sam ⊹ ࣪ ˖

BORROWING THE DEFENDER was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Alfie cherished that thing like it was his first born child, so for him to give you the keys for a quick grocery shop felt like he might as well just propose to you on the spot.

Albeit, he’d done it with reluctance, but you’d batted your eyelashes enough and promised him a night of whatever he wanted, and he caved pretty quickly after that.

It wasn’t that you were a bad driver, not by any means (you were arguably more sensible than Alfie in some cases) but he really didn’t play when it came to that car, and the thought of anyone else driving it but him made him feel a little ill inside.

It was supposed to be a quick trip, pop to the shop, stock up on some toiletries you were missing and even possibly grab a sweet treat or a nice drink for you and Alfie to enjoy.

What you hadn’t anticipated was a fumbling deer in the road staring straight at you as you drove towards it on the way back home.

You hadn’t noticed it until it was too late, and by that time, there wasn’t enough space to slam on the breaks, so your brain did the only other thing it could think of that wouldn’t result in the death of an innocent animal, and it forced your hands to jerk the steering wheel to the left, veering straight off the road.

The grassy ground was uneven immediately, causing you to jostle violently in your seat before hitting an awfully deep dent, sending the car sideways.

You didn’t remember much after that, it was all a blur of that annoying car alarm blaring down your ears, making the pounding in your head worsen, and rushed voices trying to speak to you.

What you could recall actually seeing with a family van parked to the side of the road, the mum and dad standing out of at and talking to some paramedics as another loaded you into the back of the ambulance.

“The deer.” You slurred, head hazy and eyes barely open, “It was a baby.”

“The deer is okay, honey. Now we’re gonna get you to the hospital and check you over okay?” The lady tending to you was a little older than you, possibly mid-30’s, but you couldn’t tell too much.

Everything hurt.

Everything.

Your head felt like it was the size of a large watermelon, and the pressure behind your skull was unbearable. On top of that, your skin felt burnt and sensitive, raw and stripped back, like you were missing layers of protectivity.

“Car … Alfie.” You managed to get out.

“The car belongs to Alfie? Who’s Alfie, sweetheart? Your boyfriend?”

Somehow, you managed a weak nod.

“Okay, well once we get you to the hospital, we’ll call Alfie, yeah?”

“No.” You frowned, “No, he can’t— His car—“

You let out a weak sob, surprising yourself for even having the energy to do so.

Energy aside, the force of the display of emotion caused your ribs to rattle uncomfortably in your chest.

There was a trickle of something down the side of your head, and you couldn’t decipher as to whether or not it was panicked sweat, or blood. When you barely felt the scrape of a towel against your skin dabbing it away, you assumed the latter.

“He’s gonna kill me.”

A flash of worry appeared on the paramedic’s face, but she continued to focus on you, not letting her thoughts stray away from getting you the help you needed.

“I’m sure he won’t, honey. You matter more than the car.”

If you thought the blur after the crash was bad, you were severely underestimating how much being in the hospital could’ve felt like a terrifyingly lucid dream.

You’d been cleaned up, and had a bandage secured tightly around your forehead in a way that surely made you look ridiculous.

There were numerous doctors checking things on you, sometimes the same things over and over, and they kept asking you questions that felt so small and insignificant, like ‘how old are you?’ or ‘do you remember your name?’.

Of course you knew those things, but when they started to enquire about where you thought you were and what hospital you were likely to be in, your brain suddenly felt disconnected from the rest of you, because you were supposed to know that type of thing, and you didn’t.

“Alright, that’s fine. We’re gonna run some scans, okay?” The doctor said in an attempt to calm your blatant nerves.

The scans came and went, and in the time it took for you to get the results, the doctors had informed you that your boyfriend had been phoned and was on his way, in which you’d had a minor moment of panic for fear of his reaction.

You knew nothing bad was going to come of it, but you really did fear the worst. And that would be a break up.

Seriously, you were half expecting it, and you wouldn’t really blame him.

