THEM 'Ishman'

Ignored

It was a peaceful evening.

Well—peaceful for Shubman, who was sprawled lazily on the couch, long legs stretched out, head nestled against a pillow, eyes glued to his phone. 

His brow furrowed in concentration, lips twitching occasionally as he scrolled, completely immersed in whatever had captured his attention.

Not so peaceful for Ishan.

No, Ishan was suffering.

Seated on the other side of the couch, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently, Ishan glared at his **husband—his beloved, doting, supposed love-of-his-life husband, his jaanu, his shona, his khamba, his personal blanket, his walking-talking heater, his dhabe ka malik, his forever-on-call Uber driver, his unpaid therapist, his wafadar naukar, his loyal smuggler, his built-in punching bag, his human-sized teddy bear, his personal chai-fetcher, his overgrown coconut (hard outside, soft inside), his tall, brooding bodyguard, his one-man army, his personal ATM, his extremely underpaid life assistant, his six-foot-tall annoyance—**who had not looked at him, spoken to him, or even acknowledged his existence for twenty whole minutes.

(Oh, I love nicknames ('3'))

Twenty.

That was practically a lifetime. 

An eternity. 

A betrayal.

Ishan was a prince. A national treasure. A gift to mankind. 

He deserved attention. Craved it. Demanded it.

 And yet, here he was—ignored. Forgotten. Abandoned.

Unacceptable.

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

Shubman had exactly one minute to realize his mistake. 

One.

And if he didn't?

Well.

Ishan would make absolutely sure that Shubman regretted every single second of his gross negligence.

The Gentle Approach which is also knows as soft talking until he gives in.

Ishan scooted closer, resting his chin on Shubman's shoulder.

"Shubby~" He cooed sweetly.

Silence.

"Shubu baby~"

Still nothing.

Ishan's left eye twitched. 

He leaned in further, lips practically brushing Shubman's ear.

"What are you looking at, huh?" He sing-songed, voice dripping with sugary curiosity.

No reaction.

His eyes widened in mock horror. "Are you—are you talking to another man?! Another woman?! Have you abandoned me?!"

That finally got a reaction.

Shubman huffed a small laugh but still—**still—**did not look away. "It's just cricket stats, baby."

Ishan pouted. "Cricket stats? That's more important than me?"

"Mm-hmm," Shubman hummed absentmindedly.

Oh. OH.

He did not just say that.

Fine. Fine. 

If the sweet, soft approach didn't work...

Ishan would simply have to bring out the big guns.