You often wonder how you look together. Brendan with his muscles, his expensive suits, confident swagger. You look like a scruff next to him… you know that. On the rare occasions that you've met his business associates, you've felt self-conscious; young, inexperienced. You've sat with them in meetings before, and they've barely acknowledged you – these men with sharp suits and fat wallets. But Brendan always does. His eyes meet yours across the table; glimmering with a hidden smirk. A secretive roll of the eyes. And you know you belong here, then. Brady's better half. The most superior one at the table.
XOXOXOXOX
Brendan's cooked you dinner tonight. It's the little things – little moments like this that make you feel the most happy … the most proud of him. You'd never say so, because he'd only retreat into himself. Tonight he barely notices how domesticated he's behaving, as he lays the beans on toast down in front of you – Brendan's 'speciality'. He's even managed to burn the bloody toast, but that's ok. He scoffs his down much faster than you, then gets impatient and doesn't let you finish… he drags you to the bedroom. This is where his actual talents come into play.
XOXOXOXOX
He can't make his way through a film. You have discovered this about him. No matter where you are – sofa, bed… the odd occasion you've got him into a cinema… he ALWAYS falls asleep. During the most dramatic car-chase, you're on the edge of your seat; you turn to him, expecting enthusiasm, and there he is gently snoring. His arm still wrapped protectively around your waist. You tease him for being an old man, and he pretends not to care but you reckon it secretly gets to him, that… which you love about him. But you'll never tell him that.
XOXOXOXOX
Christmas Day, he doesn't kiss or even touch you much. His family have come: Declan, Eileen, Padraig. You feel slightly out-of-place, and Brendan acting unnaturally casual with you doesn't help. You get Eileen's cold shoulder all day. Later, you creep into the bedroom to get away, crawling into the unmade bed you share together. The door creaks open and he comes in. He crawls in with you, wraps his arms around you, kisses the back of your neck. His heart's beating fast, like he's just as uncomfortable; just as out-of-place. "Thanks for this" he whispers. You are his rock.
XOXOXOXOX
The trouble with his bedroom being right next to the kitchen is the noise travels. You've had to stop mid-sex on several occasions because Cheryl has bounded into the kitchen and - oblivious – remained there for hours. And you are loud during sex. Today you lie there, interrupted. Both still, silent, pressed against each other, sweating, frustrated. He whispers in your ear, so quiet you almost don't hear, "We need our own place." You turn and look at him in surprise – his eyes piercing… dead serious. Nothing can stop you after that. Damn the noise, and the unfortunate kitchen placement.