#separated au

V!PbnJ @onionninjasstuff

True Colors @v-albion

SLAU @dianagj-art

2 Arms Left @intotheelliwoods

Golden Boy @bluesgras

Little Brother @sharkfiinn

Gemini @tangledinink

EMD @evenmoreofadisaster

The Little Prince @beannary

Empyrean Weeping @cupcakeslushie

SAINWB @heckitall

Never Better @less-depresso-more-espresso

Red Rover @red-rover-au

He stills.

Like someone hit pause for a second before letting him move again.

Anniversary.

He hadn’t said it out loud. Hadn’t planned to.

But he knew.

Of course he knew.

He woke up with it sitting heavy in his chest.

You don’t look at him.

Because if you do, it becomes real.

So you keep moving.

Keep working. Keep pretending like it didn’t just punch a hole straight through your day.

It doesn’t work.

Everything reminds you now.

Your chest feels tight.

Your throat worse.

You find yourself staring at your hand.

The ring.

You haven’t taken it off.

Not once. Not even on the worst days.

You twist it slightly.

Habit. Comfort. Punishment.

Frank notices.

He notices everything about you.

And when he sees your fingers at the ring, His stomach drops.

Because he’s not wearing his.

He finds you later.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

You don’t look up.

“Don’t.”

It comes out sharper than you meant.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say anything about it,” you reply.

Your voice is tight. You’re holding something back. Tears mostly.

He exhales slowly. “I wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it.”

“Well, it is,” you snap.

That catches him off guard.

“Okay,” he says carefully. “Then… we can- talk about it? Or not talk about it, whatever you-“

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you interrupt.

“But you’re upset.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

You look at him then.

And there’s something in your eyes that makes his chest ache.

“I said I’m fine, Frank.”

“You’re twisting your ring like you’re trying to break it,” he says quietly.

You didn’t even realise.

Your hand stills.

Slowly.

You drop it to your side.

“Don’t analyse me right now,” you mutter.

“I’m not analysing you,” he replies.

Silence stretches.

He shifts his weight slightly.

“Dana shouldn’t have said anything,” he says.

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” you reply. “It’s a date. It still exists.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” you echo.

Your throat feels tight again.

“You remembered,” you say suddenly.

It’s not a question.

He nods. “Of course I did.”

“You didn’t?”

You laugh but it’s hollow.

“I try not to think about our marriage too much or i’ll kill someone or cry.”

“Why do you still wear it?”

The question slips out of him before he can stop it.

Your head snaps up. “What?”

He swallows.

Because he didn’t mean to say it like that.

Because he didn’t mean to say it at all.

“I just-” he starts, then stops. “I didn’t mean-“

“No, go on,” you say. “Finish that.”

He hesitates.

“Why do you still wear it?”

Your chest tightens.

Because that’s not a simple question.

Because you don’t have a simple answer.

“Why don’t you?” you shoot back.

His jaw tightens. “Because I don’t feel like I’ve earned it,” he says.

“It’s not something you earn,” you reply.

“It is to me.”

“That’s not how marriage works.”

“That’s exactly how I broke it,” he says quietly.

You look down at your hand again.

At the ring.

At everything it represents.

“I didn’t take it off because I don’t know who I am without it,” you admit softly.

The truth slips out before you can stop it.

Your voice is smaller now.

More honest.

“I’ve been your wife longer than I’ve been anything else,” you continue. “Taking it off feels like… losing something I’m not ready to lose.”

Frank’s chest tightens.

“I took mine off because I thought you already had, when I was in rehab.” he says.

Your head lifts.

“What?”

“I didn’t think you’d still be wearing it,” he admits. “I thought… that part of us was done for you.”

“It’s not,” you say.

You both freeze.

Because that’s new.

Because that’s something neither of you has said out loud before.

“You still have it?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says.

You nod slowly. “Good.”

That’s all you say.

But it means more than anything else you could’ve added.

“Happy anniversary,” he says finally.

You swallow.

“Happy anniversary,” you echo.

Your voice barely above a whisper.

Neither of you moves.

Because you don’t know what comes next.

Because you don’t know what this means.