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The house is unusually quiet when you come home. The dimmed fireplace crackling and flickering, bathing your home in orange instead of the yellowy hue of the bright strip lights that Sam so prefers to use. You toe off your boots, shedding your hat and backpack at the door.
Your eyebrows knit into a frown, uneasiness slides uncomfortably down your spine. Normally you’d find him fiddling with his guitar by the couch or reheating pizza in the kitchen. And at the sound of the door clicking behind you, he’d run up and greet you with a sweet kiss.
The house is silent in the way that a toddler doing something they shouldn’t be doing is silent. Anticipatory, suspicious, wrong.
You scan the living room and kitchen from where you could see at the door, trying to catch a glimpse of the straw-bright hair of your husband.
“Honey?” you call, cautiously.
Shuffling into the living room, your eyes sweeping over the couch, catching on the mug with traces of hot chocolate and scrawled music sheets that litter the table.
Well. That is definitely some proof of life. It soothes your nerves a little, letting you stand with a little less stiffness at your spine.
You circle around the couch, between it and the fireplace, beelining towards the kitchen next.
Something—something warm and firm—encircles your ankle and you almost jump out of your skin. Something that is much too big to be your pet pawing at you.
You scream, flinching miles up into the air. Nearly tripping when the hand tightens more. Then, your eyes snap to the floor where something grabbed you.
Sam lays sprawled prone on the floor, a small grin playing on his lips. He takes up all of the carpet with how he’s positioned like a starfish, lazing around on your floor like he didn’t just scare the shit out of you. You inhale, relieved that it isn’t any creature that crawled out with you from the mines. You frown, kicking the side of your husband’s head lightly in retribution.
“You almost gave me a heart attack!”
You grab him by his cheeks, scanning his face. Just to see what the hell he’s been up to to make you this high strung. His eyes are red-rimmed and droopy, Sam gives you a cursory glance before staring back into space. You pause, eyes zeroing in on the velvet drawstring bag sitting by his hand.
You cough, the rancid smell of weed hitting your nose.
He couldn’t possibly…
“What the fuck?” you ask incredulously, holding up the suspicious little drawstring bag with your pointer and thumb. “Are you high?”
“No, but let me tell you this though,” Sam slurs, pointing up at you in what you think is an accusation. “you’re higher…”
Your eyes narrow, squeezing his cheeks tighter. “It's because you're lying on the floor, dumbass.”
All the questions come crashing at the same time. “What—how,” you take a centering breath, taking your thoughts in order. Beginnings of a headache start to creep up on you. “Okay. Where the hell were you able to buy weed?”
“This blue guy in the desert,” he hiccups. “Don’t worry, baby. I bought it at a discount.”
The dots connect in your mind as soon as he says blue—Mr. Qi. The phantom taste of iridium snake milk tickles your throat at the thought of it. You shudder.
“You bought weed from where?” your eyes go wide. “Fuck Sam, I don’t know if you’re stupid or gullible!”
You’re gonna have an aneurysm. You’re going to have an aneurysm and die. But before you do, you turn back and start powering towards the door.
Sam yelps, “Wait! Where are you going?” he catches your leg before you could take another step. You would laugh at his position right now if you weren’t picturing Mr. Qi’s head on a stick.
“To talk with that slimy blue alien who sold you that,” you grit.
He pulls you down next to him, cushioning your fall with his body. Long arms wrap around your waist pulling you flush to him. You flail around in his arms, pushing against his chest.
“Stop hittin’ me,” he whines, practically suffocating you with his arms. “Hurts.”
“Baby.”
“Your baby.”
“No, you idiot,” you shoot back, “You’re a baby. That’s an insult.”
Then Sam attacks you with the biggest wettest—still red-rimmed—eyes you’ve ever seen in your life. Where in the world were you able to snag this human golden retriever?
He yelps when you pinch his nose. “Quit being cute.”
“‘M not. I missed you.”
“Do you feel okay?”
“Mhm,” he hums, stroking your back in slow motions. “Now that you’re here I am.”
Pink rushes up your cheeks, you roll your eyes at the clear buttering up he’s attempting with you. But you’re more annoyed at how it’s working.
“You scared the hell out of me, you know.”
You decide to keep being annoyed. Sam plops his head on your shoulder. The two of you, grown adults, laying on the cold floor of the living room together. How romantic.
“I just love you, man.” a disgustingly wet sob escapes him, hot tears stain the sleeve of your shirt. You’re convinced there’s no other reason for his mood swings aside from the weed. And that does nothing but annoy—endear—you.
“…Whatever.”
He pinches the fat of your waist, the sudden sting in your side pulls a strangled sound from your lips. You make a face, swatting his hand away to soothe the soreness.
He points an accusing finger. “You didn’t say it back!”
“You don’t call your loving spouse—” you lift a hand and make air quotations. “—man.”
“Sweetie. Honeypie,” he coos. Grinning sweetly as he nuzzles into you. “The cure to all of my sicknesses—”
That makes you groan. You won’t be mad now, not when he’s loving up on you like this. Maybe later, though. When he isn’t looking you snag the velvet pouch and stuff it into your pocket.
That’s getting thrown into the lava lake deep in the mines.
“The only cure you’re getting from me today is a glass of water and maybe some eye drops.”
“Okay,” he hums. “I love you.”
Your arms curl around his waist, squeezing him tightly. “I love you too.”