Frowned Upon [H.S. AU]

TWENTY-EIGHT

**TW: Mentions of Suicide**

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"Even if my heart stops beating,

You're the only thing I need with me."

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IRIS MONROE

February 5th, 2022

I shift on my feet anxiously while I wait for the familiar front door to open.

All of this feels too soon. I should have waited a few more days to see him. If it weren't for his goddamn voice making me into an emotional mess on the phone, I might have had more of a backbone.

He sounded genuine and terrified more than anything. There was a brief apology, but he said he didn't want to get too into it over the phone. Believe me, he won't be getting much time from me if there isn't a genuine apology.

I inhale sharply when the door swings open.

When his soft gaze meets mine, I only want to allow myself to get lost in him. I want this animosity and tension between us to be forgotten about. I want us to be okay again.

But I can't do that. I won't do that to myself. I know what I deserve.

"Iris," he breathes out in relief.

I mumble a quiet 'hi' before taking advantage of his welcoming gesture to enter the house. His hand brushes against my lower back as he gently shuts the door behind me.

This is much different than our usual greetings when I arrive at his doorstep. He usually meets me in the driveway, unable to stop himself when he hears my car pull up. I'm showered with kisses and affection as soon as I'm within arm's reach.

Obviously, he wants to, but given our tension and unsettled emotions, it doesn't seem right.

"You look beautiful," he says sweetly, but a sorrowful tone takes over his usual voice.

His hand lingers behind my back as he's about to remove it entirely. I look up at him, watching the uncertainty and anxiety swirl in his eyes as he contemplates what to do and how to act.

"Thank you," I murmur, giving him a closed smile as I slip my shoes off next to the door.

Although the response wasn't unusual, aside from a lack of enthusiasm in my voice, it makes him flex his hand before it returns to his side.

"Thank you for coming over," he says genuinely, leading me to the living room. "I know after Wednesday, I don't deserve your time...but I'm very grateful you agreed."

I awkwardly nod, not wanting to blurt out how much of a prick he was.

"Is Naomi here?" I ask, just in case.

"I asked Phoebe to take her to the park and get some ice cream," he says while scanning every inch of my face. "I wanted us to have some privacy and not risk being interrupted."

I only nod again in response while he leads us to the couch. When I sit down, he does his usual kind act of offering me something to drink or eat. After insisting on getting me a glass of water, he joins me, sitting a few short feet away.

"How have you been feeling?" He asks timidly.

I want to scoff, but I don't. I know the small part that wants to remain bitter is trying to take the reins of navigating this conversation, but given the importance of this topic, I can't let that happen. There can be a middle ground of being receptive while ensuring he understands his words and reaction hurt me.