Happy Lowman (Sons of Anarchy) x fem!reader
You go away for two weeks. Nothing dramatic. Just a trip. The problem is that Happy doesn't realize how much of his daily routine revolves around you until you're gone. Nobody to text. Nobody to look for when he walks into a room. Nobody asking him annoying questions. Nobody stealing bites of his food. Nobody. The realization is deeply unpleasant.
The first three days are fine.
At least, that's what Happy tells himself.
People leave all the time. They go on trips. They visit family. They take vacations. The world does not stop spinning because one twenty-four-year-old woman decides to disappear for two weeks.
So when you hug him goodbye outside Teller-Morrow, smiling up at him with your overnight bag hanging off your shoulder, he simply grunts.
"Try not to miss me too much."
Happy snorts.
"Don't flatter yourself."
You laugh.
The sound follows him long after your car disappears down the road.
At the time, he doesn't think anything of it.
Why would he?
You aren't his girlfriend.
You aren't his wife.
Hell, you're barely anything.
Just someone who somehow managed to wedge herself into every crack of his life until your presence became as natural as breathing.
He doesn't notice the damage until you're gone.
The first sign comes that evening.
Happy finishes a run.
Parks his bike.
Walks into the clubhouse.
And immediately starts looking for you.
Not consciously.
Not deliberately.
His eyes simply move automatically toward the corner booth where you usually sit.
Empty.
The realization lands half a second later.
Right.
Gone.
Two weeks.
His jaw tightens.
Then he goes to get a beer.
The second sign arrives the next morning.
Happy wakes up before sunrise, as usual.
Makes coffee.
Sits outside.
Checks his phone.
Nothing.
Which shouldn't bother him.
Except every morning for nearly a year there's been something.
A stupid photo.
A random question.
A complaint.
A picture of a dog.
A message asking whether sharks can get cavities.
He still doesn't know why you'd asked that one.
His phone remains stubbornly silent.
Happy stares at the screen for a few seconds.
Then shoves it back into his pocket.
The silence feels strange.
By day four, it starts getting annoying.
By day six, it starts getting worse.
Because now he's noticing things.
Little things.
Stupid things.
The empty chair beside him during breakfast.
The fact nobody steals fries off his plate.
The fact nobody wanders into the garage asking ridiculous questions while he's trying to work.
Nobody appears holding a drink they don't want because it tastes weird.
Nobody tells him about some movie he doesn't care about.
Nobody sits on the arm of his chair despite there being perfectly good seats available.
Nobody.
And somehow that's the problem.
Happy is sitting at a table in the clubhouse one afternoon when Chibs finally notices.
"You look miserable."
Happy glares.
"I'm sitting."
"Aye."
"So leave me alone."
Chibs studies him.
Then his eyes narrow.
A smile starts forming.
Happy immediately hates it.
"Oh."
"What?"
"Oh, that's what this is."
Happy's eye twitches.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Chibs leans back.
"Missing her."
The silence that follows could kill a man.
Happy stares at him.
Chibs grins.
Happy seriously considers murder.
"I'm not missing anybody."
"Course not."
"I'm not."
"Right."
Happy reaches for his beer.
Chibs laughs.
And the worst part?
Happy knows he sounds ridiculous.
Because he is missing you.
Constantly.
Every single day.
The realization hits him one evening while he's eating dinner alone.
A burger.
Fries.
Simple.
Normal.
He takes one bite.
Then instinctively shifts the plate slightly to the side.
Making room.
For you.
Because every single time you eat together, you steal food.
Not ask.
Not negotiate.
Steal.
You take fries.
Pickles.
On one memorable occasion, half his burger.
Then smile at him like he's supposed to be grateful.
Happy stares at the empty space beside his plate.
The space he'd automatically made for you.
His appetite disappears immediately.
The realization settles into his chest like a lead weight.
This is bad.
This is really bad.
Because apparently somewhere along the way he'd gotten used to you.
Not just used to you.
Dependent.
Not in some dramatic way.
Not in some pathetic way.
But in the quiet ways.
The dangerous ways.
The kind that sneak up on a man.
He got used to hearing your voice.
Used to seeing your smile.
Used to knowing you'd be around.
Used to reaching for his phone and finding a message.
Used to looking up and finding you nearby.
Used to you.
And now you aren't there.
The absence sits beside him everywhere he goes.
By the beginning of the second week, everyone notices.
Especially Tig.
Because Tig never notices anything until it's impossible to ignore.
"Jesus Christ."
Happy looks up from cleaning his gun.
"What."
"You look like somebody kicked your dog."
"I don't have a dog."
"You know what I mean."
Happy returns to his work.
Tig watches him.
Then says the worst possible thing.
"When's she coming back?"
Happy freezes.
Just slightly.
Barely noticeable.
Unfortunately Tig notices.
A grin spreads across his face.
"Oh my God."
Happy closes his eyes.
"Tig."
"Oh my God."
"Tig."
"You're in love with her."
The room erupts.
Laughter.
Cackling.
Mockery.
Happy contemplates homicide.
Multiple counts.
