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It was a Wednesday night. Bristol vs Bath played on the TV. It wasn’t much of a game- Bristol were getting hammered. And so he was concentrating more on folding his washing than on the match.
He currently had one of Annie’s socks in his hand — one of the fluffy ones she wore in bed when her feet were cold. Although more often than not she kicked them off within five minutes and warmed her feet on his.
He dug around in the basket for the other sock — it was probably somewhere at the bottom of his bed.
He set the sock aside, momentarily distracted by Bristol being awarded a penalty kick, but unsurprisingly their fly half missed.
He folded his running top and added it to his pile. There were two piles of laundry now- his and Annie’s. He was a man who now knew that you don’t tumble dry lingerie. And actually- her pile was almost as big as his. Not that he minded. But he’d remind her of that next time she tried to make out he left all his washing at her flat.
She was out for dinner tonight with a few friends, and that was ok. He’d see her tomorrow night after work. And it gave him chance to do a few jobs and tidy the flat up a bit.
Three months now. Three months of Annie — of weekends spent shuttling between flats, and now most nights of the week.
River folded a jumper — his, but one she liked, the soft grey one she claimed smelled like him even straight out of the wash. He laid it carefully on the pile, then paused, fingers stilling.
He missed her.
Not in a sharp way. Not in a way that made him restless or defensive. Just… a quiet awareness of her absence.
It surprised him, how okay that felt.
He’d spent so much of his life braced for things to disappear — people, stability, moments that felt too good to trust. He was used to counting time backwards, measuring how long something might last.
Tonight, he wasn’t doing that.
He picked up one of her tops — cotton, soft, slightly twisted from the wash — and folded it with care that had nothing to do with efficiency.
He found the sock that had been hiding and added it to her pile, ready to slide into the drawer which was now hers in his room.
He’d made room for her in lots of ways.
The thought didn’t tighten his chest.
It settled there instead — warm, certain.
Because she was also choosing him.
Again and again, in small, unshowy ways.
And without making any dramatic promises or declarations, he realised something else too: He was choosing her right back.
Tomorrow. And the day after that.
And all the ordinary Wednesdays in between.
River stacked the folded clothes neatly, switching off the TV — Bristol had been annihilated.
He’d see her tomorrow.
And tonight — quietly, steadily — that was enough.