First story, first of all, the characters can be whoever you want. I don't own the original story, or whomever you put into the rolls. 333
It wasn't a bad life. It was nice, they lived together and they were happy. But sometimes, it didn't stop her from looking at he door, and waiting.
They had both wanted to get the apartment, they thought it was a brilliant idea. She had a ring on her finger that shone like the stars, and together they made a life. It wasn't glamorous, it wasn't special, but it was their little life together.
She made dinner every night, while she waited for him to get home. His major had him taking classes later in the day, so he came back to her from class or work, depending on the night. She didn't mind that part. No, she understood, he was trying to make their future brighter, even if it meant the present had a few clouds. The only thing that ate at her, was the way he would greet her. He swept through the door, pecked her lips, took his food and drink, and went to play his video games. To relax. Lately she had taken to pouring herself a generous glass of wine to accompany her dinner. She would stand by the stove, sipping at her chosen poison, waiting for her almost lover to sweep through the door.
Some nights it got bad. He would have a few beers with his game, and he'd see her walking from the shower to her room. He'd stand up with a gleam in his eye, and walk towards her, like a predator to its prey. She would look up and see him coming, only to duck into her room and lock the door. He'd stand outside, and beg her to let him in. Just a taste he'd ask. And she would stand, back to the door holding herself together in a tight hug. Some nights that wasn't enough, and she'd collapse crying. Those were the nights she hated most.
He'd hear her sniffling tears back, and suddenly he was sober. He'd talk softly through the door to her. Coaxing her to open it, and he'd gather her into his arms. He'd tell her how sorry he was, and he didn't mean to, and please, please understand. Everything will get better, he'd swear it. And those were the nights she believed him.
Then, one night he swept through the door, and she wasn't there. Instead a note on the counter, saying she'd be back on Monday, and don't worry, signed was her name and a row of x's and o's. The only dishes on the counter were two wine glasses, both with lipstick stains. He recognized one as her's. A bright red, the other a soft pink, and he had an idea whose it was.
The night, he didn't go to his games. That night, he didn't drink anything other than water. That night, he slept in her room, and read her books. He looked at her school papers, the ones she had been so proud of. And his heart swelled. He saw her everywhere, and yet nowhere at all. He put his head in his hands and cried.
That weekend he spent cleaning the apartment, something she was always trying to do, but never could. He picked up all the discarded mail on the counter, cleaned out the closet, and washed all their sheets.
On Monday, he called in sick to work and class. He swore to make it up to her. He put on her favorite music, and had their shabby table set with a candle and flowers. He wore nice jeans and her favorite shirt. He spent hours cooking, throwing away failed attempts, and retrying. Finally he was fed up with trying to make something nice, and he made her favorite meal. She came sweeping through the door, and found a single candle flame lighting up the room, and there she saw two grilled cheese and two bowls of tomato soup, and a bottle of wine.
She walked in, to be bombarded with a massive hug, and the boy she fell for whispering apologies in her ear. Begging her to please don't leave him, he'll be better he swears, he won't play video games every night, they'll talk and have dinner together. She just smiled, and pulled away just enough to show him her smile. All she can do is nod at him, as he takes her hand and leads her to the table he had set. They eat together for the first time in months. And tonight, they fall asleep together watching late night reruns on TV.
When he wakes up in the morning, his arms are empty. He sits up frantically, only to see her in the kitchen, humming quietly to herself and making pancakes. He stands from the couch, and stands behind her, hugging her from the back. This is what they had both missed. He doesn't say anything, doesn't ask where she went, she'll tell him when she's ready. And she leans back, glad to be back where she belongs, safe in his arms. They eat, and both enjoy the day, not bothering with class or work. They spend it together.
Their life may not be glamorous, and it may be simple. But it was their life, and together they made it worth a million. Together they were the best of the love stories. An epic romance, one with fights, and makeups, and the most beautiful ending anyone could ask for.