#i'm gonna wash some towels in a minute but i've done so much laundry my head is spinning.

[amiserableseriesofevents]

when they figure out they do laundry veryy differently (like whether or not they separate colors/whites, how they fold, how often laundry is done, etc.) 🥰🥰

The end of a lazy afternoon finds John sprawled on the couch with Meatball next to him, snoring quietly as John plays some Legend of Zelda on the tv.

They're waiting for Buck to come home from a shift at West Anglia and John personally hopes he'll arrive with some news about the latest endeavors of Marge and Rosie, aka the Most Unlikely Duo as John and Benny call them. Buck isn't usually one for gossip, especially when Marge is involved, but the constant push-pull of the couple is too much even for him.

When the door of the apartment – their apartment, John reminds himself with a proud grin – opens Meatball immediately runs to Buck and John pauses the game, waiting on the couch. “Welcome back doll, how's it going?” He shoots loud towards the entryway.

Buck steps into the living room with Meatball at his heels, cheeks reddened and hair askew from the bike ride home. “S'doing well, better now here at home. Did you guys have fun? Went for a you know what?” He asks, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss John on the lips.

“Yeah, we did go to the park and shared a sandwich,” John answers, stealing another kiss. “And then we cleaned the bedroom, prepped dinner, and folded the laundry that was in the dryer.”

“That's good, I think it's just time for another round of washing. I'm gonna take a quick shower then I'll help you with the dinner, ok?”

“Sure love, take your time. Oh, any news about our favorite couple?” John teases. Buck rolls his eyes. “I'll tell you later,” he says, and with another kiss he's gone before John can complain. Sighing, he starts the game and plays for a few more minutes before Buck's voice gets to his ears.

“John, sweetheart, can you come here a moment?”

And John's blood immediately turns to ice because if there's a thing he's learnt in this past year and a half he's spent with Buck it's that when he uses pet names like this, he's just about to murder him in cold blood.

“Yeah sure doll, I'm coming!” John shouts back and goes to their bedroom, feigning nonchalance. Buck's standing next to their bed – neatly made with the space-patterned sheets Marge has gifted them for their new home – and is staring at the piles of laundry John has folded earlier.

“Yes, doll?”

“Care to explain what is this?” Buck asks pointing at the laundry.

“It's the laundry I took from the dryer and folded.”

“And why, pray tell, did you fold it like that?”

Puzzled, John looks at the folded towels. “What do you mean like that? How else was I supposed to fold them? That's the body towels pile, that's the hand towels pile, that's...”

“Are you serious? You're telling me you did that on purpose?”

With a sigh John turns to Buck. “Buck, my love, I'm gonna need you to be more clear because I understand you're pissed but I have no idea why,” he tells him – hell yeah, he's been working really hard on his communication issues.

“You're supposed to fold them by sets! The blue body towel with the blue hand towel, the green body towel with the green hand towel, and so on!” Buck exclaims, so astonished he doesn't even sound angry anymore.

“But that doesn't make sense. What if you only need the body towel?”

“It's a set! You're supposed to use them together, why would you only need one?! Who raised you, John Clarence Egan?!”

John gasps, outraged. “Hey now, there's no need for middle names! And I'll let you know, my mother didn't care about how the laundry was folded: however it would fit into the closet was just about right.”

Buck looks at him in suspicion. “You never folded your stuff once in your whole life, did you?” He asks.

“Well, not when my mom could complain about it. But the guys...”

“Oh shut up about the guys, I've seen how they keep their changing rooms and I am actually afraid to learn how they fold their laundry,” Buck cuts him off with a shudder. Then he exhales, and relaxes his shoulders just a bit. “Next time could you please fold them by sets? I promise it's more practical.”

“I'll try and remember that. I'm sorry, I had no idea you had such strong opinions on laudry,” John says, tugging Buck closer to place a kiss on his head.

“I have strong opinions on things that matter,” the other grumbles. “I'm going to load the washing machine now, do you have more whites to put in?”

“Yeah, there's your white shirt in the bathroom, I put the stain remover on that coffee stain on the wrist earlier and it should be ready to wash now.”

It's Buck's turn to look puzzled. “The what?”

“The stain remover? The one that's specific for coffee stains?”

A beat. “We don't have that.”

“Yes we do? In the cupboard? Along with one specific for wine stains and one for makeup?”

Buck still looks at him like he's grown a third eye. “Now you're just fucking with me,” he says but he sounds uncertain.

John raises his eyebrows at him. “Gale Winston Cleven,” he spells out, and smirks at Buck's consequential eye roll. “Are you telling me you don't use stain removers when you do your laundry?”

“Of course I do, but a generic one! Why on earth would I need a specific one for every kind of stain?”

