Married; less than 1 year

Rapunzel yawned, shutting her book and unearthing herself from underneath her blanket. It was almost midnight, and she wasn't staying up to wait for Eugene one more minute. For the past few weeks, he'd been completely and utterly consumed by his recent manuscript - a mystery that he remained very tight-lipped about - and had barely spoken a word to her, outside of what was absolutely necessary; let alone spend any quality time with her. Still now, working into the late and chilly November night, he was hunched over the little desk in the corner of the living room, rattling away on the computer keyboard.
"I'm headed to bed. You need to, as well, or you'll be up all night like you were last Friday," she stood up and slipped her arms around his neck, trying to read the laptop screen from over his shoulder. "And I want to talk to you about something."
He yawned, taking off the glasses he'd recently needed to purchase for long writing sessions. "You go on up. I'll be...sometime...," he trailed off even then, tapping his lip and then jumping forward in the chair to quickly write another sentence.
Rapunzel knew that move by heart. He'd struck upon a goldmine of ideas and, as he'd spent last Friday evening, he'd be up until some unearthly hour writing it.

Burrowing under the comforter on their bed, she thought. Was he tired of their marriage, already? Or was he sincerely that obsessed with his book? She could understand his infatuation, and knew that he practically bled English and grammar, but...she blinked against the sting of tears pressing against her green eyes. It still hurt to know that someone preferred their writing's company over hers. Maybe he'd take notice of her if she'd dye her hair sunset orange and wore baggy khaki pants and dark-colored tees, like his lead detective character did.

Just as she'd decided to pull the aforementioned prank on him - or at least buy a wig to do so, as she would look dreadful as a redhead, she decided - Eugene finally tramped quietly into the bedroom. She felt the mattress depress on the other side of the bed with his weight, but kept silent. She wanted to ask him if it was her fault he was focusing so much on his book - if he couldn't stand being around her anymore - but figured she'd leave it for a day when she could get and hold his attention...and also when it was a more decent time. A peek at the alarm clock next to her side of the bed told her it was almost one o'clock. She felt Eugene rest a hand on her shoulder.
"Are you still up?" he asked quietly. Darn. Had she given herself away by looking at the clock? She gulped and kept quiet, her eyelids squeezed shut. He paused. "I know you are - you're not that good at playing asleep. What's wrong? You said you wanted to talk, didn't you?"

She sighed, reaching to turn her lamp on. Eugene propped himself up on one elbow, and the lamp illuminated the dark patches under his eyes. "Never mind. You're tired." She was tired, too, but she wouldn't sleep until her brain quit over-reacting. She started to reach and turn the lamp off, but Eugene snagged her fingers.
"Now I know you're upset - your sentences are really short. C'mon," he gave her a concerned gaze, so she sat up. "I'm never too tired for you. You know that."
"But too busy with a book," she said. Might as well get that out right off. She knew it sounded a little snarky, but she couldn't exactly revise it now that it was out in the open air. So she'd better continue. "I just-I want to know why. I know writing is your everything, but I've never seen you so consumed by it before. Are you sick of me already - is it that you can't stand me to the point where you prefer your own company? What can I do differently?" she wanted to pace the floor but knew it would only make her more tired and not solve anything. She twisted her hands in the comforter instead.
Eugene stared at her in surprise, mulling over the past few weeks. Then he flew upright in bed. "Oh, sweetie, of course not. I'm not sick of you! I'm sorry...I just kept getting idea after idea after idea, and it all fell into place, so I wanted to finish 'er up before I forgot any of it. I shouldn't have...or at the very least, should've spent more time with you. Why would you even think that I didn't care about you anymore?"

"Well..." she bit her lip. "Because most people do tend to get sick of me. Except for Mr. Barnes and the employees, but they're not around me all the time."
His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorr-"
She shook her head, burying her face in her hands when she realized how outlandish it all had to sound to him. She was overreacting. "No, just-just never mind. I'm overreacting. Sorry. I just need to learn not to take everything to heart. Especially when I know-"
"Huh-uh," he shook his head. "I can see how you could get upset at me. I know I've blown you off at least twice because I was too absorbed in my writing, and then forgot to talk with you later. You never said a peep 'til now."
"But I'm not upset," she looked up at him finally. "I-I was just sad and worried that you were, like, miserable in our marriage or something."
He looked at her for a few moments, allowing it to process. Then he laughed. "I'm sorry, and I know you have your grounds to be concerned, so I'm not laughing at your concern, but miserable isn't a word I've ever thought of in association with being married to you. I'm blessed to have you for so many reasons, another one of them being that you didn't freak on me for spending so much time writing for nearly a month."
She shrugged her shoulders up to her ears. "So it was silly-"
"I just said you had grounds for your concern," he repeated, reaching to brush a stray strand of hair away from her eyes. "And if there's a next time for me getting too preoccupied over my writing, then do whatever it takes to tell me what I'm doing. Even if you have to write "TALK TO ME, YOU IDIOT" across all my notes."
She gaped. "I'd never-"
"I'm giving you permission to. Run with it, darling," he joked, and then reached to rub the spot between her shoulder blades. Sobering, he asked quietly, "Forgive me?"
Rapunzel shook her head. "I wasn't mad, just, like I said, kind of sad and worried, so there's nothing to really forgive. How far along is the book, anyhow?"
"Finished as of...12:49 AM," he yawned. "So now I don't have any distractions."

"Until the sequel is in high demand?" Rapunzel asked, a teasing smile across her face.
"Not even then," he shook his head, opening up his arms. She sighed, slipping into them and letting him bury his nose in her hair. A warm feeling spread through her limbs, washing away her previous worry and sadness. She wondered how on earth he managed to make her feel better, constantly, without fail; even when he was the one causing her concern. "I'm sorry."
"Like I said, it's fine," she shook her head and looked up at him. As soon as she did, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Love you. Even when you're buried eyeball-deep in your writing."
He chuckled. "You're a special kind of girl, then. Love you too."
"Well, it's your entire life. I'd be mean to take you away from it," she yawned and flopped her head up against his shoulder to express her exhaustion. "And I overreact a lot."
"No, you have life experience, scars, that cause you to worry about such matters. And don't you ever hesitate to pull me away from my writing - even if you have to drag me by the ear - when you need someone. 'Kay?" he asked. She nodded and grinned, giving him a quick, relieved kiss.
"Okay," she nodded again, pulling away from his arms to switch the lamp off. "G'night." she added, most of it muffled by a yawn.
"Sweet dreams," he told her, burying under the comforter and immediately reaching to pull his wife close. He buried his nose in her hair, but both were asleep before he could kiss the top of her head.