hii!! i love ur writing so much you're so so talented 💕 I was wondering if you could write smth for david mills bc i love him and literally no one writes for him 💔 i don't have anything specific but preferably fluff!! tysm queen ily
ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧
𝐝𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
.ᐟ summary: the dinner is meant to be celebratory, an easy way for you to break the news to david. however, you both know what it means
word count.
a/n: i havent written for david in so long and i adore him. tysm ily!!
The apartment is filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by the scrape of cutlery on plates and the gentle cadence of rain hitting the windows. The city hums below, tyres on wet pavement and the occasional blare of a horn, everyone rushing home for an evening with their only family.
You take another bite of food—you tried to keep the meal simple: steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, the kind you know David loves, the sort you cook when you know he’s on edge. However, tonight, he’s in one of those moods where everything feels light.
Somerset sits across from you. You’re not sure what possessed you to invite him, but he’s grown to be part of the family. That, and the fact that his presence may soften the blow of David’s reaction when you tell him about the phone call you got over lunch.
You’d been expecting it for weeks, hoping and waiting, the emancipation so strong that you made yourself feel sick with nerves. You planned what you would say and how you would manage it, yet when the call finally did come, you could only go silent and grin.
“You want more wine?”
You glance up suddenly, meeting David’s gaze, and realise for the first time that he’s been watching you, his brow furrowed in something akin to curiosity. You nod once, clearing your throat and plastering on a tight smile, a cheap semblance of composure.
“Please.” He fills it. You take a sip. “Is the food okay?”
“It’s perfect.” Somerset responds, voice impossibly calm, cutting through the tension you hadn’t realised was simmering. “Best I’ve had in weeks.”
“That’s not hard.” David scoffs, finishing off his beer and taking another bite. He continues to speak through his mouthful, and a part of you wants to reprimand him for his manners, yet you bite your tongue, not sure you’ll be able to even attempt normalcy when your blood is thundering in your ears. “Microwave food ain’t exactly comparable to this.”
Somerset chuckles faintly, glancing back at you. The pull in his expression tells you everything; he can see right through you and knows exactly what’s going on, and if it weren’t humanly impossible, you’d expect he could read your mind. “Yes. But I have a feeling I wasn’t invited under the pretence of eating good food.”
The silence returns—David’s eyes return to you, the curiosity replaced with concern when he catches the way you shift in your seat. The rest of the steak suddenly seems unappealing, and you find yourself pushing it around your plate much like the way a fussy child spreads out their food to leave the table sooner.
“I have news.”
The announcement feels heavy, as though someone has just dropped a weight on your shoulders unexpectedly, knocking the breath from you completely. Your stomach churns, butterflies startling awake and fluttering wildly as though disturbed, and the smile you give both of them is suddenly filled with such genuine excitement that David’s own lips twitch out of instinct.
“News?” he repeats. Somerset wisely remains silent.
You nod, wiping your palms on your thighs. “Yeah. I got a phone call at lunch from the law firm in Chicago.”
Immediately, the smile disappears from David’s face, replaced with something unreadable. His eyes darken, though not with anger so much as fear. “Chicago? What for?”
“I applied for a vacant position there last month as the assistant attorney in the homicide division. David… They want me to start next month.”
The rain outside grows louder, a heavy onslaught now that pounds against the glass, droplets racing down the steam-hazy panes in rivulets. The traffic continues to crawl on the road below, horns still blaring, the occasional person yelling muffled profanities; the world continues on as normal, everyone going on with their lives as though yours wasn’t currently teetering on the brink of something colossal.
“That’s amazing.” Somerset grins, the genuineness behind the words allowing you to exhale a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. He reaches over to squeeze one of your hands. “Really. That’s a big achievement. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” You smile politely, and while you genuinely appreciate his reaction, how happy he is for you, he isn’t who you want to hear it from.
Slowly, you turn your focus back to David; he looks pallid, eyes distant as though focused on something miles away that only he can see. He drags a hand through his hair, swallowing thickly as he flicks aside the damp label he'd peeled from the empty beer bottle.
“David?”
