mardy bum
pairing: chris dixon x reader warning(s): tiny bit of angst if you squint, then fluffffff note: inspired by Mardy Bum - Arctic Monkeys
Remember cuddles in the kitchen, yeah To get things off the ground And it was up, up and away Oh, but it’s right hard to remember that On a day like today When you’re all argumentative And you’ve got the face on
Well, now then, mardy bum Oh, I’m in trouble again, aren’t I?
You looked down at your phone, reading the series of notifications on your lockscreen. Three hours ago, flight got delayed. Thirty minutes ago, I realized how impossible it is to catch a cab outside Heathrow. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Shaking your head, you look back up and catch the eye of the nearest waiter, motioning him over.
“Would you like another few minutes for your party to arrive, miss?” He asked kindly.
You silently thank God for the small mercy that Chris never stood you up at the same restaurant twice. The staff weren’t aware of how quite pathetic you were or how you felt. Smiling at his attempt to save your feelings, you shake your head.
“No,” you said. “Just the check, please.”
While downing the rest of the pint in front of you, the waiter returned with the small folder containing the check. You’re grateful that it’s not a busy night, the restaurant only about half full, and don’t even bother, instead shoving a couple tenners inside, way overpaying for just a drink and entree, before handing it back to the waiter who scurries off as you stand and grab your things, heading straight to the door.
A few women near the door catch your eye and offer a sympathetic smile. It was somewhat gratifying that a few men at the bar gave little shakes of their heads as if dumbfounded that someone had left you waiting. Sliding on your coat, you pushed through the wooden door and into the cold December night, fetching your car down the street to head home.
When you slipped into the driver seat of your car, you checked your phone again, taking note of the timing of Chris’ last text; I’m on my way there now. Stick around for me, yeah? You laughed bitterly, locking your phone back before starting your car and heading down the familiar path to your townhome.
· · ·
Your phone is ringing as you open the door, you ignore it and kick off your shoes. The only person that would be calling at this time at night, and now, you had no desire to talk to him. It stops ringing for a moment before it starts again. Again, you ignore it while heading upstairs, taking off your earrings to drop them onto the dresser. And once more, you ignore the ringing as you slide out of your jeans and blouse to slip into the shower.
The phone rings twice more while you make macaroni and cheese in the kitchen, and then once as you slide into bed. Luckily for you, Chris doesn’t call anymore as you pull up Netflix and start on the episode of Peaky Blinders that you had left off on.
It had been two weeks since you last saw Chris, when he left to go back home for the beginning of the holiday season to spend it with his family. Now that the initial holidays were over and New Year’s was approaching, he planned on coming in to spend the rest of the year with you, in your shared London space. It was a tradition.
That night he was supposed to fly in, meet you at the house before leaving for dinner. Then his flight was delayed – pushing the schedule back for the first time. He then told you he would meet you at the small Irish pub around the corner from yours, your favorite spot, the tradition. And then the schedule was pushed back once again as the influx at the airport had been too much, and it was near impossible to find a cab while fighting off the rush of travelers from the holidays.
It hadn’t been the first time this happened.
Just last month he had left you waiting at The Shard, in the most elegant, yearned-for-reservation place in the entire city, and you had been left alone when his train didn’t make it back from Manchester in time. That was something you had brushed off before, but now, as you were stood up for the second time, it almost began to burn.
It wasn’t that the relationship was struggling, it wasn’t that you were falling out of love, it was just annoying. You had always been the type of person to be on time for everything, early for appointments or meetings, or right on time for dinners or nights out with friends. It was that this was the second time, more specifically twice in a public place, and it was embarrassing each time. You wished that Chris was a more thoughtful person.
Sitting the empty bowl on the nightstand, you flipped off the light and put on your favorite show to fall asleep to before a light slumber took over.
Chris slipped into the townhouse an hour after he sent his last text message, being welcomed back in complete darkness with the exception of the small light in the kitchen. He walked further inside, toeing off his shoes at the door and dragging his suitcase behind him. Swiftly changing into a pair of shorts, discarding all of his airport clothes back into the bag, Chris walked upstairs to where your room was at on the left. He was walking through the dark like he had done this his entire life. It was like he could always make his way around where you were.
You were asleep as he pushed the door open farther, laying on your side with eyes fluttered shut as an episode of Friends played on the telly. The colors from the screen danced around the room until he shut it off, sliding into the bed next to your warm body.
“I’m sorry,” Chris said into the darkness, pulling the covers over his hips. “I don’t even know if you’re awake, but I’m sorry. I should have planned everything out better, I should have made sure I was here early enough to be with you. I know you wanted to have a special night.”
He laid on his back, staring at the ceiling, vaguely making out the small patterns. In the corner, there was one of those small, glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling, that he put there after you first moved in because you said you wanted to fall asleep under the stars. It was for a joke, one that you appreciated fully. Staring at it, he could still hear your laugh as he explained it.
“I know how much small things mean to you,” he let out a deep breath, “I’ll do better. I’m just glad to finally be back here, with you. At home.”
On your right side, your eyes remained closed, but you let out a small smile before Chris settled in for the night too.
· · ·
The next morning Chris woke up before you, but when he slipped out of the shower he noticed that you were no longer wrapped under the blankets, but instead downstairs where he could hear pans and pots being used, coffee brewing.
