He Calls You By His Last Name
Louis: You've been married three months now, and though everyday life has returned, you're thankful that your relationship with Louis is every bit as passionate as it ever was. He still teases you incessantly, you still can't breathe when he looks at you that certain way, and you both can't get enough of the other's laughter and kisses. Tonight's like most—you get home around the same time and scrounge up something to eat, not really caring so much what it is as long as you get to spend the time together. Louis' feeling especially silly tonight and intentionally dumps too much sugar on your strawberries, causing you to poke him in the side and chide him loudly for being such a klutz.
"Sorry," he says, grinning with absolutely no remorse showing in his eyes. You shake your head and roll your eyes at him.
"Don't even lie, you strawberry murderer. You totally meant to do that." You quip, grabbing your bowl and trying to salvage the grainy mess within. "With enough care these strawberries might pull through, but even if they do they're going to need some serious counseling after what you did to them."
"After what I did to them?" He asks incredulously.
"Yes!" You exclaim, still playing, "I can't believe you. You're a sick, twisted person."
He nods as if he's beginning to understand. "Ohh. A sick, twisted person, huh. Well too bad you're stuck with such a sick, twisted person, Mrs. Tomlinson." He says, his voice brimming with sass and sarcasm, but also a secret hint of pride. You can't help but break out into a grin.
"You know, that never gets old." You comment and he moves his arms around you.
"No.. no it really doesn't.. Mrs. Tomlinson." he grins back and kisses you on the nose, making you giggle and nuzzle your face in his chest.
"You know, Mrs. Tomlinson, I was thinking after dinner we should probably cuddle for a while and then make tea and watch a movie. Wouldn't that be nice, Mrs. Tomlinson?" he asks, and you know he's really just making it up so he can tease you more.
"You're such a goof." You mumble into his shirt, a smile on your face you can't get rid of.
"What? What was that, Mrs. Tomlinson?" he asks, inciting more giggles from you and loving every minute of it. You feel his hands spread on your back as you lean back to look at him.
"I said, 'You're such a goof.'" You repeat, grinning.
He nods. "Oh. Right. Well I guess it's a good thing I married a goof, then, isn't it?" he responds.
"What was her name again—?" you ask facetiously.
"Oh, uh.. what was it... Oh- Mrs. Tomlinson." He answers, his comedic timing making you burst into laughter, which he snuffs momentarily with a kiss.
"Dinner, cuddle, tea, movie, then?" he suggests for real this time.
"I'm sorry, were you talking to me? I didn't hear you say my name." you play, making his eyes twinkle and he clears his throat.
"So, Mrs. Tomlinson.. dinner, cuddle, tea, movie?" he asks again, pulling you a little closer than before. You grin and nod in agreement, loving the prospect of an evening at home with your husband.
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Zayn: You miss Zayn, no doubt about it. And not only in a frivolous "I just can't wait to get my hands on you again" sort of way—though that's undeniably a part of it—but rather in a way that holds meaning and commitment, joy and intimacy. A longing for a connection that runs so deep you're not quite sure where you stop and he begins. Going into the wedding you had known he would have to leave just after your honeymoon for an extended time, and you had known it was going to be hard. But that didn't make it any easier when the time actually came and you had to say goodbye. It was hard and passionate and tearful, but you'd made it and now you were sitting on your bed—one you hadn't even gotten to share with him yet—staring at the wall and considering how much more difficult the next few months are going to be than you originally thought. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a simple white envelope peeking out from underneath the lamp on your bedside table. You reach over and pull it out, seeing your name scribbled on the outside. You smile at the handwriting, sloppy as it is, knowing it's Zayn's.