“Well in case you didn't notice, all the coffee stains on your shirts have been disappearing much faster lately. And the wine I spilled on your trousers at the restaurant? Yeah that's gone too. Because I put the specific stain remover on it,” John explains.

“I'm still not convinced that we actually need that kind of stuff,” Buck says.

“Trust me, you'll see it the next time I leave makeup stains on your collar after a show,” John shoots back with a wink. Buck seems like he's pondering it for a minute, then he slowly nods. “That did go away pretty fast the last time, you're right. Wait, you're telling me you've been using your fancy stain removers on my stuff? Why?”

“Well I cannot possibly let you go around with coffee stains on all your white shirts; who would take you seriously then, Professor Cleven?”

Buck smirks at that, the nickname always hitting him just right. “I'd say from now on, you do the washing and I do the folding? So everyone's happy?” He suggests.

“Deal,” John says pulling him closer again for another kiss. “I like how we're managing this, moving in together and dividing the responsibilities. It makes us sound like two healthy adults, don't you think?”

Buck can't hide a smile against John's lips. “I love it too, coming home and finding you here, you taking care of my laundry, helping you cook dinner... maybe we actually are two healthy adults.”

“Mh, don't count on it,” is John's response, and Buck laughs at it and extricates himself from the hug, finally walking to the bathroom. “I'll leave the washing to you then!” He says closing the door behind him.

“Sure doll! I can't wait to wash all your white shirts with one of my red socks and see what happens. I bet you'd look good in pink!” John says.

The bathroom door reopens in an instant, angry blue eyes shining through the crack. “Don't you dare.”

[letrashbag]

I woke up at like 5:30-6 this morning and then I spent 2 hours cleaning my whole house, which is so therapeutic I cannot even, but now its like 10 o'clock and I have nothing to do.

Anybody else ever get that feeling of something just like itching in your skin so you have to do something, but the second you try doing anything it just gets so much worse. I am barely holding it together right now, actively typing this.

I can't watch youtube videos (short dumb videos aren't engaging enough and long serious videos are too engaging), I can't listen to a podcast (I need something to do physically with my body and the thought of listening to something while doing something else sounds like actual torture right now), I can't draw (I need to be listening to something and again the idea of having more than one thing take my attention sounds miserable), doom scrolling is out (I already reached my end point for tumblr and going down any other rabbit holes will only last a couple of minutes before I'll reach the point of wanting to tear my hair out), there's nothing I can clean or organize that will take enough effort to engage me but still be quick enough that I'll feel a sense of accomplishment for, I can't read an online comic because the words are so small and my eyes hurt, I can't read my webtoons because it's been a while since I've read anything and the idea of having to catch up sounds exhausting, any shows or movies I could watch are either too new and would take emotional effort to get invested in or are too familiar and won't be stimulating enough.

Basically I'm gonna die.

There are literally a million things I could be doing, and the idea of doing any of them sounds absolutely miserable. But I'm barely staving off the rising pressure by typing this out and I know the second I stop it'll creep up and I'll die.

Maybe I could go running? Except then I'd have to change clothes and my exercise clothes are disgusting. I can't do laundry cause my family's dryer is broken, so I can't wash my clothes yet. I also can't wash my towel so I can't take a shower.

Ugh, my hair is so disgusting right now. I have it all tied up in a weird way so that I don't rip it out of my scalp. I can't wait until I can shave my head, then I won't have to worry about this.

So I can't do my self care activities, and I can't accomplish a task that is very important to my everyday functions, and that's breaking me brain.

Noted.

Maybe when I rant like this I'll figure out what makes me feel this way.

I'm so tired, I want to take a nap, but I know I won't be able to fall asleep. I want to clean some more, but there isn't anything for me to do really. Especially since I have family members out and about getting in the way. UUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuugggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

It's fine.

I'm fine.

I'm doing great.

I'm losing my mind.

Maybe I should write poetry? I haven't done that in a while. But it sounds too involved. I already drew a bunch of angsty stuff after the fight with my mom. We're both just ignoring it by the way. I'm avoiding her as much as I can without making it obvious, and neither of us are addressing it. I only have one more week and then I'm gone. I'm so excited to leave.

Okay, I think this is it.

My brain is giving up on me.

I knew this wouldn't last forever, but it lasted for a bit, and for that I am grateful.

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Okay, I'm done.

[hittcr-a]

y’all should be proud of me. i did a lot of replies (read: a few) and cleaned the fuck out of my room. i am a whole person again.

