#janinebianchi

[deranbianchi]

STARTER FOR: @janinebianchi  LOCATION: Deran and Janine’s home. DATE AND TIME: December 7th, 2020. 12:09AM.

Try to be more romantic, you fucking moron. The words of his father after a heated phone call on his drive home. For once, Deran decides to give him the benefit of the doubt. He just lost his brother in the most cruel way, his pride and honor stripped from him with one bullet to the brain while he slept. Deran had obtained his father’s same coping skills, acting out in order to heal the emotional wounds that soon consume him. Little by little, he became just like him in certain ways, though his bitterness still hurt. In hindsight, Deran was still a boy scorned in the wake of his father’s mistreatment.

On the phone, Deran had mentioned Janine. Something about how he hadn’t seen her much that day and that he was dealing with Gregory’s death closely with his cousins. Retaliation was in order, business was business, and his wife had soon become an after thought. This, for some strange reason, had baffled his father. Perhaps he was afraid his son would too suffer the same romantic fate as him, his spouse running away with a bag of cash, never to be seen again. So, Deran receives the usual. Some aimless insults and then the grand finale. Try to be more romantic, you fucking moron. 

While on his way home, he picks up a few things. Odds and ends. He walks past a bodega with a station filled with bouquets of flowers. At this rate, his marriage was so strained that he considered buying every damn one. “The roses are most popular.” The worker says, ready to sell. Deran hesitates before picking up a bouquet of roses paired baby’s breath. He pays, says his thank you, and heads back home.

Deran silently hopes the flowers will mask the subtle smell of Meredith’s perfume.

“Hey..” Deran starts quietly as he heads inside once he’s home. He removes his shoes and circles around the couch where Janine sits, the TV on before her. By some miracle, she was still awake. On days where he came home late, she usually fell asleep long before he arrived home. “Um,” The man clears his throat, holding out the flowers. “These, um, these are for you.” 

[deranbianchi]

STARTER FOR: @janinebianchi​ LOCATION: Deran and Janine’s home. DATE AND TIME: December 11th, 2020. 9:15AM.

The shower fills the space where silence brews. As the steady stream hits his back, Deran rubs at his face. In truth, he’s never been to a funeral of this magnitude and that notion alone earns a surge of nerves to travel through his body. Today, the Bianchi family were to be their own protectors, shielding themselves from any oncoming threats, ones that may very well earn in their demise. A sigh escapes Deran as he reaches to shut the water off, pulling back the shower curtain and stepping out. He grabs a towel from underneath the sink, wrapping it tightly around his waist, before heading back into his and Janine’s bedroom.

His wife is half-dressed, seated at her vanity, touching up her makeup. Deran looks, of course he looks. He takes her in entirely, smiling a little to himself. Even to this day, Deran never feels prepared for way she makes him covered in a sudden red flush. The anticipation was almost brutal though routine nonetheless. The man circles his bed, pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher that was provided by their housekeeper before they sent her home for the day. “I don’t even think I remember how to tie a tie.” Deran says then, staring into his glass before taking a sip. A breathy chuckle sounds from him as he turns to Janine again, his eyes trained on her bare back. In some quiet way, he was avoiding the obvious. Gregory’s death, the funeral, the growing distance between them. Perhaps this has become a specialty of theirs. Avoidance.