Work Text:
The day began as normal — well, as normal as you could make it.
It was cloudy and drab outside but it still somehow brought you a sense of solace. Grabbing your phone to check the time, still under the warm covers of your bed, you realized that you’d slept in again; It was around ten in the morning. Your limbs felt like lead and you cursed how heavy and lethargic you felt despite knowing the fact that it was all mental.
Over the years, you’d found that these episodes would come around at unexpected times and ever since you decided that medication would not help, these episodes just came and went — some stayed longer than others. This one was one of the longer ones, it was lasting about three weeks now. During the moments where you felt more energetic (which was rare), the beds would be made and surfaces would be dusted.
You fought through your lethargy and the desire to just sleep the entire day to keep the place clean for when Simon would come home — that, and the fact that being in a clean environment helped you feel good about yourself at least a little despite the constant weight of depression on your back.
There were times where you’d go weeks without cleaning and when it got too messy for your liking, you’d pull up your gloves and get to work. Simon was already working hard and the least you could do was keep the place clean until he came back home, that’s what you told yourself. So, without further contemplation, you begrudgingly exposed yourself to the biting London air and got ready for the day.
As soon as you got to the bathroom, you considered a shower. But after eying it for some time you resigned to just splash water on your face and brush your teeth. Showering felt like a burden you couldn’t take care of right now. Right now, you had to get this place looking decent at the very least.
You hummed the lyrics to a song that's been stuck in your head for a while as you washed the dirty dishes in the sink, slowly scrubbing off the hardened leftover food off of them. Truthfully, you hadn’t really eaten a proper meal in a while, just noodles. In times like these, you couldn’t stomach much. But even then, it wasn’t as if you even had the energy to get up and make a proper meal for yourself.
Once the dishes were done, you leaned against the counter and closed your eyes.
The air was still cold and the flat couldn’t be more silent. The flat always felt colder and more still when Simon was gone. With your vision gone fuzzy, you were sure that you were looking at the window in the living room, across from the kitchen. Though now it looked less like a window and more like a fluffy cloud of white and grey. It was as if your eyes were unfocused camera lenses.
You weren’t sure how long you’d stared out into nothing, but as soon as you snapped back, you rubbed your eyes and continued on with your duties.
Your eyes lingered on the knife holder for a bit longer than normal before you exited the kitchen.
With the floors swept and mopped, the counters wiped and clean, you looked over at the mountainous laundry basket in the closet. You’d been putting it off for a while but you sighed when you realized that you were running out of clothes.. You couldn’t procrastinate doing it any longer. You moved the basket out from the closet and into the room before you began separating them; jeans by themselves, socks and underwear together, darker clothes were separated from the lighter colors and soon enough it was all ready to be washed.
You started with jeans and after about an hour and a half, all that was needed was for the lighter colors to dry up. You sat at the couch watching a sitcom that you weren’t really paying attention to while you waited for the clothes to dry and after a while, you found yourself asleep on the couch.
.
.
.
You weren’t exactly sure how much time had passed between then and now but it didn’t make any difference to how you got up. Simon wasn’t home yet. You pulled yourself out from the comfortable couch, your skin warm from the contact. The lacquered floorboards beneath your feet were a striking cold contrast to the warmth you felt just minutes ago.
Nonetheless you continued on to the dryer and took out the clothes. Little warmth lingered on them since they’d been dry for a while now. Taking armfuls of the semi-warm clothes, you set them on the king-sized bed you’d longed to sleep on for a while now and began to fold them. You weren’t energized from your nap, in fact you felt more tired than ever — but your motivation to finish this first was overwhelming your desire to succumb to slumber.
You folded the pants and separated the shirts, separated the socks, the underwear and tucked everything into their respective drawers. Now, with a decently cleaned home and the laundry done, you allowed yourself to collapse on your bed. Your stomach felt empty, had you eaten anything since you’d woken up?
With a sigh, you carried yourself into the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water. It would have to suffice since the arms of your tiredness stuck to you like caramel. After finishing the glass, you swiftly went back to your beloved mattress and let your body sink into it until your aching muscles and tired bones mixed with the softness of the bed.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
The following day, you were woken up. Not by the usual cloudy day nor the cold London air, but by the familiar warmth of none other than your husband. Simon’s arms engulfed you like the blanket you had around you. His arms were placed lazily around your waist but as soon as you tried to move to get a better look at him, he tightened his hold on you. “Si,” you whispered.
You whispered his name a total of two other times afterwards and yet all you got in response was a tired grunt. You sighed and rolled around, your eyes gazing at his tired visage. Your fingers curled into his hair which was longer than you last remembered. It set in that he was next to you, that he was here and it suddenly felt like a dam broke loose inside you.
Simon didn’t deserve this- you .
He didn’t deserve to feel concerned over you crying into his neck as you hugged him close. He didn’t deserve to be stuck with someone as high-maintenance as you. Why should he be forced to carry your burdens after all the hard work he had to do in the field? If anything, you should be the one giving him solace, not the other way around.
Nonetheless, Simon cradled your head in his chest and stroked your back lazily. He didn’t ask questions about your crying, only cooed at you, telling you to breathe and that it’d be alright. “M’sorry,” you apologized after untangling yourself from him and wiping your tears that didn’t seem to stop. It had felt like you were just now tuning into reality after being on autopilot for about three weeks straight. These burdens weren’t his to carry and you hated that after months of him being gone, this was your greeting to him.
