This is a little shorter than usual because I was having difficulty getting it out of my head and onto the paper. I hope you still enjoy it!
"You really don't have to do this, Evelyn," Amelia says, rubbing her mother's shoulder.
"I know, dear." She gives Amelia a tender smile. "But it's time." She picks up her small suitcase and kisses both her son and daughter on the cheek. "You guys have let me stay here long enough. You have to live your lives and I have to live mine." She chuckles. "Actually use the apartment I'm paying bills for." Amelia gives her a soft smile.
"Well, you're always welcome to come back," Owen says. Evelyn pats his stubbled cheeks. "I love you, honey. And so does this young woman," she motions to Amelia, causing her to blush. "Take care of her."
"I'm trying," he affirms.
She pulls him into a hug before doing the same with Amelia. She whispers, "Take care of him, too, even if he pretends he doesn't need it." When Evelyn meets Amelia's eyes once more, the promise there is evident.
She disentangles herself from Amelia's arms and backs out, reminding them that she will pick up Megan tomorrow and bring her home to her apartment. "Don't visit tomorrow because she'll probably be tired, but maybe the next day?"
Owen nods. "We wouldn't miss it."
Evelyn gives him a tender smile and finally closes the front door behind her. When she's gone, her car backing out of their long driveway, Owen sighs. Amelia turns to him, rubbing his upper back gently. "What's up?" She can imagine he's feeling lonely, but she wants him to say it, wants to give him the opportunity to express his feelings without her jumping to conclusions.
"I don't know what I'm feeling. It's messy up in there," he points to his head, joking. "Everything is changing so much."
Amelia nods in understanding. She pats his back one last time and asks him if he wants to sit on the couch. He does, nodding slightly, pulling her tightly into his arms once he's situated. She leans her head on his broad shoulder, snuggling into his neck, his scent, so familiar, warming her heart. He sighs deeply.
"Megan's in the hospital and I know she's safe and taken care of. But I hate that she has to be there at all. And my mom is gone now because she has her own life. And I miss them," She nods against the tender skin of his neck. "But," his words are soft, almost as if they are muffled. She turns, pushing back to see his eyes-she's not sure of what he's getting at. It's unusual for that to happen seeing as they communicate without words so easily. "But," he repeats the word, struggling to get the rest out, "but I'm almost...happy" he chokes on the word, "to have the house to ourselves again." He shrugs, turning his eyes away from her gaze in shame. "It's awful, I know," he scoffs.
She moves away from his embrace and he slumps further into the couch in dejection. She's quick to shake her head at his silent assumption, moving to cup his cheeks and forcing his eyes to meet hers. Staring deeply into his cerulean orbs to make her words known, she negates his statement. "You are allowed to feel that way. It is not awful. It's normal." She chuckles. "Someone told me that once. Someone I trust completely." The corners of her lips turn up despite his face remaining a mask of pain and self-loathing. She hates seeing him so down, so upset. She wants to see his humanity and yet it also scares the crap of her. She takes a deep breath and focuses on the man before her. "You are not a bad person. You love your mother and sister, but they are both safe. Your mom is in a stable place and your sister is well taken care of by the hospital. You don't have to worry about them because they're safe. It's hard to come home and be worried about what you'll walk into. It's hard to walk on eggshells all the time. You're okay with them not staying here because they're safe and in good hands. And, with them not being here, it gives you a chance to breathe and heal, too."
He is awed by her speech, her words hugging the darkest depths of his soul. His eyes are watery, but they are tears of love and acceptance. "I want to see her. I want her here, I thought I did. But it's also nice to have the house to ourselves again."
Amelia nods. "She will visit. All the time, I bet." She smooths her thumbs over his cheekbones. "And she'll be happy living with your mom for now. I think that, sometimes, it hurts her to see you in so much pain, to show you her pain." She presses a tender kiss to his lips. "You seeing her is much the same. You Hunts are too caring for your own good."
A small chuckle escapes his lips, barely there, but Amelia can see it. "Megan always has been like that, even with her sass." He exhales. "Just like you," he says, pushing a lock of her soft, brown hair behind her ear.