At once.
"Shut up."
Nobody shuts up.
"Happy's got feelings."
"That's adorable."
"Should we throw him a welcome-home party?"
"Maybe buy flowers."
Happy stands.
The room becomes significantly quieter.
Not silent.
But quieter.
Tig is still laughing.
Happy walks away before he actually commits a felony.
The thing is...
They're wrong.
Sort of.
Because Happy doesn't spend those two weeks realizing he's in love with you.
That happened a long time ago.
He just never examined it.
Never named it.
Never looked directly at it.
Men like Happy survive by ignoring certain things.
Especially feelings.
Especially hope.
Especially the possibility of wanting something they might not get.
So he'd buried it.
Ignored it.
Pretended you were simply someone he enjoyed having around.
The problem is that once you're gone, the lie falls apart.
Because normal people don't feel like this.
Normal people don't spend fourteen days checking flight arrivals.
Normal people don't stare at old text messages.
Normal people don't find themselves smiling because they discover a sweater you left behind.
Happy does.
And every realization makes him increasingly irritated.
Mostly because he can't fix it.
The fourteenth day arrives.
Your flight lands in the evening.
Nobody tells him.
Nobody has to.
He knows.
Because of course he knows.
He's known for days.
Happy spends the entire afternoon pretending he isn't watching the clock.
By six o'clock he's ready to punch something.
By seven he's considering leaving town.
By eight he hears laughter outside the clubhouse.
Your laughter.
His entire body goes still.
The sound hits him like a freight train.
Because suddenly the silence of the past two weeks disappears.
Just like that.
The door swings open.
You walk inside.
Sun-kissed.
Smiling.
Carrying a bag.
Looking entirely too happy for someone who has unknowingly ruined a man's emotional stability.
"Hey!"
Several people greet you immediately.
You start hugging everyone.
Talking.
Laughing.
Telling stories.
Happy remains exactly where he is.
Watching.
You spot him a few seconds later.
Your smile changes.
Softens.
Brightens.
Like you're genuinely happy to see him.
Something in his chest twists painfully.
Then you abandon your bag entirely and cross the room.
Straight toward him.
"Hi."
Happy stares down at you.
Two weeks.
Fourteen days.
Three hundred and thirty-six hours.
He knows because he'd counted.
Your smile widens.
"Miss me?"
The answer should be easy.
Should be sarcastic.
Dismissive.
Simple.
Instead, Happy reaches out.
Hooks an arm around your waist.
And pulls you directly against him.
The entire clubhouse goes silent.
You blink.
Surprised.
Happy never cares about audiences.
Especially not now.
Especially not when you're looking at him like that.
Especially not after two weeks of realizing exactly what life looks like without you in it.
His hand settles against your back.
Firm.
Certain.
Keeping you there.
Your cheeks turn pink.
"Happy?"
His gaze doesn't leave yours.
"No more trips."
You laugh softly.
"That's not really your decision."
"No."
His voice drops lower.
"But you should know."
Your smile fades slightly.
Not from fear.
From something softer.
Something hopeful.
"What?"
The clubhouse is still silent.
Every single person watching.
Happy doesn't care.
For once in his life, he doesn't care.
Because some things are more important than pride.
More important than fear.
More important than looking foolish.
The past two weeks taught him that.
His thumb brushes lightly against your side.
And for the first time, he says the thing he's spent months avoiding.
"I hate when you're gone."
Your breath catches.
Happy continues.
Steady.
Honest.
The truth coming easier now that it's finally started.
"I look for you everywhere."
You stare at him.
"I check my phone."
His voice is rough.
"The food sucks when nobody steals it."
A startled laugh escapes you.
The corner of Happy's mouth twitches.
"I keep expecting you to be there."
The room has disappeared.
The audience has disappeared.
Everything except you.
"I got real tired of pretending that's normal."
Your eyes shine.
And suddenly he can see it.
The same feeling.
The same hope.
The same fear.
Waiting there all along.
"Happy..."
"I love you."
The words fall heavily between you.
Simple.
Certain.
True.
No speeches.
No poetry.
Just truth.
Happy watches tears gather in your eyes.
Watches your smile tremble.
Watches your entire face light up.
Then you throw your arms around his neck.
And for the first time in two weeks—
For the first time in what feels like forever—
Everything settles.
Everything feels right.
"I love you too," you whisper.
The relief that hits him is almost violent.
Because he'd prepared himself for rejection.
Prepared himself for awkwardness.
Prepared himself for losing you.
Instead you're smiling.
Laughing through tears.
Holding him like you never want to let go.
Happy presses his forehead against yours.
The clubhouse immediately erupts behind you.
Cheers.
Whistles.
Yelling.
Tig is probably crying.
Nobody cares.
Not even Happy.
Because you're here.
Back where you belong.
Back where he belongs.
And as he wraps both arms around you and pulls you closer, listening to your heartbeat beneath his hands and feeling your smile against his skin, Happy realizes something simple and undeniable.
The past two weeks had been deeply unpleasant.
The rest of his life, however, suddenly looks a hell of a lot better.
