viciouswishes: (angel braces)
[personal profile] viciouswishes
Title: Wrong Side of Morning
Author: [ profile] viciouswishes
Fandom: Angel
Pairing: Angel/Wesley
Rating: G
Words: 608
Setting: Set in the Where you look down, I've walked before universe, specifically after the final story. tl;dr summary: Angel/Wesley, they're raising Connor, domestic setting.
Summary: There are some days that 'waking up on the wrong side of the bed' doesn't describe your morning.

There are some days that 'waking up on the wrong side of the bed' doesn't describe your morning. Not when your 7-year-old pukes on the rug in front of the sink and your husband looks at you with increasingly tired eyes and you notice he's wearing his glasses again. Not when you realize the blood in the fridge has spoiled. It's daylight outside, and the butcher with whom you made a deal with doesn't have sewer access beyond some draining lines, and even if you drink blood, you don't like being covered in it. You don't have the heart to ask your husband to pick some up. Especially since your son won't be going to school this morning.

Instead, you hand your son the thermometer and clean his vomit up. He doesn't get sick often as he takes after you. But since his teacher sent a notice home that a particularly nasty strain of stomach flu was making its way around 1st grade, you worry a little less. You sigh when you look at the ever-growing laundry pile. Your son asks you if he can sleep in your bed as he hands you the thermometer. 100°F.

Yes, you tell him. You hear that nagging voice in the back of your mind that you always tell him yes. And you make a mental note to change the sheets before you go to sleep tonight. As your son settles down in your bed, he reminds you to feed his pets, and you're proud at how responsible he is even when he's sick. That he naturally cares for others, a trait which you yourself have struggled with. You hope that the world never ruins his sensitive soul.

As you wash your hands, you realize you're lingering. Because you're hungry. Because your husband's in the kitchen, eating cold cereal, drinking black coffee, and reading the newspaper. You love that when you kiss him in the morning and he puts his hands on your face that you taste the bitter beans and smell the rich ink. Those are the moments you file away for the day when...

But you don't want him to realize you're not eating. To put one more urgent thing on his to-do list. You know when he's skimming the world's events, he's actually thinking about how clients have been thin this month and how the second installment for your son's private schooling's due and how he doesn't want to get into a fight with you about money. You were an idiot for not ever even opening a bank account.

You hear the water running in the kitchen, and you know that he's done. So you join him, coming up behind him and wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing his cheek. You always make sure to make enough noise not the startle him. His cheek is rough with several days stubble. The dishes clatter as he puts them down in the sink. You expect him to say, Angel, I'm running late. There's a client. There's a meeting. There's a...something that's in my head and more important than you for the moment.

But instead he turns around. Instead, he wraps his arms around and presses his body against yours. He says, I love you, and it drowns out the hunger, the sick child in your bed, the laundry pile, and the wrong side of the bed. Just for a moment. And you take that moment and file it away to remember.
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September 2011

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