Imagine your otp discussing their problems in the shower, but towards the end of their conversation, it's all laugh, banter and fluff
“Hey. You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. Is everything alright?”
The steam from the falling water was fogging up the shower stall glass, and Rapunzel was doodling in it, shampoo suds still in her hair, keeping the relatively short strands glued to the top of her head in a swirl. This wasn’t atypical behavior for her, but what she was drawing was. Eugene couldn’t really identify any of it as something specific, but it gave an overall feeling of ‘dark’ that he wasn’t liking, especially not coming from her.
“I had a bad day,” she mumbled.
Uh-oh. Mumbling was never good. Mumbling was a sign of her shininess dimming.
“A bad day or a Bad Day?” he clarified.
“The second one,” she said.
Eugene’s shoulders slumped and he exhaled. Oh. A Bad Day entailed that her past was whispering in her ear again, that years of abuse were coming out in little ways, building and building until she couldn’t take it anymore. A dropped tray at work would have her frozen in fear, blubbering apologies. The shadows in alleys as she walked home would seem to grow and lunge for her. Every strange face she saw would inevitably have pointy teeth. And through it all, the sharp, shrill voice of the woman who had raised her would tell her how weak and helpless and hopeless she was, pointing out all her faults and growing louder and louder.
Without a second thought, he gathered her up in his arms, careful of the slickness of the shower floor. Them falling was the last thing he wanted right now. “Sunshine,” he breathed into her hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The moment his arms were around her, Rapunzel felt her strength crumble. She’d put on a brave face all day, and she couldn’t keep it up anymore. “You were busy. I didn’t want to bother you.” Her voice was froggy with the tears she knew were coming.
“I’m never too busy for you. It’s never a bother,” he assured her. It wasn’t the first time he’d told her that, and it wouldn’t be the last. And he’d tell her a million times a day every day for the rest of their lives if it made her feel better.
Her shoulders shook with her quiet sobs, and he just held her and rubbed her back soothingly. Letting it all out was a good first step in feeling better.
And then Eugene did something he rarely did, and when he did, it was only for her (at least consciously). He started to sing. “Five little ducks went out to play/ Over the hills and far away/ When the mama duck said, “Quack, quack, quack, quack!”/ Four little ducks came running back.” He didn’t know why he chose that song. It was dumb and childish, but it was also the first one that came to mind as being light hearted and not complicated. Also, Rapunzel liked ducklings. And so it went, one little duck failing to return with their siblings when the mama duck called for them, until, “No little ducks went out to play/ Over the hill and far away/ When the papa duck said, “QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK!”/ Five little ducks came running back.”
His voice faded, stopped echoing off the bathroom walls, and there was nothing but the sound of running water and the splash as it it the floor. And finally, after a long silence, Rapunzel said, “Really?”
“Really…?” Eugene echoed, a little confused.
She pulled back and looked up at him with a crooked smile. “That’s the song you picked to cheer me up? One about parents yelling at their kids?”
“Hey, it wasn’t yelling!” he defended himself with a grin, holding up both of his hands. Thank goodness. Her banter was always a good sign. “It was just volume! Mama Duck can’t quack as loud as Papa Duck, so the little ducklings couldn’t hear that they were being called. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
“I’ll show you sticking to it!” she said, and swiped some of the soap out of her hair to throw at him.
“Oh, yeah,” he teased with an eyeroll. “You sure showed me.”
“I have only just begun to fight!” the warned him, and squeezed a generous helping of body wash into her open palm.
