjoyed going to, having come every time you went out to shop.

The pale blue and bricked building meddled with the atmosphere of it all, and you went inside as usual, heading right towards the counter to order something. With a short queue of two people, you were greeted in no time by the barista, whom you always seemed to run into while she was working. The young woman smiled at you brightly before asking you what you'd like, albeit having your order memorised by now due to the frequency you came into here — a frequency that supposedly amounted to the rift between you and your husband, according to him.

You chatted with her while she worked on making your drink, and it was ready in no time. The paper cup with a pressed emblem of the logo was placed on the hard countertops between you both, and you grabbed it and thanked the woman generously. There was no desire in you to sit outside, so you opted to stroll on the cobbles instead.

The drink warmed you from the inside out, and the stress that had been pent up inside you since earlier that day had begun to melt with every sip taken. The worry that played in your mind the whole time regarding what would happen once you stepped foot into your home vanished from your mind as you browsed the displays in the windows. Winter coats and woollen scarves blurred into one as you aimlessly made your way through the street, legs in autopilot and bringing you anywhere that you pleased to look at right now. A large shove knocked you from your inattentive state, your shoulder making contact with a lean frame.