#{whoopsy}

Gale’s breath hitches, and John doesn’t miss the way his fingers tighten around the corner of the mattress. 

“I’m sorry,” John murmurs against the warmth of Gale’s skin.

"Don't do that," Gale sighs, and turns enough to lift a hand to the side of John’s cheek, gentle and kind, “Got nothing to apologize for.”

John didn’t agree with that. Couldn't. There was an empty bottle of whiskey on his kitchen counter from the night before that tells him otherwise. 

Their wedding rings sit on the night stand, John catches the glint of them in the corner of his eye and his breath shakes as he lets his forehead fall against Gale's.

“I should go,” Gale breathes, fingers running through John's hair.

John nods. Thinks, maybe, with any luck, it wouldn't happen again. He always thinks it will be the last. Gale would leave his bed and they’d go on with their lives the way they should be.

Last time, and then Gale is kissing his cheek, and John feels colour rush to his cheeks, his heart beats faster.