You're In Awfully Early {Septiplier}

Just Too Soon

Ken steps out of the shower, flicking wet hair out of his eyes. Grabbing a fluffy towel from the rack, he ruffles it across his head first, drying the dark locks. With small thumps and the jingle of tags on a collar, he hears the heavy paws of Boss trotting into the bathroom at the sound of the shower turning off.

When Ken takes the towel away from his face, the black Newfoundland is sitting patiently in front of him, tongue hanging limp from the side of his mouth. The man quickly dries his body, securing the towel around his waist, and gives the dog a good pat on the head.

Mary pops her head into the bathroom, blonde hair pulled into a sloppy bun. A pair of headphones are around her neck, the man slipping in unnoticed while she was occupied on her computer. By the determined look in her eyes, he regrets not spending longer at the gym.

"Layla get to school okay?" she asks.

"Yup," he replies simply, moving over to the sink. Boss follows by his feet, sitting down beside his legs. The dog nuzzles his hand, and Ken strokes his head.

"How was your work out?" she offers, to warm him up for the coming conversation.

"Fine," he answers, not taking the bait. He's been with Mary for long enough to know her tricks. He gives her reflection only a glance, returning his gaze to his own when he sees the small frown on her lips.

"Are we going to talk about Mark?" Mary asks gently, leaning against the door frame.

"You know we can't go, Mary," Ken sighs, grabbing the can of shaving cream. He shakes it quickly, squirting a handful of the fluffy white onto his palm.

"Why not?" she pouts, crossing her thin arms.

"We're busy parents," the man replies, spreading the cream onto his face. The dark trace of a five o'clock shadow is on his cheeks even though he shaved yesterday. "Boss has a vet appointment on Friday. Layla has soccer practice Saturday morning and Sarah Point's birthday party at two or three in the afternoon. And, Sunday we promised to have dinner with your mom."

"We can reschedule," the blonde insists, hip jutting to the side as her thin frame shows more annoyance. "This is your best friend, Ken. Don't you wanna be there for him?"

"Of course I do," the American frowns, wishing this could be one thing Mary won't fight him on. He grabs his razor, hoping the end the conversation and continue his routine. "But, I'm a Dad first."

"Being a parents doesn't mean you have to give up everything-"

"Mary," Ken interrupts, wishing he could shave in peace. "Please, don't start this again. We have this conversation every year."

"And your reason makes less sense every year," she frowns. "We can all go to PAX. Isn't it about time for a family vacation?"

"Layla won't like PAX," Ken insists, pausing to shave a stripe down his cheek. "It's not for toddlers. A weekend of boring panels instead of Sarah Point's birthday party? She'd have a three day temper tantrum."

"I guess you're right," she sighs. "But, that doesn't mean you can't go."

"When Layla was born, I promised I would be here for you guys," the man reminds her, still focused on swiping the shaving cream from his face. "I'm not going back on that."

"That was when you were running off every few months to goof off with your friends," she reminds him pointedly. "I didn't mean that you had to stop going all together. Just less often."

Ken doesn't say a word, using a hand towel to wipe extra cream from his shaven face. He runs a brush quickly through his hair, hearing Mary sigh. He thinks she may give up, her shoulder sinking low. But, she drops her hands onto her hips, and Ken nearly groans, recognizing the stance all to well.

"You need to be there for Mark," she decides.

"I need to be here for my family," he counters. He grabs his toothbrush, squeezing a glob of toothpaste onto the bristles. He glances up at Mary again, brushing his teeth quickly as he watches the blonde frown.

"Maybe it won't be so bad for Layla and I to have some bonding time," she offers. She begins to speak again when Ken's eyebrows draw together in confusion, "I don't think Layla has even looked at me since I stopped breastfeeding. It'd be good for us to spend some time together."

"Then take her out," Ken offers, mouth full of white foam. He spits into the sink. "I don't have to leave the country."

Mary frowns, but released her stance, staring directly into his reflection's wavering eyes. "I really think you should go, Ken. For Mark and Jack. It's already been so long since you've seen them, and I don't think you should miss this."

"It's too last minute," he shakes his head, spitting again. "He probably doesn't even expect me to go, at this point. Definitely just a formality."

"Or maybe he was tired of hearing your rejection," she grumbles.

"You're not going to give this up, are you?"

She shakes her head no, blue eyes determined as ever. "This is important to Mark."

Ken releases a hard exhale, drumming his fingers against the bathroom counter. "You're not... worried? You know, about me going alone?"

"Of course not," she smiles softly. "I trust you, Ken. That was... a long time ago."

"You don't even want me to check the line-up?"

"No, definitely not. I don't know who she is. I don't want to know who she is. I don't even want a hint. It's was a mistake, you said it yourself. A one time slip up. I trust you, completely and fully."

Ken has to stop himself from cringing at the feminine pronoun, cleaning off his toothbrush to feel busy. One part of him is grateful he never had to admit the entire truth, afraid the words would get trapped in his throat and choke him. Yet, another part still hoards guilt at the feminine pronouns, at the short time span Mart has decided the affair took place.

"Will you go, then?" Mary asks. "For Mark? For me?"

He sighs but nods anyway, only the smallest bit of stiffness in his neck. Mary smiles brightly, but when he opens his mouth again, she flatters a bit.

"If Layla doesn't throw a fit, then I'll go," he decides.

She groans.

"I'll run it by her tonight," he offers with a shrug. "If she gives the go ahead, then I'll start packing."

"Fine," she huffs. "But, if she agrees tonight, then you have to go even if she cries at the airport."

"Deal."