ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬
𝐝𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐱 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ˎˊ˗
𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. the city is awake, pressing in on the quiet life you and david have built, demanding things that are gradually fracturing the peace. rare domestic mornings like these are the last things holding your sanity together.
𝐚/𝐧: idk what this is like so if there's any mistakes pls ignore them xx
𝐰.𝐜. 1.5k
The shrill cry of the alarm rings out through the room, echoing off the walls with its monotonous wail, piercing through you and stripping sleep away from you, leaving you bare and vulnerable to the harsh chill hanging in the air.
Instinctively, you recede further under the covers—covers you’ve learnt to grow used to, though they aren’t quite the same as your old ones. Soft and worn from years of use, well-loved and smelling of something that is uniquely home. You’d had to leave them behind, along with the routine you’d settled into, in favour of this.
Scratchy linen, a city that never sleeps, patchy walls that were once as white as shown in the advertisement but were now pallid and peeling from old age, a mottled carpet and street lights that bleed in through the drafty windows at every hour of the day.
An arm emerges from beneath the pile of heat, slamming down onto the alarm and silencing it’s death-cry, leaving a deafening silence in it’s wake, broken only by the din of passing traffic below. David rolls onto his back, a low grunt leaving him in a raspy exhale.
You let out a languid hum, turning your face deeper into the pillow, eyes still shut against the rest of the world.
“Early.” You mutter, and David chuckles, a low rumble deep in his chest.
You roll into his side, head resting against him like you belong there, listening to the steady thump of his heart, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath your ear. His arm comes to settle around your middle, eveloping you in warmth, tugging you impossibly close.
“I should get up.” He whispers, lips brushing your hairline, words barely audible, spoken with seldom conviction.
“I do.” He interrupts, hand sneaking under your shirt, palm pressing cool against your ribs, his thumb tracing idle circles against your skin, feather-light and grounding.
“In a minute.” It’s a feeble attempt, but one you know will work regardless; he doen’t want to leave any more than you want him to, and with no care for punctuality or opinions regarding his tardiness, the bait is tempting enough for him to nod once in agreement, his eyes falling shut once more.
“You hands are cold.” You glance up at him, noting the way his hair falls limp across his forehead, sticking up every which-way, his skin flushed faintly from sleep. He cracks open one eye, drowning you in baby blue waves, flecked with grey storm clouds and exhaustion.
“So you tell me.” He scrubs a hand over his features, trying to rub away the final dregs of sleep clinging to him. “You sleep okay?”
Your shrug is tacit—neither of you have slept soundly since the move, everything too out of place, your new life too friable to be considered a safety net strong enough to catch you if all else crumbles around you. David understands.
“Same as normal.” He presses a kiss to your temple, lingering for a few fleeting seconds, before turning his attention to the clock, a sigh pulling from deep within. With great reluctance, he pulls away from you, evoking a whine from you at the loss of contact, as you watch him stretch, joints popping and cracking from disuse.
“Okay…” He grunts, and your frown, displeased.
“That means you’re getting up.”
David runs a hand through his hair, pushing himself up onto his feet, steadying himself on the nightstand. “Don’t make a thing of it.”
You watch him silently as he shuffles about the dim space, footsteps muffled against the carpet, stumbling blindly around the room, gathering up the clothes he’d shed half-heartedly the night before, choosing his desire for sleep over having a clean, pressed shirt.
“You’re staring.” He points out, straightening up as he grabs his pants, tugging them on slowly, and you smile fondly.
He buckles his belt, the clink of the metal filling the space, and you exhale slowly. “Can you blame me?”
David doesn’t answer, but you catch his smile in the dim yellow glow of the streetlamp as it slices through the bedroom, cutting through the sliver in the curtains and interrupting your peace, the city bleeding into the most seraphic parts of your life the same way it always seems to these days.
