Part VIII - A Little Off

Some days they just don't jive.

Warnings: OC, language, short

It had been an off day. Everybody has them, and in the years I'd been dating Rafael, we'd had maybe half a dozen of them. This in itself is remarkable, really, when you consider how much time we spend together. But these days are bound to spring up, whether due to hormones (mine), migraines (his), or stress (ours). Or sometimes it's situational; me being somewhere that makes me uncomfortable, him being manically stressed out, painfully bored, or just out of his comfort zone.

Today was one of those days. We just weren't syncing, to borrow a term from Apple. He was recovering from a migraine, a disgusting case, and a loss he took to heart more than usual. I was frazzled over a horrible workday, angry in general at being passed over for a promotion and having been called in the previous day, and probably PMSing besides.

Basically? Every other thing that came out of my mouth rubbed him the wrong way, and every third word from his mouth irritated me. I wasn't actively upset with him, just with the world, and I couldn't shake the dark cloud over my head, and something was telling me he was being dogged by a similar one.

That night, after three long, quiet hours alone in his apartment listening to the sound of the city outside the thick brick walls, I sat in the golden light of the beside lamp, tired and grumpy and wishing I didn't have to work tomorrow. Wishing I could have a do-over day. I was reading The Book Thief and stewing when I heard the front door slam.

I watched the open bedroom door for a long moment, but when no Rafi arrived, I returned my attention to the book, my irritation growing. I glanced up when he finally came in, shucking off his sweater, undoing his belt. "Hey," he said, and I replied, "Hey." I read the same paragraph eight times as he got undressed in my peripheral vision, but had no comprehension of what actually was on the page. He sank down on his side of the bed, elbows on his thighs, head in his hands, fingers tracing through his hair.

"You okay?" I asked in a rumbly voice, rusty from disuse, having spent most of the day sullen and silent.

"Yeah," he said, but I believed him like I believed in the Easter Bunny.

"Migraine back?"

"Yeah."

I hummed understanding, softening in an instant. "Com'ere."

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes just slits in his face. I patted my lap. While he maneuvered to me, I turned off the light, and adjusted the brightness of my Kindle screen. In the white light from the little screen, I watched as he settled himself down, his head coming to rest on my thighs. My fingers traced through his hair, gently, fingertips running against his skin in small massaging circles. In a quiet voice, I started reading aloud: "Whoever named Himmel Street certainly had a health sense of irony. Not that it was a living hell. It wasn't. But it sure as hell wasn't heaven, either..."

My voice was going hoarse six chapters in, my hand tired of its continual rubbing, my eyes heavy. His breathing was slow and even; he had long since fallen asleep.

I closed the cover of the Kindle, and said his name in a whisper once, twice, and a third time. "Come get comfy, babe," I told him when he sat up, and he climbed into bed beside me. I pulled the blankets up around him, around us, and for the first time that day, we fell together like puzzle pieces again: my head on his shoulder, arm over his chest, his arms around me. I drew a deep breath and sighed it out, and we fell asleep in tandem.

We were back to normal again the next day. Both grouchy, but instead of at each other, we became teammates again, irritated with the world and good with each other. He kissed my mouth on his way out the door, smelling of expensive cologne and looking as polished as ever. "I'll see you tonight?" He asked, his warm hand lingering on my neck.

"Of course."

A/N: Just a snippet. I've always loved examining the ins and outs of relationships, the outs being as important to the whole picture as the ins. Again, lovelies, many thanks for the reads&reviews. -C