[managedmischiefs]

BAD DAY//MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

word count: 3k

warnings: body image issues

before we get into the writing i just wanted to say that i’m not, in any way, criticizing mgg’s body in this fic. it is never my intention to make others feel bad about their bodies. i have plenty of experience w that and it feels awful. if anyone has a problem w this fic then please let me know. thank u.

i collapse onto the couch after a long day of cleaning the house, blasting music and dancing around while i have time alone. the house has been in need of a serious cleaning and when i woke up this morning with the energy to be productive, i didn't let it go to waste. the dishes were washed, all the laundry washed and folded and put away, rugs vacuumed, trash put on the curb, bathrooms scrubbed down, and mirrors cleaned of scuffs. and by dinner time, i've finished and feeling accomplished.

matthew has been away at work all day and was only able to spare me one text around lunchtime to tell me that he might be later than usual. i responded with a text that was far sweeter than it needed to be, professing my love multiple times and adding a slew of cute emojis. days that run long typically mean bad days, and bad days mean a very upset boyfriend. that never ends well.

when matthew doesn't arrive home by six, i send him a text to let him know that i'm going to order chinese food for the both of us, and that he can eat when he returns home. i get nothing in return.

i watch tv while i wait for the food to arrive and only half pay attention to whatever is on the tv. my only thoughts are of my boyfriend and how horribly his day must be going. the food arrives and i put it away for later so that neither of us have to eat alone. i take my place on the couch again and wait anxiously for the door to open.

surely enough, the front door swings open and matthew comes stomping in. i hear his backpack hit the floor and then his keys following, and then the door slams closed. he doesn't come into the living room where he know i always am when he gets home, and instead goes rushing up the stairs and presumably to the bedroom. surely enough, the door slams shut a second later.

a heavy sigh falls from my mouth. i shut the tv off and go to pick up the things he had thrown onto the ground. i give matthew a moment alone to collect his thoughts and once i've tucked away his keys and hung up his backpack, i make my way up the stairs and to our bedroom.

i knock on the door softly before entering, my heart breaking at the sight before me. matthew is sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, arms trembling and shoulders shaking. i can hear him sniffling softly, fighting back tears. he looks so helpless and so broken and in the five years that we've been together, i don't think i've ever seen him like this after a day at work.

i close the door gently behind me, and when the door clicks, i see matthew flinch slightly. "hi, sweetheart," i whisper, walking a few steps closer. "can i do something for you? can i help?" matthew hesitates with his answer, sniffling before nodding a tiny bit. "yeah? okay, what can i do?" i move to sit next to him now, a few inches away. i know he won't give me an answer when he's in this state, but sometimes, just asking helps. so i just sit and wait with him as he fights off his tears.

"you can cry, you know?" i whisper. "you can cry if you need to. don't hold it in." matthew shoulders start to shake even more, his hands sliding up and into his hair. he tugs on the strands, letting out a strangled sob for the first time. my heart absolutely breaks, and i reach forward to place a hand on his back, stroking up and down the fabric of his tee shirt. "baby, i'm here right. it's okay. you're okay."

he reaches his hand back and clutches my hand, tugging on it, but not lifting his head. i scoot closer, but as soon as our legs are touching, matthew's other hand starts pulling at my thigh, trying to get me even closer. so i move to stand in between his legs, pulling his hands out of his hair so he won't give himself a headache.

and once his hands are away from his hair, he grabs my waist and pulls me right into his lap, tucking his face into my neck. this is the time that he finally lets himself go, sobbing into my shoulder and holding my waist as tight as he possibly can.

"oh, my love," i coo, brushing my fingers through his hair and running my fingers up and down his spine, "i've got you. i've got you. just let it out. i love you so much."

he hiccups and trembles as he cries, and cries, and cries. i rock him back and forth just slightly, hoping the movement will bring him some sort of comfort and tranquility. and i'm not sure how long we just sit like that, holding each other as i whisper sweet nothings into matthew's ear. but eventually, his cries slow down and he's just shaking in my arms, clutching my sweater.

"can you look at me, baby? it's okay, i've got you," he lifts his head slowly, staring at me with bloodshot eyes and wet cheeks, pretty lips pouting and nose scrunching up as he sniffles. but i give him a smile, raising my hands to wipe the tears off his cheeks and brush his hair off his forehead. "hi, my love."

matthew's lips quirk up in the slightest but they don't stay that way. "hi," he whispers, voice cracking.

"so do you wanna talk about it or go do something else?" i keep touching his face, wiping the new tears away and letting his nuzzle his cheek into my hand.

"something else, please." he says.

"okay, that's fine. are you hungry? do you want dinner? it's in the fridge, i can go heat it up."

"no, no, i'm not hungry." he shakes his head, turning his head to place a kiss on the palm of my hand. "i think i wanna go take a bath, if that's okay?"

"of course that's okay. you do whatever you want. do you want me to come or do you wanna be alone?" matthew just shrugs in response. "okay, well, why don't you go alone and i'll come by in a little while?"