David tugs on a clean shirt, clearly deciding that his other one is too marred with wrinkles to consider suitable, and you make a mental note, as he tosses it on the chair, to iron it later so he has it for tomorrow.
“You look tired.” You point it out, and he brushes you off, doing up his buttons and leaving the top ones undone as always, looping his tie half-heartedly.
“I’m fine.” The statement lacks any real conviction, but you decide there’s no point in arguing with him, not this early, when he’s stubborn and exhausted. He’ll never admit to it, but you can see right through him, and you know that if he doesn’t slow down soon, he’s going to break completely.
The collar of his shirt stands up on one side as he moves to the mirror to tame his hair, still not bothering to switch on a light, and his tie sits crooked.
“David.” You call, voice gentle as though you were cajoling a child. “C’mere.”
He gives an absentminded hum, and you call again, finally catching his attention; he drifts over to you as though he’s on autopilot, expression softening as you prop yourself up against the headboard, arms extended outwards for him.
You swing your legs off the mattress, pulling him so he’s crouched between your knees, and his hands settle on your thighs on instinct, more grounding than sensual. “Your collar.”
“Sweetheart.” He attempts, but it falls on deaf ears, a pathetic drawl lost to the domestic quiet you’re both still clinging to before he leaves, swallowed by the city and spat out only when the sun has long since set and you’ve grown tired of sitting up waiting.
Your hands smooth it down with so much tenderness that it softens him entirely, and his eyes are trained on your features: the way your brow creases and the subtle bite of your lip you only ever do when concentrating. Your fingers adjust his tie, lingering for a beat too long, before you finally meet his gaze, yours dulled with upset, mourning something that hasn’t left yet.
“Hey..” He whispers, squeezing your thighs. “Don’t do that.”
“‘M sorry.” You swallow, and he leans up, arm winding around you and tugging you close until your head rests against his collarbone, enveloped in a scent that’s uniquely him—musk, aftershave, and his shampoo.
“You don’t like mornings like this.” The words are spoken against your temple, and you offer a weak shrug.
“You don’t like the part after.”
Silence passes between you the same way storms pass through the city, heavy and pressing. You thought you’d become inured to days like this, where his departure feels just a little more weighty than usual.
“I’ll be back.” He promises, lips finding yours in a kiss so fleeting you find yourself chasing it even after he straightens up, brushing his pants down and clearing his throat. He grabs his wallet from the nightstand, his badge, and his keys.
“Watch.” You remind him, and he nods, picking it up from the dresser.
A horn blares from beyond the window, rain slamming against the windowpane in a rhythm you’ve learnt to drown out, so diurnal that it’s become background static in your newly insipid life.
“Your lunch.” You mutter.
David doesn’t look up from where he’s tying his shoes. “I’ll grab something on the way in.”
He hesitates for a moment, tugging the lace just a little too tight, before finally surrendering. “Where is it?”
“Counter. By the coffee machine.”
You nod, hands fidgeting in your lap, a habit you do purely when flustered. “You were asleep.”
Something akin to guilt washes over him then, and he moves to perch on the edge of the mattress, beside you. You know he hates his work hours and despises how much it takes from you both and how little it gives in return. But you also know how much it means to him…
“I’ll see you tonight.” A friable promise: no set time, so loose that it breaks something inside of you, crushes your desire for something solid.
He kisses you once more, lingering and passionate, far too short to ever heal the scar on your heart. “I will.”
You watch him move through the shadows, now broken up by the streaming rays of harsh sunlight, but before he can disappear entirely, you call out once more.
“David.” He turns just as you point. “Your jacket.”
He pulls it on over his shoulders, flicking the collar up, a weak attempt to protect himself from the onslaught of rain thrashing the pavement and anyone who dares step foot in it. “Love you too.”
And then he’s gone. And once more, it’s just you and the silence that presses in on your apartment more and more with each day that passes.
⋆.˚ taglist || @jamesdeanbby
⋆˚࿔ 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐦𝐞_𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔.
