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"Maybe we should've asked someone to help?" Emma-May asked, not trying to hide the worry in her voice. "What about Stanford?"
"He's busy this weekend", Fiddleford huffed under the big roll of textures he was trying to fit through the entrance. "I told you, I can do it myself! Or do you doubt me, already? After the first month of marriage?" By the end of his words, he sounded playful, and Emma-May chuckled.
"Oh stop it", she shook her head. "It would take something much more serious for me to doubt you!" She hoped it came out as a joke it was - she was sure that nothing of that sort would happen. She loved her husband, with all his weirdness and quirks, and she knew that Fiddleford loved her back just as strongly and infinitely.
And it sounded like Fiddleford huffed something in agreement. Or maybe it was just him grunting... But anyway, with one more effort he pushed the rolled up mattress past the threshold and had to immediately recatch the bundle so as not to let it fall down to the floor. It provoked more grunts and even some squeaks, which made Emma-May sigh from her husband's stubbornness, but also from being amazed at his obvious success: with some more twisting and stretching Fiddleford finally dropped the precious bundle over the carcass of their new bed.
"Told you so", he said between the huffs and shaking his wrists, elbows and shoulders. "Okay, now pass me the knife".
Emma-May nodded and made a quick trip towards their kitchen, returning with a long blade and passing it to Fiddleford, with a handle towards the latter.
And the latter took it, approaching the bundle and putting the knife to one of the ties, keeping it rolled up.
"Okay, now be ready to be amazed by the magic land of softne-"
Emma-May wasn't even sure at first what had even happened. One moment her husband was smiling at her, the next he was gone, vanished and buried under the thickest mattress they could find.
"Honey! Fiddly! Are you okay?" She cried, rushing forward and trying to lift the mattress to check on her husband.
"...that was a bad idea", the pained muffled voice was heard to her joy, even before she managed to wrestle the mattress away enough that she could see Fiddleford's face. "Hi".
"Hi", Emma-May smiled with relief, noticing that aside from already visible bruise on her husband's temple there was nothing indicating any trauma. Of course, it didn't mean that nothing was pulled or broken, but at the very least the knife was laying to the side and no blood was in sight. "How are you feeling?"
Fiddleford looked at her, smiling as well, before rolling his eyes. "Oh no! I think I lost all my memories! Who are you, oh beautiful angel?"
Emma-May chuckled against her better judgement.
"That's not funny!" She reached and lightly slapped her husband over his beautiful thick hair. "Don't joke like that!"
"I'm not joking!" Fiddleford caught her hand and brought it to his forehead. "I really don't remember anything! So pray tell me, oh the most gorgeous being, what are you, because surely no mortal can steal my heart after only glancing at you! Or better yet, grant me a single kiss to relieve my misery!"
Well, if the over-the-top sultry voice was an evidence of anything, that would be of the fact that her husband was perfectly well.
So Emma-May gave in and leaned closer, almost laying on the mattress now situated between them. "Oh, sure. I love collecting little..." she caressed her husband's cheek- "...pretty..." -feeling how the latter trembled, "silly boys to serve me. Do you want to serve me, Mortal?"
"Yes!" Fiddleford shouted, his voice heavy with desire. He tried to lean forward himself but fell back, laughing. "But first let's put the mattress back when it belongs? And then I'll serve you for how long you wish me to".