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Barry came home mad. That much was apparent, when he stormed in slamming the door behind him hard enough the pictures on the walls rattled. He walked right past the kitchen, down the hall and into the bathroom without a second glance. You know when he comes home angry he goes into the bathroom to collect himself for a few moments before coming back out to vent to you about his day, so you shut off the tv and wait a couple moments till the bathroom door opens.
He’s stripped out of his mechanic’s jumper, leaving him in a white tank top and boxers.
He walks out into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge.
“Hey baby, long day?”
He grumbles something under his breath, opening one of the drawers and pulling out the bottle opener.
You stand up, moving around the coffee table as you say, “I didn’t hear-”
“Damnit!” He curses suddenly, slamming the hand holding the bottle opener down ont he counter as he whirls to look at you, “Can’t I get five fucking minutes to fucking breath? I just got home from working a shift at the shop, where there’s no fucking air conditioner, in 90 degree wheather! I’d like to come home and just get a fucking beer without being badgered. Is that too much to fucking ask?” He shouts at you.
You’re taken aback by the sudden outburst, and against your will tears start to well in your eyes. Usually when Barry gets home he immediately wants all of your attention, sitting on the couch and pulling you into his lap as he vents to you about his day, pressing his face into your hair and running his hands up and down your sides. Affectionate, needy, lovey. You knew he had been stressed lately. His only employee at the pawn shop had quit, so he was juggling dealing and his pawn shop all by himself. He had even dropped his ‘mechanic for hire’ side job, the only job he had that he actually liked, because he just didn’t have the time for it. But as stressed as he’s been in the past month he hasn’t once taken it out on you.
“Babe, I didn’t mean-” You try to reason, wiping your eyes.
“I don’t fucking care what you meant! You have no fucking clue how stressed I am, I am being stretched so fucking thin with dealing, and the pawnshop, and taking care of you and this house, and all you do is sit at home all day and do nothing! What, some dishes here, making dinner once a week, that’s it! Leaving me to do the fucking rest of it!” He spits, then storms away, hands thrown in the air. He enters your bedroom, slamming the door behind him so hard the cupboards rattle.
It had been Barry who had told you to quit your job. Before everything went down with the pawnshop, things were good. You had a steady cash flow, and they didn’t really need your income, so he had told you to quit your job and focus solely on your studies. Barry also knew you hate cleaning, and the only cleaning either of you did was on Sundays, when the two of you clean together and make a game out of it. As for dinner, it’s so damn hot in the summer that using the stove would cook the both of you alive.
Besides, you aren’t some fucking maid, it’s not your job to do the cooking and the cleaning!
The more you think about Barry’s speech the more angry you get, and the less sad you get, and quickly your tears begin to dry up. Fuck him! Furiou.
~
It took Barry just over an hour to reappear. The sun had set, and your stomach was starting to grumble, but you hadn’t moved from your seat on the couch. You were adamant you weren’t going to make dinner. Not with the shit he had said! You weren’t gonna give him the satisfaction.
When he does reappear, he’s slinking out of the bedroom, beer in hand, and long hair hanging down to cover his face as he shuffles into the kitchen. He sets the empty beer bottle in the sink, and leans against the counter to face you. He waits a moment, obviously expecting you to react to his presence in some way. No, if he wants your attention he can work for it.
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face, then says in a soft voice, “I’m sorry, baby.”
“I’m not your fucking maid.” You hiss, not taking your eyes off the screen.
“I know.”
“I’m not going to do your cooking and your cleaning, and act like some fuckin’-” Your words come to a halt for a second as you look for the terminology you want, “1950s housewife!”
“I know, baby.”
You finally break, grabbing the remote and slamming your finger on the pause button before whipping your head to glare at him. “And you’re the one in the first fuckin’ place who told me to quit my job, so I can focus on my classes! You told me not to worry about working and money, that you would take care of it! You told me that, and now you’re getting angry at me?! For doing what you fuckin’ wanted??”
He’s silent for a moment, letting the words hang in the air.
“I’m sorry, doll, I-” He cuts himself off, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said that shit to you, it was just a really hot day at the shop and only three people came in today so there was no reason to suffer there for 8 hours. But that isn’t an excuse, there’s no reason for me to be treating you like that.”
You can hear the authenticity in his voice, and you can see the shame written all over his face, and in the way his head’s still hanging and his shoulders are slumped.
The anger in your chest starts to fizzle out, your mood softening. You could never stay mad at Barry for long. You stand from the couch, walking towards him wordlessly.
He immediately accepts your hug as you wrap your arms around him, burying his head in your hair. “I’m sorry.” he murmurs into your neck, then burrows deeper till his nose and lips press against your warm skin.
