Cloud 7

Not answering his phone when you FaceTime. Coming in and out of your personal apartment whenever he damn well pleases. And evading you like the plague.

You don’t mope around and wait for him to come home.

Oh no.

You reciprocate.

Call it petty, but equal opportunity was a better word for it. You were fine before him and you’d be fine after him. You’re a social person, so as soon as you spot the very first party you see on insta, you’re getting ready. After an hour of doing your routine, you slide on the front seat of your car and happily hum to your destination.

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It’s not until your fourth shot that you realize that your phone is buzzing incessantly in your back pocket.

With a drunken shake of your head, you snatch your phone out of your white jeans. “O” with a pastel blue heart flashes across the screen, and before you have a chance to swipe on the green button, if fades away.

It’s then that you noticed the glaring red numbers of missed calls and messages. The calls are in the double digits and messages are in the triple. Does it mean occur to you that he might be worried? Sure.

Do you care at the moment? Absolutely not. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve been out and amongst the masses. Being a senior in college doesn’t necessarily grant you that much freedom. So for a while you forget that you have anywhere to be or anyone to answer to.

For the next few hours, you’re in a haze, happy and bursting with tequila when you spot familiar eyes from across the room.

Dammit.

Connie Springer’s eyes assess you shrewdly. Beginning at your modest sneakers up until the very lashes that sit atop your lids. And it isn’t a hateful stare perse but it definitely makes you think twice about Ony’s friend group. While maintaining eye contact, he pulls out his phone and you see the efficient way his fingers type on the keyboard. With a final glance your way, he disappears through bodies you can’t even begin to count.

There goes your phone again. It rings once, twice, then three times. And you’re not a scary person, not at all. You laugh at the face of danger and throw caution to the wind majority of the time. This, however, is completely different.

Your phone buzzes like it’s gone haywire and you slowly begin to descend into panic. You know who it is. You find your way to the fridge and gulp down water to begin to break your liquor haze and coupled with the almost certain laborious conversation you’ll have later, you sober up fairly quickly.

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Driving back to your apartment has never been so dreadful. You purposely stop at all the red lights. You actually obey all the stop signs and you even obey the school zone speed limit signs, not caring in the slightest that it’s already 2 AM in the morning. When you pull into your designated parking spot, there’s not a need to look at the spot next to yours.

He knows that’s his spot.

Everyone else knows that’s his spot.

And no one dare park in it.

You push the off button in your car and slowly begin to make your way to your front door after locking your car. Once you open the front door, contrary to your belief, you’re met with silence.

But not just any silence. No, no this is a silence that speaks one thousand words. Are you staying in the doorway, waiting.

For what? You have no clue.

But you know what’s coming. But once again you can’t bring yourself to care. Kicking your shoes off by the door, you venture to the kitchen and find ramen to soak up the liquor you ingested.

As you’re slurping, you begin to question if he’s actually here. I mean you were sure that was his car and his university blue Jordan’s were snug in their place beside the front door. Placing the bowl in the sink, you venture into the bathroom and pretend not to see the Ony shaped lump other the cover.

The shower you take is refreshing. Coupled with the ramen, the steam works wonders for your inebriated state.You’re lost in thought when you feel rather than see a presence in the bathroom with you.

Before you open your mouth, a gravely voice croons, “So, where you been?”

And instead of answering, you continue scrubbing. Who does he think he is? Coming into your space, questioning your whereabouts? And to top it all off, he’s acting like his snitch friend Connie didn’t already tell him. The water turns colder the longer you stand in here but you can’t bring yourself to get out. He’s leaning against the counter when you finally turn the water off and those signature grey sweatpants sit lowly on his hips.

He’s glaring at you. You would say it makes you feel naked but you literally already are. His dark brown eyes start at your toes and work their way to up and you stand there, slightly amused. That however dissipates when he crowds your space in one swift movement.

“You ain’t hear me ask you a question, ma?” Those grey sweatpants hang loosely on his lips and his abs make you crumble beneath his gaze.

You try to turn your head but his index finger and thumb catch it before you have a chance to. His eyes bore to yours and one bushy but sculpted eyebrow raises in scrutinization. Ony’s never been one for words, either. Either choosing to glance in question or rub at your love handles.

Always gentle. But now, you gulp as he tilts his head slightly to the left. His mouth parts and you see the gold grill cap on his incisor peeks at you. This time when he speaks his chest rumbles with authority.

