catfish and the bottlemen imagines for rainy days + mondays

I Should Live In Salt // Bondy

"Look y/n, sweetheart am dead sorry to ask you and you know I never would if it wasn't important but he needs you love... He's not been the same since you left and I'm..." Van trailed off, he wasn't exactly choked up but he sounded tense. On edge. "I'll be honest with you love, I'm a bit scared..." he sighed. You pictured him outside their front door, smoking on the step, tapping his ash into a little glass milk bottle which Johnny had nicked from some posh hotel theyd stayed in once on tour.

Hed brought it home for you left it on your bedside table filled with wildflowers. He'd cellotaped a note which read "missed you shitsticks x" to the bottle and when you'd awoken he had been sleeping beside you drooling on your hand.

But that had been a long time ago now.

That had been the first time he'd come home after a long tour. A tour which had flown by for him, wrapped up in a whirlwind of new cities and new people, but which had dragged out like years alone for you, working in your shit job at the old peoples home down the road.

Things had changed so much since then.

"Van..." you sighed, struggling to hold back the tears in your eyes.

You'd convinced yourself that he would be okay, that he didn't need you half as much as you needed him. That he had all his friends back home and the lads whilst he was on tour. That he wouldn't even notice your absense. Over the year you'd felt things falling apart you'd only seen eachother a handful of times anyway, he was always too busy with the band and you didn't have the sort of job you could spontaneously call in sick for.

There were people who were reliant on both of you, people who had been pulling you all over the place, in every direction away from eachother and when you'd finally decided that you couldn't take it anymore, that you couldn't handle the waiting and the crying alone in your room at night, wandering around your house picking up things he'd left behind, when you'd finally decided that you couldn't spend the rest of your life waiting for him to come home, you'd managed to convince yourself that he wouldn't mind.

That he probably didn't really feel like coming home to you anymore anyway.

Now however it was 4 in the morning and Van of all people was calling you up, begging you to come home and it hurt.

It hurt that he called it home.

Bondys place.

It hurt because when you'd both been living between several different addresses and he'd had nowhere in particular that he could call home you had sunk into the mattress on a tour bus bunk and joked together that his hat could be his home, because he always had his hat.
It hurt because when you had giggled and tried to steal it away from him he had simply smirked and held your cheek in his hand. He had simply smirked and mumbled something sentimental.

"Whenever we're together thats my home,"

"Van..." you struggled to breath. Your nose stinging with the effort it took not to sob down the line.

In truth breaking up with Bondy had been the worst decision you'd ever made. In truth barely a month after you'd left him alone in his parents house, you could hardly remember hy you'd done it at all.

Afterall it wasn't like you missed him any less. It wasn't like it hurt any less to be away from him. It wasn't like you didn't still cry yourself to sleep alone at night pining for him to wander in a little drunk, wreaking of stale cigarettes and tour bus sweat to slip into bed beside you and roll you over to nuzzle into his chest in your sleep. It wasn't like you didn't still wander round your house picking up the little possessions he'd forgotten to pick, all the little reminders of the times you'd spent together that he'd left behind, scattered around your living room and your kitchen.