Based off 2nd and 4th of May. This is getting more and more painful and there's weeks left.

Just a little something I threw together. Enjoy!

Carla's POV

It's tough, I won't lie.

Every morning I turn over and he looks so peaceful, content with no signs of a nightmare invading his slumber unlike mine. The same nightmare that's haunted me since that ill-fated afternoon.

His mouth slightly ajar, making his breathing jagged and loud when he exhales. How that snoring keeps me awake, groaning into my own pillow, wanting to hit him over the head with it—or worse, smother him when my own demons are getting too much along with his noise. But I couldn't do it, I couldn't risk losing him. It lets me know he's there, still beside me and it's more comforting than the protecting arm draped over my body, holding me close to his warmth.

It hasn't been entirely like this recently, admittedly. The wedding planning is stressing him out, I can sense it. He's throwing himself into making sure everything is perfect and his family are happy but he's going to make himself ill.

I can't help but think I'm too blame as well. For making him sell the bistro, his pride and joy.

Being unemployed isn't an option for Nick, we're the same in that we like to keep busy, we strive to make our businesses the best they can be. And I've taken it away from him. He spends his time now tying up the loose ends to our big day and making sure I've eaten. That's it. He hasn't worn a suit in weeks and it's dawning on him. I could tell in that first week of selling the bistro he was stressed. He went for a run in the morning and didn't bother to change out of his gym clothes all day. When he brought me in a smoothie while I was at the factory, I saw Sally's smug face, shocked that my fiancee, the businessman, was walking in wearing "casual wear" publicly. She almost didn't believe me when I told her he didn't wear a shirt and tie twenty-four seven. That night he was different, he didn't want to talk about anything. He didn't want to tell me what was wrong either. He went to bed early and I didn't even get to say goodnight.

Then there was my Godson's—I still can't get my head around Sarah asking me of all people—christening. He threw his phone halfway across the room after getting frustrated with the robot on the other end. I can't blame him but I did tell him not to worry about anything to do with our day, today was about Sarah and Harry but he insisted. He was in a bad mood all day, mumbling to himself in the church because nothing was going to plan. A screaming baby isn't the most angelic sound in the world but he couldn't help it. He got angry with his family while at the wake or reception or whatever a after Christening party is called. They were questions he couldn't answer anymore of course but even David noticed he wasn't being himself. I tried to talk him out of it but still, he went to bed early and I didn't get to say goodnight.

Our roles started to reverse. I was the one pretending to be asleep so he could be kept awake with his worries.

There were little things I began to notice like going to bed early, ordering orange juice instead when we were out, going for more morning runs than usual and the other night, choosing a evening jog over a night in.

It wasn't like him.

I meant what I said that night, though, in the bistro.

I can't wait to marry him. Walk down the makeshift isle with Roy, my best friend and loyal companion on my arm to the best man I could ask for a husband and life companion. The moment I see that smile and those eyes light up in our chosen "venue" will remind me of those moments we shared, falling in love with him in the same building. The same building we shared our first kiss in. The same building we said we love each other for the first time. The same building I proposed in and accepted his ring in front of gushing friends and family. The same building he's now sold to start a new life away with me miles away from Weatherfield. Where I'll get to wake up next to him without a care in the world as we celebrate the rest of our lives as husband and wife.

Oh, how much I want to grow old with him. How much I wish we knew each other sooner and even though we did, I wish it hadn't been fighting over a contract because now it meant nothing. All that mattered was how long it was going to before we're fighting over the remote, when we're fighting to get out of bed because our bones aren't as nimble as they used to be and fighting off all the cons that come with old age. 'Til death do us part.

For better, for worse. In sickness and in health.

I meant it. He saved me from one the darkest times in my life and if I can't help and support him through these troubles he's happening, what kind of wife does that make me?

All gambling aside and done with, I really did hit the jackpot with him. He's sweet, caring, funny and an all around good guy.

All this out of the blue behaviour of his meant something and last night must have been his breaking point. I didn't pressure him to talk to me about it. I don't know what David was suppose to tell me but I'm sure if it was important, he would tell me himself.

I know Nick's biggest fear is hurting me. What with his brain injury and the unpredictability of it. And the headaches he's been having but I tell him it could all just be wedding nerves and over losing the bistro, and although he brushes it off with me, I know when you have a serious illness or condition, like brain damage, it is the first thing you think is coming back after even the smallest symptom.

I know about his anger issues and how he controls it. I see last night as a natural reaction to anyone spilling hot water on themselves but it's not like that for him. He was okay, it was seeing me that upset him.

It was a minor cut. It was okay.

I think the only reason he's slept in this morning was last night's outburst and crying wore him out. I'd never seen him cry before and it broke my heart. All I could do with comfort him and tell him it was an accident. I had to walk him away from the kitchen so I could tidy up the broken glass. I had to convince him sleeping on the sofa wasn't a good idea. And, shockingly, unlike my own selfish self, he listened. He may spend today apologising a thousand times over but he listened.

It's the only reason I'm watching him. The same reason has me up early but I don't force myself not to think about it because I'm awake because I'm worrying about my Nicholas and not my dirty little secret.

He always manages to wake up on his back. We go to bed tangled in each other but at some point we get separate. He sleeps with one hand behind his head and the another resting on his stomach.

The small blisters from the scolding water had formed on his skin over night. I place my hand over his and try and figure out what he's dreaming about as our hands raise and fall.

It must have changed as his eyebrows raised, the worry lines on his forehead appeared and his lips frowned. His body flinched and I raise from my position, tightening my hold, concerned.

"It's not," he mumbles, voice shaking. "It's not…"

"Nick…?" I whisper.

His hand grips the fabric of his nightshirt and he squeezes his eyes shut before his body starts to curl up into a ball, like he's fighting off something. He sobs silently.

"Nick?" I whisper again, putting my hands on his arms, using all my strength to move them away from his face like I did last night.

I try to pull him up to sit as he wakes. He cries into my neck, fists still clenched against his chest and there's nothing I can do but hold him. I shut my eyes, fighting back tears.

I have never seen him like this, it worries me.

"I honestly didn't mean to," he finally says through short breaths. /

"I know," I stroke his hair while rocking him gently. "I know. It's okay."

"It's not," he shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"I know," I let a tear fall. "It was an accident. It's okay. Hey?"

I lift his head. My eyes flicker between his blood-shot eyes and lips before holding his face, forcing him to look at me. I smile at him. Letting him know it really is okay.

How could I be angry at him for the smallest cut? It was an accident. It's a drop in the ocean to the pain I've caused him. And through it all he told me I wasn't a monster and it was going to be okay so now I'm doing the same because I want to spend the rest of my life with him. I want to move away to Devon and start fresh and leave the worries and scars of Weatherfield behind us. I take thee, Nicholas Tilsley…

"I love you," he sighs.

I sniffle, fighting back another smile. "I love you, too."

I do.

I do.