To take someone’s prized possession, promise not to damage it, and then do the utmost amount of damage possible to it was an awful thing to do, especially when that person was the love of your life.

It held the same amount of weight if Alfie was to take all of your adorable ceramic trinkets that you’d spent years collecting, put them in a box without packaging and ruthlessly start chucking it about.

When he came rushing down the hallway and into your room, you burst into tears, instantaneously spurting spluttered apologies that were interrupted by sharp intakes of breath that you could never quite get to level out.

The nurse in your room stared skeptically at the interaction. She was the same one that had had a conversation with the paramedic that had tended to you. Her hands seemed to never both be occupied at the same time, so if she needed to intervene, she had the freedom to.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” Alfie cooed, cupping your face with such care and gentleness you thought he considered the possibility of you breaking right then and there.

“I’m so sorry about the car!” You wailed, “I’m so sorry— There was a deer, and it was just a baby, and I didn’t wanna hit it, and I swerved—“

“Angel, angel, breathe.” He whispered, stroking his thumbs over your cheekbones, wary of the little cuts on the one side of your face.

You copied his pattern of breathing by placing your hand flat on his chest and following the rise and fall of it.

Eventually you calmed and he was smiling, albeit still a little shaky in his movements to hold and caress you.

“I don’t care about the car. I care about you.”

“Stop lying. If you want to break up—“

“What?” He whispered like a hiss, face contorted into one of horror at the thought, “No, no, no, no, no, I don’t want to break up, what the fuck, darlin’?”

“But the Defender is your baby and I ruined it—“

“You’re my baby.” He corrected you, staring at you with glossed over eyes and a distress-ridden face, “The Defender was the last thing on my mind when I got that call. Reader, I thought you were dying. I-I didn’t give a shit about the state of the car, I gave a shit about the state of you.”

“Are you sure? Alf, I’m so sorry.”

“Stop, stop.” He shook his head, brushing your hair back to get a glimpse at the entirety of your face uncovered.

Alfie’s eyes seemed to follow every feature on your face, soaking them all up and committing them to memory (as if he hadn’t already).

You hadn’t let your eyes leave his once either, and by the time that stunningly intimate moment was up, you were sure that you could draw Alfie’s eyes picture perfectly, down to every green spec and detailed flick of light that reflected off of his teary iris’.

“What’s the damage?” He finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“We’re just getting the scan reports now.” The nurse piped up, reminding you that she had been in the room the entire time, “In terms of body injuries, nothing major. Bruised ribs, deep friction burn from the seat belt cutting into her skin, but nothing that you should worry about.”

“Can I see?” Alfie asked you.

Nervously, you unravelled the hospital gown you’d been given, letting it fall into your lap and reveal the sight of your injuries to your boyfriend.

“Shit, Reader.” He whispered, his hand hovering over your chest, wanting to touch and soothe, but not wanting to cause any extra pain.

“They’ll go away in about two weeks. It’ll hurt, and you’ll wanna refrain from lying on your chest, scratching it or applying any pressure in general.” The nurse explained, standing in front of you, “There’s a chance of scarring around here.” She gestured a finger to the swell of your breast where the marks were the darkest, “Because that’s where the seatbelt cut the most.”

Alfie’s hand came around your back, resting just between your shoulder blades in a comforting manner, his palm running over the expanse of your back.

Once you got your scans back, they briefed you on the issues at hand. Nothing was awful, which was the most relieving thing of it all, but there were signs of a minor concussion that would need to be monitored for the rest of the day and tomorrow.

Alfie had no qualms about doing that all, in fact he seemed more in tune with what the doctors were saying than you. He was nodding along, asking the appropriate questions, all while you sat there, silently picking at the skin around your fingers.

What you thought was going to become an overnight stay resulted in another quick change of clothes and a dosage of painkillers before they let you leave with the prescribed medication to dull any of the discomfort you were about to face throughout the next few days.

Alfie’s mum had driven to the hospital to pick you up since the Defender was a total wreck at the shop (hopefully) and she immediately began fussing over you.

