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“No... I’ll be alright.” You sighed into the payphone, rubbing at your eyes as you leaned heavily against the side. The downpour outside refused to cease, but at least the sound was soothing. “I’ll be okay, really.”
“Are you sure?” Came Jean’s voice from the other end of the line. “I would only be a few minutes, I could come get you.”
And there was no doubt in your mind that he was being truthful - you’d seen the way he drove firsthand.
“No, no.” You laughed, pressing the phone tight to your ear. As though you could climb through and into his arms. “I’ve got a taxi coming, I’ll just be a little late.”
“...alright.”
You couldn’t help the small, breathless laugh that passed from your lips. You shook your head, even though your husband couldn’t see the motion through the phone. After the day you had, you wished for nothing more than for Polnareff to make the drive
“I’ll be home before you know it.” Sinking down to the floor of the phone booth, you fought back the tears that pooled in your eyes. “Promise.”
“Fine.” Jean huffed gently, the pout on his lips almost audible. “I’ll be counting the moments my darling!”
“Okay!” You laughed, pulling your knees to your chest. “I love you.”
“I love you too chaton .”
. . .
Sniffing loudly as you opened the door to your home, you rubbed the unshed tears from your eyes.
Kicking your shoes off in the dark and making them shuffle in the general vicinity of the shoe rack was nearly impossible, but at the very least, Polnareff’s home wasn’t likely to change layout any time soon. You heard the soft thunk of your shoes hitting metal, and sighed in relief - made it. Next came your coat, then suitcase, and backpack.
All three were left for another time, when you didn’t feel like you were coated in a thin veneer of ice.
With a sigh, you warmed your face in your hands for a moment before flicking the light switch on. (Ah, you’d have to get Jean to replace that for you, it was fairly dull. Surely not much life left in it.) Gradually, light filtered into the entranceway, and you felt just a touch less miserable seeing the photos that lined the walls.
“Jean?” You called into the relative darkness of your home, rubbing at your arms as you attempted to filter out the remains of raw misery from your expression. “Are you home?”
“Oui!” Jean called from the room over, slightly startled evidently, considering the clattering noise that came with it. “Close your eyes!”
“Alright.” You laughed, face softening as your eyes slid shut. “They’re closed!”
What followed was a string of curses, both in French and English, as a great many clattering, shuffling, and bumping noises were heard from the other room. And, of course, a single shattering sound - and you really hoped that wasn’t another vase, because then Jean would buy another one. Which would be followed with flowers, and then his insistence that they needed to be replaced regularly. Only for the flowers to wilt in the end, as you two became busy. Which would, once again, make it a piece of decor rather than a functional point of the room, as had happened with the last four vases that had shattered as consequence of whatever antics the two of you were up to.
But, well, it wasn’t as though you didn’t enjoy the flowers anyhow.
Your ears perked up at the sound of clicking coming from down the hall, growing closer.
“Alright.” Jean breathed, swallowing as though he’d run. “Open your eyes!”
“Alright…” You murmured hesitantly. “But if it’s another tart, I’m… well, not rioting because I do love your cooking, but I’m certainly going to huff at you for using my own weakness against me.”
“Just open them!”
“Alright, alright!”
The sight that greeted you was one that you couldn’t have ever possibly prepared for.
Jean-Pierre Polnareff, your husband, in all his glory, was leaned against the wall, dressed entirely in a French Maid’s outfit. He was grinning at you, his slightly buck-toothed smile wide and inviting as he wiggled his eyebrows furiously. In the dim light, his freckles were even more pronounced against his pale skin. The feather duster that he spun in his hand was new, and even still had the tag on it.
“Welcome home, master~” He purred, standing up properly to place the handle of the feather duster under your chin. “You look cold, shall I warm you up?”
It was in that precise moment that you began cracking up.
“Well!” Jean huffed in faux-anger, overly dramatic as he crossed his arms and turned his back on you. “I never! I thought you would APPRECIATE my gesture!”
The effect was, of course, lost on you, considering the fact that he was laughing even as he began his tirade, turning back to look at you with a smile.
The smile on his face only grew as you grabbed his cheeks and snorted, cupping his face in your palms before kissing his cheekbones. His own hands rested on your hips as you laughed in his arms, giggles reverberating against his cheeks.
“I love it, sweetheart.” You laughed, pressing your forehead against his. “How long have you been planning this?”
“For a few days.” Your husband grinned, thumb rubbing up under the hem of your shirt soothingly. “I thought you might like it.”
“I love it.” You assured, placing another gentle kiss on his lips. “But I do have one question.”
“Hm?”
“Did you shave your legs?”