fictional people and creatures are my forte

“where have you been?” you ask, voice restrained to the best of your abilities so you don’t sound accusatory.

“i had to meet up with a client. it ran longer than i expected.”

“would it have taken so much of your time to send me one text?” you try your best to sound benign but a sharpness in your tone still slips out and it stops aalto in his tracks. “or did you forget that someone was waiting for you at home?”

“i told you not to wait up for me,” aalto retorts, starting to sound defensive and your scoff at his response only adds fuel to the fire. his patience is quickly running thin and he knows it’s the exhaustion seeping into him physically and mentally that’s making him act like this. still, he can’t help but snap. “you’ve known about my job since you met me. why are you questioning me now?”

there’s an immediate silence that follows.

“wow…” stunned by his argument, you simply gulp the rest of your drink before turning away from him. “sorry for wondering if my boyfriend is still fucking alive.”

the finality in your words reels aalto back to his senses but before he can stop you from walking away, you’ve already retreated to your bedroom.

aalto runs a hand through his hair, tugging at his silver locks in frustration as he curses himself. he waits for you to come out of the room so he can properly apologize. when he realizes you won’t, he heads to the bathroom for what’s supposed to be just a quick shower.

staring blankly at a wall, he’s stood still under the cool water in an attempt to wash away the icky feeling in his gut as he recalls the words he spat and left a bitter taste in his mouth. for a moment, he thinks the cold shower is effective until he shuts it off. now without the soft thuds of water hitting the bathroom floor and drowning out the voice in his head, his mind spirals once again with thoughts of you.

aalto puts on his clothes in a hurry, hoping you’re still up. he’s going to fix this before the days ends.

however, when he exits the bathroom, his initial plan is soon forgotten. you’re already back in the living room, setting up a makeshift bed on the couch. he doesn’t even think twice before vanishing into mist and reappearing on the cushion before you can make yourself comfortable.

you only look at him, unimpressed. your silence prompts him to speak first. “what’s all this?”

you assume his question to be rhetorical but aalto doesn’t move an inch until you answer him, “it’s late. i just want to sleep.”

“the bed’s more comfortable,” he reasons with you. his knack for persuasion has never failed him but this time, it’s ineffective. he hastily adds, “i can sleep here. besides, i have to leave first thing in the morning. i wouldn’t want to wake you up.”

“another client?” the bluntness in your tone is enough to make aalto wince, immediately reminded of your argument. “all the more reason for you to take the bed then. gotta make sure you’re well-rested.”

still, he doesn’t get off the couch. you sigh. “aalto, i’m tired.”

“then let’s go to bed,” aalto pleads. “baby, please…”

“we’ll talk tomorrow.”

when aalto realizes you won’t budge, he finally lets out a defeated sigh and vacates the couch. “okay… good night.”

“good night,” you say without looking at him. from your periphery, you can see him taking small and slow steps to your bedroom as if waiting for you to change your mind. you don’t.

the hours that pass aren’t too serene. apart from your heated argument replaying in your head, aalto walks out of the room from time to time for various reasons—excuses, rather. you know that’s his indirect way of checking if you’re still awake.

on the first hour, he “needed to use the bathroom.”

an hour later, he shuffled to the kitchen for a glass of water because he “was thirsty.” but it was still a failed attempt to get a reaction out of you.

now, it’s the third hour and aalto once again emerges from the bedroom but this time, he doesn’t seem to have an alibi. he simply lingers by the door as he gauges your mood. you’ve never seen him look so uncertain that for a second, you forget about your fight. “why are you still up?”

“so are you.”

you don’t reply to that but the tension in the air seems to have dissipated so aalto gathers the courage to approach you. he takes the spot on the center table right in front of you despite the large space on the sofa. he’s still assessing the situation but to his relief, when he takes your hand, you let him.

“i’m sorry,” he begins, soft but sincere, “what i said… that was a shitty thing to say. i was tired and i know that’s not an excuse. i didn’t mean any of it. i swear.”

you don’t answer right away as you ponder over your response. “i know you can’t tell me much about your work and i’m not asking you to. i don’t need to know what you do or who you’re with because i trust you. i just want to hear from you when you’re gone the whole day so i know you’re okay.” you briefly pause to release a shaky breath as you feel the tears well up in your eyes. when you speak again, the words come out weaker. “i just need to know you’re safe.”

you’ve been stellar at keeping your tears at bay but as soon as aalto wraps you in his arms, the dam breaks and your worries from the past few nights finally find it release through your sobs. aalto whispers into your hair, “i know. i’m so sorry.”

you stay that way for a bit, crying and relieving yourself of anxiety in his embrace as he continuously mutters apologies and assurances. when you finally calm down, aalto pulls away slightly, his hands finding purchase on your face as his thumbs gently swipe across your tear-stained cheeks.

