That's What Makes Us The Foo Fighters (DISCONTINUED)

Chapter 8- Fucking Tease

Hey! There's a bit of smut in this chapter, and I just wanted to warn you because I know some people don't like to read that stuff! I'll put a little warning before and after it, don't worry. Also, it doesn't affect the plot at all! So don't fret, you're not missing too much.

Read on!

*Taylor's Point Of View*

Dave and I stood outside his house and watched the moving guys stack his furniture into a van. We'd already gone through this process with my house and it was on the market, ready to be sold.

Our new place had been carefully chosen to suit both Dave and I's needs, which were pretty much just a huge garage, a huge basement, and a huge kitchen.

"I couldn't be more excited to move in with you, but I'm kinda sad to sell this place. This was the house I bought after my divorce. Actually, scratch that. I'm kinda happy to sell it. Goodbye old memories of my ex-wife, right?" Dave says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

"It's completely understandable that you're kinda sad about it. This was your retreat after a failed marriage. A safe place to call your own."

"You dick, when did you get so fuckin' smart?" He laughs.

I just smirk. This was it. I was finally gonna be happy. Maybe we'd get a dog, who knows. But as long as Dave and I had each other, nothing could ruin my smile.

"Alright, enough sappy shit. Let's get you to your appointment, baby."

{Since the overdose, I'd been seeing a therapist every week. I'll admit, I was hesitant at first, but it's proven to be fucking useful. I'm kinda reliant on it now, and I've been told that it's better to be reliant on therapy than drugs. Dave always respects my privacy and never asks what we talk about in therapy, he just buys me a coffee and lets me unwind after an hour of talking about my emotions. I really don't deserve him.}

Dave and I sit in the small coffee shop, discussing a time to meet up with the rest of the band for a catch up.

"I want to jam for an hour, see if anything happens." Dave rambles on about the next album and all his ideas and inspiration, and I'm trying to listen, I really am. I just can't. My mind is anywhere but in that tiny coffee shop and I'm brought back when Dave snaps his fingers in front of my face.

"Babe? T? You okay?" Dave looks concerned, almost the same face as when I had that breakdown in the hotel room only weeks before.

"Sorry, fuck, I just can't concentrate. I don't know what's wrong with me this week."

"T, you're gonna have bad weeks and good weeks. It's okay. If you need to go home and curl up on the couch and watch a movie, we can do that. If you need to cry and throw things around the room, let's go fuck up our office at home. If you need to destroy a fuckin' drum set, let's fuckin' jam. Don't apologise for needing something else. You don't have to listen to my bullshit." He smiles, pitting his coffee down.

"I really like the sound of a movie right now." I can feel my hands shake. Dave notices.

"Alright, movie it is." He stands and leaves a tip on the table. As we get into the car, he takes my hands and holds it tightly. "You can do this, you know that, right?"

"You remind me every day, bear. I know."

The drive back home is silent, but nice. I can feel eyes begin to droop and my body become more relaxed. I'm more than ready to curl up with my partner on the couch.

We walk through the front door and I collapse onto the couch, feeling weirdly empty.

"Dave, can we listen to something? Queen or some shit. I just don't want it to be quiet." I call into the kitchen, where Dave is making a sandwich for us.