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Rebecca wakes that Sunday morning to an empty bed for the very first time since she and Ted had started sleeping together. She’s always been an early riser, even on her days off, and despite Ted’s occasional insomnia, she’s been the first out of bed every morning. And she likes it that way, likes waking still warmed by his solid bulk wrapped around hers, likes pecking him gently on the forehead if he stirs, murmuring soothing nonsense to him and seeing his lips curl up in a sleepy smile as he drifts back off, likes watching him slumber as she brushes her teeth, his face completely at ease.
It can be a bittersweet start to her day though, a stark reminder of just how often his face doesn’t end the day that same way. How sometimes the light in his eyes doesn’t shine as bright when they meet up in the clubhouse car park or how that grin he gets whenever he sees her doesn’t stretch as wide, those dimples she loves so much only making a half-hearted appearance.
She tries to figure it out, looks for hints when he comes to her office to deliver her biscuits. It’s rare but there are some days when she can spot it even that early in the day, the little line between his eyebrows deepening and the little dimming of his sparkle. But when she asks him about his day on their walk or drive home, he never says anything is wrong. And she doesn’t think he’s lying about his day, at least not on purpose. But he just always seems tired.
So she cherishes her little morning ritual, cherishes those few minutes when she can just enjoy the easing of his features and the lack of tension in his neck and she’s unreasonably grumpy this morning about having to brush her teeth staring at her own reflection in the mirror instead.
She pulls his Wichita sweatshirt over her head, tugging the sleeves over her hands to shelter them from the cool dawn air and wanders downstairs to find the errant man.
The sight in his kitchen stops her in her tracks.
He’s dressed only in the Richmond boxers and Kansas t-shirt he’d worn to bed, the AirPods she’d gotten him for his birthday in his ears, and he’s dancing. He shimmies towards the espresso machine and presses a button and soon the silent disco is broken up by a loud whir as it warms up. She presses her mouth to her hand to stifle her laugh as his little booty bump strangely lines up right on time with the thump of the machine cranking into action.
He does a little spin and must catch a glimpse of her in that 360 because he freezes, then does a slow 180 to stop and stare at her, wide-eyed.
“Good morning,” she says, her voice strangled with mirth.
He pulls one earbud out of his ear, revealing a high-pitched singing that’s tinny through the air.
It’s soft but it’s enough to give her a sense of the rhythm and she doesn’t like how he’s still frozen, a blush climbing up his neck. So she just goes for it, takes off in a ridiculous flying leap until she lands right in front of him, then wiggles her shoulders and hips encouragingly.
He gapes at her, his mouth in a perfect ‘o’. “Come on,” she says, “you’re not going to leave me doing this by myself are you?”
“Well, you look so darn good doing it,” he says but he stretches over to the counter and taps at his phone a couple of times and soon the music is blaring full-blast from the device’s little speakers. He jumps back into action, his utterly ridiculous wiggles and shakes making her breathless with laughter, and then with a mischievous grin, he takes her hand in his and wraps the other around her back, tugging her close to him. They sway excessively back and forth like a ship rocking in a storm and she takes a moment to absorb the lyrics of the song he’d picked.
--give myself a hand, uh-huh
Tell myself get up and dance
So I move my feet, I love all of me, uh-huh
Let me give myself a hand
He spins her out and pulls her back in, sways a couple more times and then dips her with a flourish as the song comes to an end with a triumphant call of ‘You could be good to you’!
He holds her there for a moment, then leans down and presses his lips to hers and it’s heady, the change in angle and the weight of her fully in his arms, a trust fall that sends her head spinning with the thrill of it.
“Woah,” he says, steadying her as he pulls her back up. “Sorry, you okay?”
“Yeah,” she breathes. “More than.”
He chuckles and presses a kiss to her nose. The next song starts up and he reaches behind him to lower the volume on his phone. She stays wrapped up in his arms as they lean peacefully against the counter to catch their breath, slides an arm up under his threadbare t-shirt and caresses his soft belly, no heat or intent behind it, just enjoying the warmth of his skin against her palm.
“So, what’s going on here?” she asks.
“Oh, you know.” He shrugs, looking surprisingly furtive for what she thought was quite an innocent question. “Just felt like a little morning dance party.”
He’s not meeting her eye. But the morning mist still hangs outside the window and the smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the room and so she just tucks her head in against his shoulder and lets it go for now.
They’re on the couch a few hours later, enjoying their lazy Sunday with no game or post-game analysis. Rebecca’s legs are draped over Ted’s lap, his book resting on her shins while she scrolls idly through weekend lifestyle articles on her phone.