“tell you what,” he says, his tone still tender but there’s a lightness to it now and the mischievous glint in his eye is ignited once again. “when all of this is over, i’ll tell you all about it. down to the smallest details, even if it takes me all night. after all, verbal tea is just as good as herbal, am i right?”

you giggle at his familiar cheekiness, the sound all nasal and wet but it’s the happiest you’ve felt in days. “where did you learn that?”

“i heard it from one of the kids in encore’s storybook club.” aalto’s genuine response gets a cackle out of you and it’s only then it hits him that this is the first time he’s heard your laughter since he got home tonight. completely powerless to the sudden urge to kiss you, he doesn’t even put up a fight and crashes his mouth onto yours. when he feels you smile against his lips, he whispers, “i missed that.”

“shit!” you accidentally spill tea on the papers on MORTEFI’s desk, prompting him to immediately get up before the drink can drip onto his coat.

you assumed he was going to pull another all-nighter, as he had been doing the previous nights, hunched over his table in the corner of your shared bedroom—only taking short breaks when he needed a quick meal, a quick nap, or a quick trip to the bathroom.

it was already late in the afternoon and mortefi has yet to express any signs that his work was close to completion so you decided you wanted to do something nice for him.

well, now you’re certain that his tasks are nowhere near done.

“i’m so so sorry,” you squeak out as mortefi salvages what he can from his work.

“i’ll take care of it,” he says without sparing you a glance but you insist.

“i’ll clean it up.”

this time, he looks at you.

“just go,” he utters, not hostile but clipped. you know that tone too well—this isn’t up for discussion. all you can do is leave, eyes brimmed with tears and your heart with guilt.

a few hours pass and he’s barely left the room. you also haven’t checked if he needed anything. in fact, you haven’t spoken to him since.

it’s close to midnight when you gently knock on your bedroom door before entering with caution, “i’ll just grab my things.”

mortefi looks up at the sound of your voice but maybe it’s the fatigue finally catching up to him because he doesn’t process your words right away, only following your movement with his eyes. when he realizes you’re reaching for your pillows and blanket, something in his brain finally clicks. “what are you doing?”

“i’m going to sleep on the couch,” you reply without looking at him as you pretend to busy yourself with your beddings.

“why?”

“you’ve been really busy. i don’t want to distract you.”

“i’m almost done,” he tells you. you finally look at him, bracing yourself for the moment he mentions the chunk of his research that you ruined but he doesn’t. it’s as if the very thing that’s been eating at you barely crossed his mind afterwards.

you only mutter a meek okay. but after a short stretch of silence, you speak again, “did you have to redo everything?”

with the feebleness lacing your voice, mortefi suddenly becomes fully aware of your body language—save for the pillow in your arms, you’re basically hugging yourself. like you’d hide from him if you could. that makes him get up on his feet en route to you.

as the distance between you gradually shrinks, you mumble, “i can help rewrite your notes.”

it’s a lame offer, you know it, but how else can you possibly make it up to him when you barely have any knowledge on his expertise? heck, even at times he explains his research in layman’s terms, it still doesn’t make it all any easier for you to comprehend.

the instant mortefi reaches you, he takes the cushion acting as a barrier between your bodies and tosses it back onto the bed. soon, you’re pulled into his comforting embrace. “it was an accident. it’s okay.”

knowing mortefi, he rarely grants his colleagues the privilege of being treated with such level of leniency and patience. and you would’ve found it funny how uncharacteristic it was of him to speak those words had it not been you who caused the accident.

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, unable to steady the quiver in your voice. you feel mortefi’s hand runs up and down your back at a soothing pace. “i should’ve been more careful.”

“it’s okay,” he repeats, “it was just a few pages.”

“are you sure?”

“yes.”

“you’re not mad anymore?”

“i never was,” he assures you, slightly pulling away so he’s looking at you directly. he feels a pang in his chest at the sight of your watery eyes. “it’s just been really hectic lately and i’m trying to meet a deadline. i’m sorry i took it out on you.”

still ridden with guilt, you can hardly tell if the pensiveness in his visage is from exhaustion, disappointment, or just his face. “you still look upset.”

“well, i’m not exactly ecstatic about it.” there’s no bite in his tone but nevertheless, the honesty stings and mortefi doesn’t miss the way you deflate at his words. he pulls you back into his arms and flush against his body, pressing a tender kiss on the top of your head in an attempt to ease your nerves then he reiterates, “i’m not upset.”

“promise?” your words are muffled as you nuzzle into him.

“i promise.”

“okay. but i am serious about rewriting your notes.”