ㅤtheir morning at the market had been... cut short, to say the least, by an overzealous tourist who just so happened to recognize coop. whether it was from his stint in hollywood or the media coverage following his departure from it, she didn't know. what she does know is that coop got quieter and more withdrawn than she's seen him in months, lips set in a thin line so firm she was afraid it might somehow snap into splinters, as the woman ranted on and on about the gradual decline of his career, the tabloid coverage — anything and everything that he didn't want to hear, let alone publicized to the others at the market.
ㅤafter a placating and hopefully calming hand to his chest, riley had stepped in and gently talked the woman down into a more manageable state before ushering her out of the market, and more importantly, away from cooper. he'd wandered off by himself, creating as much distance between himself and the prying eyes and hushed whispers of the market - goers as possible. cooper? coop. hey. her voice was quiet, slow, her hand finding its way into his and giving it a light squeeze. come on. let's go home, okay?
ㅤand go home they did, in utter silence. normally this might pose a point of discomfort for riley, but in this instance, she knows without a doubt that she has not contributed to his current state of mind. never once does she let go of his hand, not until he decides to pull away. hours pass, night falls. she's not pressed him for conversation nor companionship; if nothing else, she's learned that sometimes he simply needs to be alone for a while, collect himself before he's able to interact again.
ㅤit's late when he finally appears in the doorway to the living room, looking much like a wounded mutt with the way he stares at her, eyes doleful and apologetic. she doesn't want an apology, nor does she expect one. he crosses the room to where she's seated on the couch, offers his hand ( as he has done so many times before ) and when she's on her feet, pulls her slowly into a tight, wordless hug. his arms are around her once again in bed — skin against skin, chest to back, his nose nestled in her hair and taking in its sweet scent.
@nitradiate : guess that's what i deserve.
ㅤit comes out of nowhere, fully catches her off guard. she's quiet for a moment, collecting her thoughts and tamping down the mournful ache that's pooled in her chest, the sadness that no doubt is reflected in her big blue eyes.
ㅤ" what you deserve— " she says preemptively, maneuvering herself out from beneath his arm long enough to turn over, weight on her shoulder, now face to face. well... almost. she leans in, pokes the tip of his nose with hers, gently taps it from below to encourage him to raise his head and meet her gaze. " hey. what you deserve is to be able to live without having to worry about whether or not some weirdo is gonna see you in public and make a scene. what you deserve is to be able to start over, on your own terms, without anyone asking you why. "
ㅤher lips press ever so gently against his — once, twice, a third time that lingers until she pulls away just enough to speak. " but mostly? what you deserve is someone who loves you and wants to help you build that life, with them. " another kiss, words now mumbled against his lips. " with me. and you're more than i could ever deserve. "