“I know, and I accept your apology.” You whisper back, bringing one of your hands up to cradle the back of his neck. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He says quickly, arms tightening around your middle.
“But you can’t treat me like that again. If you’re having a bad day you need to communicate that with me. If you need a couple moments when you get home, then just let me know. Okay?”
“Okay.”
The two of you stand in silence for a moment, just holding each other, before you half-joke, “You better have some sort of plan to make this up to me.”
He chuckles, pulling back enough to look at you. He thinks about it a moment, eyes bouncing around your features before landing on your own. “How about I take you out to dinner? The Wreck?”
You smile widely, nodding. “Yes! Let me get dressed!”
~
The date was perfect. By the time the two of you had reached the restaurant, there was no longer any festering anger or hurt, and the restaurant itself was great. The temperature was just right, it was crowded enough you didn’t feel awkward, and it wasn’t so crowded the service was slow. You both got your favorites off the menu, and when it was over Barry paid.
As he guides you out of the restaurant and towards the bike, he pauses. He looks to his right down the street and you follow his eyes, trying to notice what he’s noticing. He steps up behind you, pointing to a sign that reads, ‘Cherry On Top.’
“Want to try out the new ice cream place?” He asks, and you nod excitedly.
The two of you choose to walk, since it’s only a couple buildings down, and stand off to the side as you read the menu.
“They have so many flavors!” You whisper to him, surprised at the variety. You then point down in the corner, “Look, they even have vegan and vegetarian options. And gluten free cones!”
“Okay, this has to be owned by a kook- “ He mutters, cutting off when you elbow him in the ribs playfully.
You both decide what you want, and step up to the counter to give the lady your order. You barely have to wait, and then you’re being handed back your cones. The two of you walk around the other side to the sitting area, choosing the table with two chairs in the back corner.
You sit, enjoying your ice cream and chatting while you eat, until suddenly Barry holds out his hand and his ice cream.
“A bite for a bite?” He asks.
“… you bite your ice cream?” You ask, knowing he doesn’t but wanting to fuck with him anyways. “What are you, a psychopath?”
“No, I don’t bite my icecream-”
“I dunno, do I know that, you said ‘a bite for a bite’…” You trail off and he rolls his eyes at your antics.
“You know what I meant-”
“Do I? Or have I been dating an ice cream biter this whole time-”
“You saw me, just now, eating my ice cream-”
“I wasn’t looking at you.” You state, admitly. You had been looking at him the entire time. Of course you had been, how could you look at anything else. You fumble for something else to be looking at, then spot the scene behind him. “I was looking at the string of lights behind you.”
“Oh really?” He snarks, looking over his shoulder at the lights, and without even thinking you scoop up some of your ice cream onto your finger and smear it across his cheek.
He gasps, and jumps back a little, looking at you with wide eyes. He reaches up, touching his cheek and then looking at his hand. “You didn’t!” His hand darts out, smearing the same ice cream onto your cheek faster than you can move away.
Your eyes nearly pop out of your head, “You didn’t!” You mimic, watching as a mischievous smile splits his features, “Oh you’re on!” You leap forward, smearing your ice cream on his face, and he jumps up, quickly scooping some ice cream onto his hand and touching it to your nose. The two of you trade swipes of ice cream until you realize you’ve run out of ice cream you can reach.
“I’m out!” you shriek as he goes in to swipe at your cheek. “I’m out of ice cream! Mercy!”
You try to turn your face away, cackling as he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you back against his chest. He uses the other hand to smear the ice cream across your face. You squeal, squirming in his hold, and he only holds you to you tighter. The ice cream runs down your face, making you feel sticky and gross as it begins to dry and get tacky.
“Ew, the ice cream is drying.” You complain in between giggles.
“Oh here, let me get that for you,” He says, and you’re so sure he’s just going to wipe more ice cream on you, but then something hot and wet is running up your cheek.
“Are you licking me?!” You screech, squirming again. He laughs so hard he can’t lick you again, his chest shaking against your back, and you can’t help but laugh too.
“Um, excuse me-”
The both of you jump apart immediately, to see the employee who took your order standing there. “Um, if you’re going to be um… can you guys leave? You’re disturbing the peace.”
The two of you take one look at each other, and then you’re both dying of laughter. Barry grabs your hand, pulling you away and you two walk as fast as you can out of there and up the street. You don’t stop until you’ve reached the bike, then Barry is laughing so hard he has to sit down on the bike. You lean on his shoulder, laughing as well.
“The first thing I’m going to do when I get home,” You say in between laughs, “Is take a shower.”