when she texted him sos. come and help me im dying this.... this probably wasn’t what he expected to see: fred in her dinosaur onesie, looking dishevelled, bordering on emily, the corpse bride chicness with the dark eye bags she’s rocking. reading the same instruction page for the seventh time in the last three hours, the final sentence leaves her lips in an irritated whisper, a childish sulk enveloping on her delicate features. “i’m done, i don’t understand shit, i give up.” she tosses the ikea assembly booklet over her shoulder towards the unkempt bed, “the dream is dead, crickey, i have failed us both. i thought we could have a tea party, but no, swedish gods are mocking us. leave, leave and save yourself from this endless pith of incompetence. it could be contagious, y’know, don’t want you to end up like me.” building a children’s play kitchen is a far cry from the dream, but fred’s way too invested in her vision to see through it. “the tea party is officially cancelled,” she hums, genuinely upset over her lack of bob the builder skills. bless the silver spoon she was born it — not a single cell possesses dexterity in her bones. eyeing the mess she’s made on her bedroom floor, a shrug moves past her broad shoulders, “the plan was to build it by myself, then text you for a proper surprise. i was even going to put on this cute dress, very elegant and appropriate for a tea party. it’s blue like alice’s. then i got overwhelmed because... i mean, i’m starting to feel sorry for parents. fuck little chucky and annabelle, mommy’s no einstein. extremely difficult.. and for what?” earthy orbs lock to the male’s with an apologetic and disheartened smile, “i’m sorry.”
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