“That’s amazing.” He manages, offering you a smile that on the surface might seem proud, like he’s thrilled at the prospect.
Yet, the selcouth shimmer in his eyes tells you that, beneath the pride, there’s a dread that’s washing over him and dragging him under, like he too has anticipated this, though not with the same sickening excitement as you.
Somerset rises from the table then, glancing towards the dogs who are stretched languidly on the rug, entirely content. “I’m going to take them out for a moment. Better now than later before the rain gets worse.”
Neither you nor David mentioned that the dogs are in no need of going out or that the weather is already at its peak with no sign of letting up. Instead, you offer a gentle thank you, waiting until he's out of the door and it’s just the two of you, alone.
“You don’t seem happy.”
David shakes his head sharply, straightening his posture and reaching across the table to take your hand in his. Your wedding ring glints under the aureate glow of the overhead light, catching the reflection just right.
“That’s not—” he trails off, gaze dropping to the table top, to your conjoined hands and the ring he’d put on your finger with a promise to stay with you forever. “I’m happy.”
“David…”
“I am,” he interrupts. “I just didn’t know. I didn’t realise that you were thinkin’ about leaving.”
You realise then how it sounds, once it’s put into words and spoken into the oppressive silence. Worse than you’d intended, like you were moving cities and leaving him behind with a life half-finished before it’s even truly started.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.” He shakes his head feverently, squeezing your hand tightly, a weak attempt to ground you. “It’s okay. It’s a good thing. You deserve it.”
You hesitate for a few fleeting seconds, eyes scanning his features for a limina of anger; all you find is pride and a quiet sadness, neither quite what you’d expected. “But?”
“Chicago is miles away.”
A crack of thunder sounds outside, a deep rumble that shudders the walls of the tiny apartment, making you aware of just how tight the space is, how your world has been reduced to a crumpled, claustrophobic world in the midst of a city that never slows down nor sleeps.
“I know.” Disappointment tinges your tone, because despite the achievement, despite how hard you’d worked for this, you always knew this would happen. That you’d have to have this discussion and inevitably come to a conclusion that would pain the other. “You could come with me.”
David huffs a gentle laugh, reaching out and gesturing for you to come around the table—you do, sinking into his lap as though all of the energy has been drained from you completely. The warmth that radiates from him thaws out the chill in your bones and soothes the constant buzz beneath your skin.
“The department won’t transfer me just because my wife got a better job.” He mumbles, honesty seeping into the words. He tips your chin up so that you meet his gaze, lips grazing your temple. “Especially not after a few months.”
“So what?” You whisper. “You just stay here?”
For a second, he’s silent, and you can practically see the question turning over in his mind, followed by a thousand others, all of which can’t be answered.
“I don’t know.” He admits finally, shoulders deflating. He reaches out to brush a loose strand of hair back from your face. “You accepted it yet?”
“No.” You toy with the open collar of his shirt, exposing a slither of tanned skin beneath, not meeting his gaze until he drops a kiss to the corner of your mouth, featherlight and barely there.
He offers a weak smile. “You should.” And though it clearly pains him to say so, the tightness in his shoulders telling you just as much, he continues, voice impossibly soft, pride still intertwined in each word. “You’ve worked your ass off for this.”
You swallow thickly, struggling to bypass the lump forming in your throat, your eyes stinging with a concoction of pent-up emotion, all finally able to seep out as the first tear slips past the dam. David catches it with the calloused pad of his thumb, and you lean into his touch like a cat.
“What about you?” The us lingers between you both, unspoken but clear nonetheless. David’s expression doesn't waver, that usual confidence returning once more. “What if we can’t make it work…”
“We will.” He sounds so certain that you can’t help but believe him. His hand settles at the nape of your neck, pulling you close enough that your forehead rests against his, your lashes fluttering. “I’ll drive to Chicago every weekend if I need to.”
“David…” Your laugh is wet with tears.
“What?”
You shake your head in disbelief, fingers running through his hair slowly. “That’s your plan?”
He grins, eyes shining beneath the aureate glow of the lamp, and he shrugs once. “It’s worked pretty well so far.”