Each word is spoken slowly and every syllable is enunciated. “Where you been at?”

“Does it matter?”

And it’s not that you wanna argue. It’s the fact that you know that he knows. So, this 21 questions shit doesn’t make the least bit of sense.

“Did I ask?” he counters and you roll your eyes. “That’s how you wanna play this tonight?”

Your face scrunches up and purse your lips annoyed. “Why are you asking when you know the answer to the question?”

He mows right over the inquiry as if what you said doesn’t matter in the slightest. “So, that is how you wanna play it.”

You suck your teeth in annoyance, wishing for this conversation to be over. If you’re being honest, you really don’t have the energy to deal with this right now. Nor do you want to. Him going and coming.You trying to hold onto your sanity.

With a sternness that’s unique to you, you simply say, “Get out.”

He takes a deep breath in and his eyes shutter closed.

When they open, there’s a whole other storm brewing beneath those mahogany browns. “Don’t do that.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. “No, you don’t do that.”

Your nostrils flare and before you can stop it, the dam breaks. “I want you out, Ony. You’ve been on one the past couple of weeks. I’ve never once questioned you. I don’t know what know what you’re doing or who you’re doing it with.”

You sigh in anguish, because you do care. But you suck it up. “You’re not about to come in and out like my door is always gonna be open for you. Matter of fact, give me my key back.”

His head is shaking as soon as your palm opens. “No.”

“No?” His shoulders drop and so does his head and you watch as he takes a deep breath before looking back up at you.

“Talk to me.”

You want to validate him. Tell him that it’s okay, but the words are stuck in your throat.

Your hands clench into fists and you mumble, “What would you like me to say?” With a purse of your lips you declare,“I’m not an option. Do you understand me? You will not treat me like gum on the bottom of your shoe and waltz in here like you never left. I won’t ask you again. Give me my key.”

He rubs at the back of his neck and the veins in his neck scream in protest. Almost as if he’s physically holding himself back from saying what he wants. He murmurs something quietly, too quietly. Your neck cranes slightly and you hope that signifies what you don’t voice. Then you hear words that sounds like a confession you’ve longed to hear.

“What?” you whisper.

“I love you, alright? Damn.”

Your eyes widen so much, you’re sure that the whites are completely visible. Your mouth opens and closes several times in quiet astonishment. The words haven’t even formed in your mind let alone your mouth.

Your breath becomes a bit heavy and he continues, choosing to explain himself before you can ask. “I’m not good at this feeling shit, bae. You know that. I ain’t never wanted to be around anyone as much as you. Never wanted to punch a nigga in the jaw from just glancing at a woman too long. I’ve never wanted to build a family with anyone before. You make me…fuzzy inside.”

He cringes as soon as he says it but you quirk your lip up at the thought that you feel very similar.

He presses on, “I’ve been gone lately because I wanted to sort my feelings out. Believe me when I say that I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I fucking love you.”

He stuffs his hands in his sweatpants. And his voice cracks and he tries to feign nonchalance when he utters, “Now if you want this key back…you can have it. But you gone have to pry it from me, cause I ain’t giving it up.”

He looks fiercely determined as you make a move to step closer. You’re probably cold by now, but the shock disregards your external temperature. You’ve long since air dried and he flinches when you wrap your arms over his shoulders. You smile into his bare skin when you confess. “I love you too.”

You have a few glasses of wine. Maybe more then a few. And by the time you’re stumbling into your pajamas and getting ready for bed, the numbness has transformed into anger then the slow descent into heartbreak begins.

Eren has always wanted to take care of you. So he says. And he has. You’ve never wanted for anything. He always procured what you asked for, even things you didn’t.

His lifestyle—your lifestyle— has been bought and paid for with blood, sweat, and tears. Now you question if it’s worth it.

The tears drop against your satin pillow without a warning. Then come the sniffles and before long you’re openly sobbing into a bed that only you occupy.

That’s how you fall asleep. Reeking of red wine and reeling with emotions that leave you open and vulnerable.

You don’t hear him come in. But an eye open tells you that it’s half past 1. He sighs heavily when he opens the door to your bedroom. His shoes thud on the linoleum floor, but he stops just before the bathroom. Even with your eyes closed you’d know his whole routine.