“Don’t apologize,” he was sitting up now, bringing you close to him as if to remind you that you didn’t have to feel guilty about your tears or about your damaged state of mind. He held you like fragile glass, as if you’d break if he moved. Your arms slowly reached up to return his warm embrace.
“I’m not..” the words poured out of you with a shakiness. The earthquake inside you wouldn’t allow you to speak clearly. “ I’m not okay. ” Tears spilled and your fists collected the fabric of his shirt into them. It was hard for you to admit it, you were sure that dealing with these episodes by yourself was fine because you’d done it before. That it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle.
But that didn’t stop you from feeling as if the weight of a thousand worries had just crashed down on you.
“ You will be .” he spoke with a certainty that left no room for doubt. Simon didn’t move and kept quietly rubbing your back as if to soothe you. And it did. Your weary eyes ran dry after a couple minutes of his comforting hold on you. Once he was sure that you were done, the blond separated from you a little and brought his calloused hand up to your cheek, wiping the residue of your salty tears on your cheeks. You avoided his gaze still, you weren’t ready to face him after all of that.
After years of being with you, Simon had grown to be an expert on how to comfort you during these episodes of yours. He didn’t consider them a burden but he understood that you felt as if they were. To him, you weren’t damaged goods. You weren’t weighing him down, nor were you an inconvenience.
To him, you were just human .
.
.
.
In the ten minutes that had passed, you found yourself in a bathtub surrounded by soapy warm water. The water relaxed the deepest parts of your muscles and you felt as if you’d melt with the way Simon was carefully combing through your curls. Your hair becomes increasingly difficult to take care of during times like this mostly because of the amount of time it requires. It was full of knots and tangles and to get through them, you’d have to section the hair, detangle every section and then on top of that there was the shampooing and the conditioning and .. it was just a huge problem you didn’t feel like you could handle with the low motivation you were plagued with.
But Simon could care less.
He took your hair pick and sectioned off your hair with extreme precision and loving care. His big and calloused hands took their time combing through the various tangled spots, from the tips of your hair to their roots, just like how you’d do it. Through it all, you hummed a familiar tune to yourself, trying to soothe the guilt you felt for making him do all this for you.
This wasn’t the first time he had done this for you and it certainly wouldn't be the last. His endearing actions often felt like something you were far from deserving. Simon quietly finished the last section up and rinsed the detangling cream out of your hair. He reached for the hydrating hibiscus hair mask you used, the aroma filling your nose in a comforting fashion. It felt like it had been ages since you last smelled something so pleasant.
Simon quietly lathered your hair in it, making sure every strand was coated in the hair mask. “You don’t have to do this.. I’m sorry for-”
He grunted, “I want to.” Simon wished you’d stop apologizing but he knew that telling you to stop would be futile. “Let me do this for you, yeah?”
With a reluctant sigh, you nodded and brought your knees close to your chest. After about an hour, he was done doing your hair care. He offered to wash your body for you but you refused, saying that you could at least save him the trouble of doing so — to which he then took the washcloth from you and scrubbed every inch of you, as softly as he possibly could of course.
“S’this the one you use, Love?” Simon held up a container half-full of the styling cream you used, though it looked much smaller in his hands.
“Yeah,” you replied softly, “That’s the one.”
Simon Riley rarely ever smiles, but in the rare times that he allowed you to see one — even the ghost of one — it felt like seeing the sun after a long and cloudy day. A sort of solace that was experienced very rarely but it made you happy when you did get to experience it. You let him section off your hair once more, this time with a little more conversation. He asked you about your days while he was gone and you answered with tellings of the mundane happenings at work, the drama in between your coworkers and how your boss was getting on your nerves more often than not. Simon, very subtly, managed to distract you from the darkness that plagued your thoughts. He redirected your thoughts to the present moment — the good moments.
The blond meticulously curled his fingers around each individual strand of your hair like you would have done. Perhaps his military precision was the cause of the perfect way he shaped your curls for you. After which, Simon helped you diffuse them until your whole head of hair was without a single drop of water. It had made you laugh how he asked for your instruction on how to do it since you never thought you’d be the one ordering him around like that.
“Smells nice.” you said after inspecting your hair and taking a whiff at the pleasant scent of it. You forgot how pretty having your natural hair all done up made you feel. Whilst you were getting dressed in your shared room, Simon was in the kitchen cooking up something that smelled delicious. The tangy scent of meat wafted throughout the flat, it made you remember just how much you’d missed having a proper meal instead of the noodles you’ve been stuffing yourself with these past few weeks.
The floorboards still felt icy underneath your bare feet, but your heart was enough to warm the fullness of your body. You walked up behind Simon and softly wrapped your arms around his torso. You could feel it as he tensed up and quickly relaxed under your tender hold. “Thank you.” It was a quiet sentence of gratitude, but he could feel the weight of your words.
You meant it.
He knew you meant it.
Simon tended to the cooking steak in front of him, the butter wafting into both of your noses and surrounding the lot of you in the warmth of the fire on the stove. He brought a hand atop yours which rested on his stomach and lovingly rubbed his thumb along the skin of your wrist. His fingers were always calloused but they never lacked the warmth you sought during times like these.
Despite how hard it felt to just exist for a day, Simon always knew how to make you feel okay. He wasn’t your saviour of any kind, but he was your protector.
And he’d protect your heart as long as you’d allow him to .