Simon loooooves his autistic wife.
He loves how everything is always in the exact same place, how it’s almost never loud of bright in his house.
But, even with all of the sensory precautions, wifey still gets overstimulated sometimes.
And sometimes, those moments of overstimulation turn into a meltdown.
Wifey is sobbing in the kitchen, smacking her palms against her head over and over as Simon tries to console her without physical touch. Shes been like this for nearly half an hour, occasionally murmuring about how everything was just way too much sometimes and how she hated dishes so much.
“Dove, you have to breathe,” he reminds her, keeping his voice calm. “I know it’s not your favorite thing to do right now, but you have to.”
She takes a few shuddered breaths, tugging at her hair firmly.
“Can I touch you?” He asks, soft and calm. Simon had gotten quite good at this over the years. “I won’t hurt you, you know that. My smart girl.”
She nods after a moment, her hands still holding onto the roots of her hair.
Simon crowds her space, wrapping his arms tight around her. “Simon’s got you,” he hums. “Right here, Holdin’ you nice and tight.” He squeezes her a bit tighter.
And eventually, her breathing evens out. Simon keeps holding on, one of his hands working at untangling her fingers from her hair.
“Tha’s it, baby,” he coos. “Just let me hold those hands, hm?”
And she does let him, allowing her hands to be taken into his as he pulls back from the hug.
“Tea or juice, dove?” He asks, gently wiping tears from her flushed cheeks.
“Juice,” she sniffles. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
Simon shakes his head and presses a kiss to her nose. “Never an issue.”
He pours her a cup of juice and puts it in her hands.
“Wanna talk about it?” He asks.
“Later, maybe,” she replies. And Simon just nods.