Surprisingly, she turned it around into Alfie, arguing that he shouldn’t have let you go to the shops on your own or something like that.

You shut her down quickly, not wanting your boyfriend to take the blame for something that was finally coming to light as no one’s fault.

Still, she gave her son another harsh glare before ushering you both to her car.

After dropping you off at the grotto and demanding that Alfie looked after you for the next month at least (like he was ever going to not do that) she left, leaving the two of you alone in your house.

Alfie wasted no time in pulling you carefully into his lap on the sofa, letting you curl up in his arms and get comfy against him.

You were still feeling a little woozy, which was to be expected especially since you’d been given medicine before you left, so it didn’t take long for your eyes to flutter shut against his chest and his arms to tighten a fraction around you.

“Do you promise me that you’re okay?” Alfie whispered, stroking his fingers through your hair cautiously, not wanting to tug too hard and cause anymore pain to your head.

You nodded, “I promise.”

“Alright, girl.” He hummed, his voice rumbling from his chest down your ear.

“Do you promise me that you’re not mad about the Defender?” You asked back.

“Mad? No. A little upset, yeah. But it’s fine. She’s replaceable, you’re not. Ever. I’d rather lose a hundred Defenders than ever lose just you, so please don’t think I’ll ever put a car over you.”

“I just felt awful.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to. I’ll sort stuff out with the car tomorrow, but you’re still my priority. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you so much, Reader.”

“I love you too, Alfie.”

“You’re never allowed to scare me like that again, d’you hear me?” He said.

You giggled a little at that but nodded anyway, lifting your head off of his chest to look him in the eyes.

“I’m serious. I knew something was wrong when you took longer than an hour, and when I got that call? Fuck, angel, I nearly started shouting at the taxi driver to start speeding and swerving.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t do that.”

“It would’ve been worth it.”

You sighed heavily, your chest deflating drastically, causing an acute amount of pain that showed through a minuscule twitch of your brows.

Alfie was quick with it, “What hurts?”

“Alfie.”

“Tell me.”

“I just breathed too hard. I’m fine.”

He gave you a skeptical look but backed down anyway.

“How’s my face? Do I have to shelter myself from society?” You half-joked.

He shook his head, “Still beautiful.”

“Okay, thank you. But, seriously.”

He reached a hand up, finger lightly tracing the grazing on your temple and above your eyebrow, “A few cuts here.” His touch travelled down to your cheekbone, where it was stained a reddish colour that would slowly fade to purple within the next few hours, “A bruise.”

Your confidence deflated as he continued, and it was that that urged him to stop.

“Hey.” He hummed, picking your chin up, “You still look gorgeous.”

“But not perfect.” You whispered.

“A perfect you to me isn’t one in pain.” He replied softly.

You pursed your lips, dropping your forehead down to his collarbone. He brought his hand to the back of your head, stroking his thumb over your hair in a way that had you melting into him.

YOU HAD HAD A SHIT DAY TO SAY THE LEAST. For starters, your alarm hadn’t gone off that morning, causing you to have to rush to get ready for work. And since you were late leaving your flat, you were late catching your train.

As if being nearly an hour late to work wasn’t enough, the universe decided to throw more at you. There was a meeting first thing that morning that your boss had emphasized was "non-negotiable" in approximately a thousand emails. That you missed.

You caught the very end of the meeting, just walking in as everyone was leaving. Your colleagues sent you judgmental, disapproving looks as they walked out past you, leaving you alone with your boss, Mr. Williams.

"Well, Reader…" he said, setting down his coffee mug with a bit too much force. "What made you finally decide to show up?"

You couldn’t help but frown. Because you tried your fucking hardest to get here on time. Instead of replying with a snippy reply, you bite your tongue, valuing keeping your job over cursing out your boss.

"I’m sorry. My train—" You start, but Mr. Williams cuts you off with a hand up.

"Save it," he said, standing up. He couldn’t even bat an eye in your direction. "If you want to keep your job, you’ll make yourself useful and get me another fucking coffee."

