How many times before had walking through these doors left her feeling horribly lonely, she wondered as they entered the house. She'd be lying if she said it felt welcoming now, but there was a comfort in being somewhere she had learned to feel safe. She didn't bother bringing her bags upstairs, already knowing that she wanted to wash everything in them. She needed to get rid of every bit of this trip, every piece of dust and debris, every single reminder. She needed it all gone.
He seemed to be of a similar mind, falling upon the couch, his arm splayed dramatically over his eyes.
"How perfectly wretched," he muttered.
"Yes, yes, no one has suffered quite as you have."
"They haven't." He lifted his hand, folding his arms beneath his head.
"Yes, I'm sure."
She fell into the chair, kicking off her shoes by the heel.
He smirked, "That's not very lady-like."
"Very few things are."
"I didn't mean it in a bad way."
"Can't I do anything without it becoming a spectacle?"
"If you bring me a drink, I promise I won't make a single comment. I won't even thank you."
"How generous." She stood anyway, very much wanting a drink herself.
It was a moment before she reappeared from behind the door, "We haven't had anything half decent in ages. If you're going to drink the house away, the least you can do is restock the liquor."
"Now now, you can hardly blame me alone." He took the glass in his hand, downing the majority of it in a single swallow. "Were you smart enough to bring the bottle?"
"Aren't I always?"
"That's a good wife." She topped his outstretched glass off. "You always know just what I need."
"I've lived with you long enough to figure most things out. You're pretty predictable."
"Am I?" He hummed a note of contemplation. "Well. It's not as if you're such a challenge yourself."
"I take offense to that."
"You shouldn't." He stretched beleagueredly, still watching her. "It makes my life easier. We fight, we fuck, we move along."
He could see her set her jaw at that, indignant, "You don't-"
"Don't get fussy," he closed his eyes, balancing his glass upon his chest. "If it was a bad thing, I wouldn't have bothered to save you. Which you still have yet to thank me for, by the way."
"I didn't need to be rescued."
"In this case, you did."
"I didn't want to be rescued."
"Luckily for the both of us, it wasn't up to you." She didn't reply, no doubt too busy being pettily annoyed. He wasn't wrong, through. "At any rate," he continued, breaking the now uncomfortable silence, "what do we have for dinner?"
"I've been home for as long as you. Hell if I know."
"It's your job to know."
"Care to rephrase that?"
"Really, now. I don't ask for much, and starving to death is definitely not on the list of things that I enjoy."
"And that responsibility falls solely on me?"
"You sound surprised."
"I'm just as exhausted as you are."
"Yes, but it's your job."
"It… is not. You're a grown adult."
"Violet. Have I ever left you wanting for anything? All I ask in return is a simple dinner. Is that really so terrible?"
"You know what? Fine. I'm too tired to argue."
"Ah. My five favorite words." He couldn't help but smile.
"But you'll owe me for this."
"We'll call it even. I saved your life, you go through the horrible discomfort of cooking in your own kitchen…"
"Whatever you say."
"Don't try to get smart—it's not a good look on you."
She shoved his head lightly as she walked by. Not unkindly, per say, just enough to let him know there was still some fight there. Good. He smiled, taking another sip from his glass, relishing the gesture, however unkind it may have been. She had to try so hard not to care.
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AN-
Hello my Heathens! Hopefully as things begin to quiet down, I can get better at updating in a timely fashion. Keep sending me your love/hate/exasperations, I love talking with yall Cheers!