Chapter Text
James pov:
“Ah….shit”
I stare blankly in the fridge of despair-so empty it could likely pass for modern art. A minimalist’s dream. Minius the tiny specks of food ground into the shelves from the week dog went feral in the house. We never did get those out.
“Aaron,” I say, slamming the door shut, “when was the last time you went grocery shopping? Your wife is literally pregnant—”
“When was the last time you made yourself useful and did it?” Aaron snaps back, rounding against the counter as he tugs at his glasses. “Guess we’re both disappointed.”
The living room light flickers, warm but unsteady, and for a second the rain streaked windows outside seem to darken even more. Juliet’s upstairs, asleep-I already know it. I saw her running around trying to page Kenji about a movie.
Today was… tolerable. Not good, not bad. The kind of day the weather ruins on principle. Every plan I’d half made went straight to hell, and I didn’t even bother fighting the urge to sleep in. I woke up with a numb left arm, spit on my pillow, and indents on my body where the blanket was.
All I wanted was a snack.
Something easy.
Something that didn’t involve a domestic argument and an empty fridge judging me.
“Take the car and go get food.” Aaron doesn’t even look at me when he says it.
I turn slowly. “Wow. No buildup? No apology? Just exile.”
“We need groceries,” he says, pulling at his laptop so he can do whatever he does all day. maybe to type on his online dairy about how he hates everyone but his wife. that wouldn't surprise me. “Dinner. Snacks. Something that resembles effort. Our house is a revolving door of people and we can't have them starve.”
“We have assistance for this kind of stuff, you know”
“That’s why you’re going.”
I stare at him. Then at the rain hammering the windows hard enough to break it. “You’re sending me out there to battle the natural elements, for groceries?”
“Yes.”
that's cold. I feel like weight being removed. Like I’m being removed from the room on purpose. God, he's in a shitty mood.
I don't say a word when I grab for my jacket and wallet, harder than necessary. The door creaks as I pull it open, cold air bleeding in. “send me anything that you want to request-my king.”
With that I close the door, pausing on the porch to make sure I have my keys. My eyes drift to the side as I dig in my pocket, a completely white flower catching my eye. It's being drowned in the muddy dirt. My head travels off.
Three days. That’s how long it’s been since I last saw Rosabelle. Not that I’d been counting. Not consciously, anyway. Life just… stacked itself in the way it does. With the whole reestablishment coming back for karma, and us both having the exact opposite lives, communication has been tough. I see her when she comes around to help out with the tech-and to make up plans. I try to plan times for us to talk about something non work related, but she's busy. I'm busy. I kind of think she forgets I exist. And that…hurts.
for half a second I considered texting her. Just to see if she’s okay. See if she's eating well. Just to remind myself she’s still real and not something my brain made up when things felt lighter.
I pull up my hood and head out instead.
Wanting her makes me feel like my heart is getting ripped out. Everytime i close my eyes her face manages to find its way in. like its etch on the side of my brain. This is inconvenient. Especially now. Especially when I’m already annoyed and damp and being sent out for groceries like a teenager grounded.
If I'm being honest-all I want is my bed. To go back to an hour ago, where I was comfortably covered in my sheets and not having to face my own thoughts