And then he left, leaving you standing alone in the conference room, fighting tears. All of this because of your stupid fucking alarm clock.

The rest of your day at work consisted of you running mindless errands for your boss, in hopes that he won’t fire you. Five cups of coffee later, you seemed to have survived the day with your job as you leave work, heading back home on your train.

You pull out your phone to see a text from your boyfriend, Arthur.

arthur: be safe getting home from work lovely. i can’t wait to see you this evening, i missed you today! ❤️

You couldn’t even muster a reply. If you did, you’d probably burst into tears right there on the train. You were just too exhausted.

By the time you got home, you were exhausted. You had a tension headache that felt like someone was ripping out your hair, your neck hurt from slouching at a screen all day, and you were overall just irritated and overstimulated to all hell.

As you shoved your key in the lock to your front door, you took a deep breath. You were pissed off at the world today, but you were not going to take out your emotions on your boyfriend. Hopefully.

As you stepped into the front door and slid off your shoes, a pleasant aroma hit you and stopped you in your tracks.

You followed the smell, making your way into the kitchen.

Arthur was stood there in a black hoodie and grey joggers with his back to you, Chinese takeaway containers strewn across the countertop. He had two plates out in front of him and was scooping noodles out of a container with careful consideration.

And just beside the mess of the takeaway containers, was a beautiful bouquet. They were a mix of pink carnations and lilies, your absolute favorite flowers. They were wrapped in brown paper and tied with a bow.

You nearly lost it at the sight, but you managed to contain your emotions enough not to burst into tears then and there.

Arthur noticed you and jumped a bit, not realizing you had come in. "No! This was meant to be a surprise! I didn’t think you’d be home yet."

And there you went. Hot tears streaked down your cheeks, surely messing up your makeup from the day you’d had.

"Oh, love." Arthur’s face instantly knit into concern, dropping the takeaways on the counter and walking right over to you. He placed both his hands on either side of your face, lifting it to face him. "Please don’t cry. Talk to me."

Arthur wrapped his arms around you, rubbing a comforting hand up and down your back. You just leaned into his chest, tears staining his hoodie. When you finally calmed your tears down, you pulled back, looking up at Arthur through teary eyelashes.

"I had a really shit day." You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. "But I’m just being ridiculous."

"Oh, baby," Arthur said, chuckling lowly. His thumb brushed over your cheeks, swiping away your stray tears. "You’re not being ridiculous. It’s okay to have a bad day."

Arthur kissed your hairline absentmindedly, because he was just that sweet. You’d just walked in the door and started crying and he didn’t even bat an eye. He just instantly started comforting you, because that’s the man he was. And you loved him for it.

He didn’t say anything, he just wrapped a delicate hand around your wrist and led you toward the food he had on the counter.

You guys sat there and ate the food right there on the kitchen floor. You told him about your day from hell, but you didn’t cry. You just moved on, choosing to live in the moment with your boyfriend, instead of dwelling on the past.

"I nearly forgot about your flowers, love," Arthur said, jumping up from the floor to grab the bouquet of flowers you had noticed when you got home earlier. He held a hand out to you to pull you up, while simultaneously showing you your flowers with the other. "Do you like them?"

You knew that the flowers existed, but your eyes still watered when he showed you them. This man was too sweet for his own good.

"I love them," your voice broke as the tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. "Fuck, Arthur. I don’t deserve you."

"Hey," he said, setting the bouquet down again. He held your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, tilting your head up toward him. "Don’t say that. You deserve the world."

You just stared at him for a moment. Then you leaned forward and kissed him. He melted into it instantly, meeting your lips with a soft and warm kiss. His hand slid around your waist, the other running up your neck and into your hair.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads rested together, both of you soaking up the bliss of the domestic moment.

"I love you, Reader," Arthur said gently. Then he pulled away, finding a spare vase and prepping the bouquet for it.

You just smiled at the sight, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s waist. "I love you too, Arthur."