After drying off and sliding into a new pair of shorts, Chris walked out into the hallway, prepared to head downstairs when he saw the photos hanging on the walls above the railing. They were mostly of you and your siblings, family and friends, and then there was two of you and Chris. The photos were from particular holidays – one from Wales that was your first trip together, another from an island off of Scotland for your first anniversary as a couple. There were plenty of other holidays taken, too, to France, to New York, and all of those photos were sitting in frames downstairs on end tables and the mantle.
It took a while to finally finish putting up all the photos in the house. After moving in just a few months ago, you managed to slowly but surely put them up rather than dedicating an entire day to it. Even though you had been living there for just a handful of months, it was already starting to feel more homely than before, for both of you.
He smiled slightly, sleepily, before carrying down the stairs to the living room. You were standing by the stove when Chris stepped into the kitchen through the doorway. A shot of happiness, of joy, went straight through your system, your body immediately craving jumping into his arms and welcoming him back in the way you originally planned, but the memories of the night before, the anger and going to sleep sad took over instead.
“Morning,” Chris finally said as he moved through the room to the adjacent room. You didn’t say anything back, just looking back down to the mug in front of you, occasionally taking glances as he walked into the living room.
He lowered down on the sofa to go through his bag, picking out clothes that he could put on today if you two had decided to leave the house. And then he noticed that a pair of jeans and his shirt was missing – the ones that he had worn yesterday.
His head raised to look around the room – his clothes weren’t strewn over any arm of furniture, or left in a puddle on the floor. They were gone. And that’s when he took note of the sound of the washing machine running just off the living room. You had cleaned up around his bag, put his dirty clothes in the wash. Even when you weren’t speaking, you were still showing affection through simple, domestic acts.
When Chris spun around to speak of it, he turned his head over his shoulder and saw you walking towards him, a second mug in hand. Actually, it was his favorite mug in your home – a white one with multicolored lines that resembled the tube lines of London. He smiled when you stepped around the corner of the sofa, handing it out to him.
“Welcome home, love,” you finally said while sinking down on the sofa.
It was a mug of tea while you enjoyed yours of coffee, making sure to add both sugar and milk to each. He smiled and pulled you into his lap as you sat, both nestling the mugs in your hands, taking occasional sips.
You stared at the liquid in the mug before raising your head, looking at Chris’ side profile, admiring it while you ran the back of your fingers across his cheek. It was moments like this that you missed the most while he was gone – just existing together, in the same room.
“And I’m sorry for being a bitch last night. You know – not answering texts, calls, and leaving the pub.” You apologized. “It was shitty and I’m sorry for not saying something to let you know.”
Chris shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I knew you would leave if I didn’t show up, so I didn’t even bother checking to see if you were there.” He explained, sliding his arm around your waist, gently pulling you closer into him. His bare skin was warm against yours. “And I’m sorry too.”
“I know, I heard you talking last night.”
Chris’ head hastily turned to look at you. “You were awake?” He asked and you nodded. “And you just let me talk in the dark like an idiot?”
You laughed, “add that to the list of things I’m sorry about too.” Laying your head down on his shoulder, you two sat in silence, sipping from your mugs, just enjoying the presence of the other for the first time in two weeks. “So how do you want to enjoy the holidays now that you’re back?” You asked. “Eating? Sleeping?”
Chris hummed. “How about all of the above?” He asked, half-jokingly and you laughed, nodding.
“Sounds good. First, let’s make pancakes, though.”
“You really know the way to my heart,”
You both scrambled to your feet, sliding in your socks into the kitchen, pulling out all of the ingredients and pans to be used. You grabbed the butter and eggs from the refrigerator, turning around to watch Chris shuffle through the mixes in the pantry. You smiled when he raised to his toes to grab it off the top shelf.
“You know,” you hummed, “we called it our home.”
Chris raised a brow at you. “What?” He asked while sitting everything on the island.
“When you got in bed last night, you said that it was nice to finally be home. And I guess it kind of, hit me too, because I told you welcome home just a few minutes ago.” You explained, the corners of your lips turning up. “We hadn’t done that before.”
At first, this was your townhouse – your new place after moving out of the tiny flat in the towers outside of London, but when Chris’ visits were more often and for a longer duration, it was no longer just your place. It was for both of you now.
The townhouse was what Chris always had in mind when he imagined going home, to the place where he always felt comfortable, when someone asked where his happy place was. The townhouse was yours, but now with his toothbrush on the sink, his clothes in the closet, his filming equipment in the office, it felt like his, too.
Chris dropped his chin, looking over the things he pulled from the pantry. “I mean,” he looked back up at you, “I guess that it just feels right, yeah?”
“It does,” you said sliding around the corner, next to him, “I like saying that I can come home to you.”
“Are we that disgusting couple already?” Chris teased as you wrapped your arms around his neck, his hands instinctively wrapping around your waist.
“Yeah, we are,” you said before laughing, leaning in to kiss him softly, “but I love it.”
“Good, because so do I.” His laugh was muffled by your lips, causing you both to laugh before kissing again, completely abandoning the ingredients on the island as he swiftly sat you on the counter.