She smiles, leaning into the hand that tucked her hair back, feeling safe and warm and happy in his palm. She relishes in the difference between their temperatures, his body always warmer than hers. She loves the feeling of safety it brings, the love it projects. "Like you."
Her eyes become a little glassy. "Well, I'm a Hunt, too, right?"
His tears fall harder as his hands wrap around her neck, pulling her even closer. "Of course you are." His thumbs rub at the base of her scalp, moving tenderly, as he connects his lips with hers. It's gentle and rough all at the same time, the urgency behind his display of love palpable.
Their lips separate only for them to reconnect lightly, chastely, a few more times before he finally pulls back, gently rubbing his fingers through her silky tresses. The moment is soft and pure, some uninterrupted time so long lost, no worries of anyone walking in on them. Simply put, it's bliss.
The quiet is calming, words unnecessary, unbroken until the unceremonious grumbling of Amelia's stomach. She blushes at the timing before Owen's stomach seems to answer in accordance, growling as well. The blush turns into a chuckle that he can't help but take part in.
After a minute, she whines, "I'm hungry," with a dramatic pout gracing her lips.
"Clearly."
She hits his shoulder lightly. "So are you!"
"What are you? Eight?"
She places a hand on her heart in mock seriousness. "In spirit."
He gives her a hard laugh, delighting in the lightness of their evening. They need it; they deserve it. "You could make dinner tonight," he says, his eyes alight with mirth.
"If you trust me with the stove," she jokes, referencing the time she burned pasta...and meatloaf...and basically everything. "Or the microwave." He winces at the memory of her thinking microwaving chocolate chips was a great idea. "Cook for me?" she asks, her puppy dog eyes on full display.
"How about we cook together?" He hadn't considered the idea up until now-he usually cooked everything except breakfast (it's her specialty after all)-but he thinks it could be fun to do it together. Very husband and wife-like, if he says so himself.
Amelia groans, sticking out her bottom lip. "Can't you?" Her voice is sugary sweet.
He shakes his head, patting her ass, and shifts her onto the couch to stand up. Once he's standing, he offers his hand. She groans, muttering something about stubborn husbands, but she takes his hand regardless and stands up without much of a fight. He leads her into the kitchen and doesn't let go until he goes to check the fridge for supplies. Usually, he's so on top of their pantry and food stuffs, but it's been too crazy lately to keep up. He notices that they have some chicken and some parmesan cheese, as well as garlic and breadcrumbs. "We could make baked chicken."
"You can make baked chicken," she says cheekily.
"Nice try." He sets the chicken on the counter and takes out the other spices and toppings. After he grabs the casserole dish, he asks her to open the chicken and set it in the pan.
"Umm," Amelia squints her eyes. "I don't like touching raw meat," she says with disgust. "It's slimy."
He rumples his nose in distaste, her choice of words not exactly preferable for food prep. "Okay, then I'll do that and you can add the coating."
She shrugs, resigning herself to her fate, and hops off the island stool to come around to the far counter. After he places the first chicken breast in the dish, she randomly throws in garlic, cheese, oregano, and paprika. He's usually more precise, but he considers Amelia helping without poisoning them success enough. She adds some breadcrumbs and lets him flip the meat on the other side to do the same thing to the back. She smiles when he handles the meat without her having to ask. He always knows what she needs, whether it be something small or large.
He had set the oven to preheat after getting the casserole dish, so it only took a few minutes for the beep to signal that the oven is ready. He places the dish in the oven and tells Amelia to set it for thirty minutes, then washes his hands. Grabbing the bag of salad from the fridge, he dumps some into two bowls. After she washes her hands, she sets to cutting some tomato and cucumber. He adds some sunflower seeds and takes the dressing out, waiting to add it so the salad doesn't become soggy.
Finally, Owen heads down the hall to take a shower while Amelia putters around the house straightening up and putting their guest rooms back together. He will do the swiffering and vacuuming in the morning while she takes her shower.
Not long after, they make some baked potatoes and finish the salad, placing it on the table next to the chicken. It's a nice meal and, once it's over, they sit together to watch their favorite show, cuddling close. And, when night rolls around, Owen slowly leads her back to their bedroom, eyes locked and hearts fluttering, ready to make good, sweet use of an empty house.
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