He toes off his boots, strips out of his clothes, and turns on his shower water. He likes it steaming. Not cold, not warm but scalding. And for the first time, you wonder just what he’s washing off. He checks the water thrice to make sure it’s the right temperature. Then there’s the click of the glass door shutting.

You lay there until he gets out and even then your ears follow his every movement. He goes back to the kitchen, finds his plate in the microwave and warms it up. He sits on the couch and turns on the show you’ve stopped watching together. Perhaps that’s because you never see him any more. He’s always gone when you wake up and arrives after you’ve fallen asleep.

He never comes home anymore. And you never ask what keeps him. You’re resigned to sit and wait and in a way that’s become your norm. Six months of barely seeing a man you used to crave is a jarring experience.

There was fighting at first. Yelling, screaming, and throwing dishes that narrowly missed his head. Now it’s…nothing.

The television clicks off in the living room and you hear his now slippered feet shuffle back to the bedroom.

He stops in the doorway for a second. You assume he’ll climb into bed like he always does. But tonight his feet shift until he stands above you. His presence a force to contend with.

He sighs and it’s a tired thing. A sound that says let’s stop pretending. But you can’t. You actually turn the other way, shifting until your back faces him.

“I know you’re awake.”

Your body betrays you. Literally shuddering at the very sound of his voice. So you don’t pretend. You shift back to face him.

And in his face there’s relief.

“It’s been a while, mama.” His eyes crinkle with the huge smile he gives you. And your eyes begin to water all over again.

He squats down to eye level and gives you a kiss on your forehead. And it’s supposed to be gentle, really. A small act that says “I’m here.” But it enrages you.

How dare he? Make you feel all the things you’ve gelled over.

“I hate you,” it comes out before you can help it. Your mouth clenches shut as if you can somehow put the words back in your mouth.

His eyes lower a fraction and a frown mars his features. But in spite of his expression he murmurs, “I know.”

And that hurts even more.

“Baby, I know.” His voice cracks on the pet name.

He knees hit the floor then. And you haven’t moved an inch.

“I always want to take care of you. You understand that, right?” he breathes out and it only further incites you.

You sit up then, eyes full of unchecked emotion. “This is what you call taking care of me? You never being home and me wondering where you are? Walking in here like you own everything in here, including me? Is this taking care of me?”

His tears spill over and the silence is so void that you swear you can hear his teardrops touch the newly waxed floor.

But you’re on a roll now. “I’m tired, Eren. Marriage is a partnership and I feel like I’m going at it alone. If you don’t want me-” Your voice chokes on the words, trying to not have a full blown panic attack. “Then let me go.”

He sits on the bed then, eyes alight with downright misery. “I know I haven’t been the best. I don’t even deserve to come home to you. The person I would give my life for. The person I crave to see even though you’re asleep when I do. My person.”

He lips push out in disdain and he grabs your hand, “If you left me, I’d die. I just feel like I’m always on go. At work, I’m needed constantly. My family expects so much from me because I made it. And you…you’ve never asked me for anything.”

The way he says it gives no room for argument. As if it’s a fact that is irrefutable. “There is no me without you. And I’m sorry that I hurt you, made you feel invisible. You are all that I see, every morning. Every night.”

You clench his hand then, “I just want you here. I want you to hold me again. I want to kiss you, hold you. I want to make love to you because I love you. I can’t do any of that if you aren’t here.”

He latches into every syllable out of your mouth. And by the time your finished, he’s directly next to you, breath fanning your face.

“I can do that,” he says, more than enthused about the idea. And that’s how this chapter of your marriage closes.

Waking up the next day is full of surprises. Eren is there when you wake up. You know because you’re awoken by a tongue lapping you up in a place that’s been abandoned.

You’re mouth parts on a silent scream and your body is so in tune with his that it doesn’t take long before you fall apart again, and again.

By the time he’s inside of you, you’re exhausted, but your body clenches all the same. As if it’s terrified that if it lets him go that it won’t ever feel this again. And he talks you through it.

Every orgasm is accompanied by an, “I love you, mama.” or a “Missed this so much.”

By the time he finishes, there’s not a doubt in your mind about it. Yes, marriage is a mountain but the zenith never looked so close.

Based on this ask: https://www.tumblr.com/i-mean-y-not/801670320112238592/please-please-please-write-some-eren-angst-where