Bored out of her mind, she taps out of her news app with a sigh and locks her phone, then tips her head against the back cushion and just looks at the profile of the man in front of her. His hair is still wet from the shower he’d taken after his long run and there’s a drip working its way loose on one side. She reaches out with her thumb to catch it, drawing his attention up from his crime novel. He flicks a smile at her as she settles her hand in his hair, her fingers scratching absently at the back of his head, but drops his gaze back down to his book when she doesn’t say anything.
He must feel her eyes still burning into him though because a couple of minutes later he’s looking at her again, turning his head in her hold so her palm rests lightly on his cheek instead. “Everything alright?” he asks.
“Everything’s fine,” she says, her fingers still tangled in the damp locks around his ear, relishing the rare freedom of the strands post-shower and pre-product. “Everything alright with you?” She tries to keep the question neutral but she’s never really been one for subtlety.
He gives her a tight smile, relaxing the weight of his head fully into her hand, his thumb stroking lightly back and forth over her knee. “My dancing was that bad, huh?”
“No!” she protests, laughing and he just raises an eyebrow. “I mean, you’re no Baryshnikov but you’ve got your moves.” She waggles her eyebrows and he snorts.
“Thank you, I appreciate that,” he says earnestly with a light shake of his head.
He drops his gaze then and she just waits, her fingers dancing lightly over his temple. “It’s just that sometimes, I…” He sighs, then straightens up, which pulls him abruptly backwards out of her grip. He latches onto her drifting hand with both of his instead, pulling the bundle lightly down to rest on her knee and her breath stutters at the set to his face when he finds her gaze again. “It’s something Susan suggested,” he says. “For when I just...feel crummy for no good reason.” He hesitates again and she squeezes his hand. “It’s been happening more and more lately and I don’t really know why and I can’t for the life of me seem to find any kind of pattern to when or at what time but Susan, she said to...well she said instead of leaning into the crappy days by y’know, playing some depressing music or, I don’t know,” — he gives her a wry smile — “watching ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ while drinking alone on Christmas,” — and oh god, that sinks like a stone in her gut — “I should...do the opposite, I guess. And then she gave me a playlist.” He shrugs. “It’s mostly that singer you heard this morning, Meghan something I think, but I haven’t really worked my way through too much of it yet. I saw a heck of a lot of...Ed Sheeran, I think? as well but there’s about two hundred songs in there so y’know, they can’t all be top of the pops.”
“Ted,” she says, leaning intently forward.
“Yeah?” Her chest aches from everything he just told her, and at how nervous he looks now, waiting for something to fall from her lips - judgement, or pity, or anything else he doesn’t want to hear.
“I think you need to get an older therapist.”
He barks out a surprised laugh. “She’s older than us!” he protests.
“Are you sure?” she asks. “Because grey hair was definitely a fad for awhile, I could see—oof!” She splutters at the pillow he’d just thunked in her face. She pulls it down and her heart skips at the light in his eyes, and at the way he’s looking at her like she’s something miraculous.
“Hey,” she says, sobering. Her fingers fiddle with the fringe on the edge of his little throw pillow but she keeps her gaze on his. “Will you tell me?” she asks and he furrows his brow. “When you’re having those days, I mean? You don’t have to,” she adds hurriedly as he opens his mouth. “But I…” She pulls her hand off the pillow and strokes it through his hair instead, pushing the stray strands back from his forehead. “I love all parts of you, you know,” she murmurs, “and I’d like to try and help. If I can.”
He stares wordlessly at her, too many things flickering in his face for her to parse. She still hasn’t fully figured him out yet, still hasn’t peeled back enough juicy layers of the ‘Ted onion’ as he would say, but today feels like a big enough layer to cook something good with.
“I, uh, yeah,” he says finally, his voice hoarse. “I’ll try. To tell you I mean. I don’t know if it’s always—”
She cuts him off with a light kiss. “That’s enough for me,” she says, pulling back just enough to lean her forehead against his. “I’d just like for you to try.”
He does that thing again, that long observing silence that she’s still not used to seeing on him, then quirks his lips up and pulls her back in for another kiss with a hand to her cheek, this one long and deep.
“You know what else is on my playlist?” he asks when they break apart, a familiar lift to his left eyebrow.
“What?”
“Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ignite…” he starts singing and she laughs, recognising the tune immediately despite his purposefully off-key rendition.
“And the thought of lovin' you is getting so exciting,” she chimes in, poking him in the chest at the ‘you’ and nodding at his little head tilt towards the stairs.
Her little chuckle turned to shrieks of laughter as, in an incredibly impressive feat for a man his age, he scoops her up and takes off for his bedroom, singing the words ‘Afternoon delight’ the whole way up.
“You're right,” he says, as they lay there panting afterwards, their legs tangled together. “It is better when you know.”
She laughs as she rolls on top of him and shuts him up with a kiss.