"yeah, okay," matthew nods and slowly ushers me off his lap, dragging himself into the connected bathroom. he closes the door behind him and i hear the water running a few seconds later.

i can honestly say that i've never seen him so upset, at least not in recent times. he's had his fair share of breakdowns over the years but this feels different. he's been upset over a bad day at work or not getting a role, but i can't recall a time when he cried that much.

i go downstairs and, regardless of what matthew said, heat up the food i ordered. i know that he doesn't have time to eat on busy days and usually tears through the fridge and pantry when he gets home. he didn't do that today so i can only imagine how hungry he is.

i leave the food in the microwave so it will stay hot and then head back upstairs. i knock gently on the bathroom door, waiting for a response that i never get. "matthew?" i crack the door open just the tiniest bit but don't poke my head in. "is it okay if i come in for a few minutes?"

i hear the water sloshing around before he hums. "mhm."

i enter the hot bathroom and close the door behind me. matthew's legs are pulled up to his chest, forehead resting on his knees and arms wrapped protectively around himself. i sit down beside the tub and reach over to run my fingers through his damp hair.

"sweet boy," i coo softly, "i know you said you don't wanna talk about what's making you upset, but i think it'll help. i don't wanna force you, but i wanna help you feel better." he leans into my touch when i trail my fingers down his cheek, almost purring like a cat.

"m'dizzy," matthew murmurs so quietly i barely even hear him.

i furrow my eyebrows at him, cocking my head to the side. "you're dizzy? from the heat in here?" i jump up and open the bathroom door so some of the heat can travel out. "did you drink enough water? have you eaten enough today?"

matthew shakes his head no, sniffling yet again. "no."

"no," i repeat, defeated. "well, i heated up the chinese i ordered and i left it downstairs. so maybe you can jump out of the bath and come eat and you'll feel better? sound good?"

i stand and hold matthew's towel out for him as he slowly climbs out of the bathtub. i watch him carefully, making sure his dizziness doesn't overcome him. not that i could do anything like catch him if he fainted. he’s too tall and i’m too short. i pull the plug on the drain and usher matthew back into the bedroom.

i watch in careful silence as he pulls on pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, scrunching up his nose in the most adorable way. and once he's dressed, he turns to me with his shoulders hunched forward, almost like he's waiting for me to tell him what to do and where to go. i've been doing it since he walked in the door so i suppose he's too far gone that he needs me to continue.

i give him a small smile and grab onto his hand, leading him down to the kitchen. i point to a barstool in a silence instruction to take a seat, and retrieve our food from the microwave.

"so," i state as i sit down and dig into my fried rice, "i finished the next chapter of my book today! it's not the best writing i've done so i'm gonna do extensive editing on it, but at least it's done. i've been stuck on this chapter for weeks and i'm just relieved that i can move on."

"i'm sure what you've already written is amazing," he half heartedly, stabbing a piece of chicken before pushing it off his fork again.

i keep talking about my writing process, and observe him as he plays with his food and doesn't eat anything at all. i've finished my food in ten minutes and matthew hasn't eaten anything. he responds every now and then with short sentences or one word answers, and doesn't lift his head much.

i throw out my containers and fill up a glass with water and ice, placing it beside matthew's hand. i sit on the barstool beside him, facing him instead of forward. "you haven't eaten anything, sweet boy. you need to eat. did you eat anything today?" matthew ducks his head even further down and shakes his head no. i resist my urge to sigh. "okay, can you tell me why? i made breakfast for both of us and i thought you ate."

"no," he shakes his head again. "i don't- i just don't wanna eat."

he's never acted like this before and it's truly heartbreaking. he doesn't seem like the man i feel in love with and he's even a completely different man from the different man he is when he's upset. this is a new version of my boyfriend that i hope makes a one time appearance.

matthew takes a long breath and pushes around his rice before starting to speak. "last week, on set, i had a fitting for outfits for the episode we filmed today. and the kevlar vest that i've been using for years didn't fit. it was too small. so i," he hesitates, and then tilts his head a little towards me. i instantly bring my hair up to his wet hair and start scratching his scalp, "i just, well, this past week i just decided to eat less and hope that i could fit into the vest today. but it didn't work. it was still too small and it looked absolutely horrible. i looked horrible. ugly."

and yet again, my heart breaks for him. i've never really heard of matthew having issues with his body, except for the off comment that he didn't look good in an outfit or that it didn't flatter him. nothing to this extent. but i've had my fair share of body image issues over the years and matthew has always been quick to remind me that i'm stunning, regardless of whether i'm wearing an extra small or a large.

"i'm sorry you feel this way, love," i drag my hand back to the nape of his neck and play with the short hair there. "and i know exactly how it feels to not fit into clothes that you used to fit into. but you've helped me realize that we don't keep the same body every year. our bodies change as we get older. remember that red dress you really liked on me? it doesn't fit me anymore because i'm not as skinny as i was when we met. but i got a new one that suits me better. it's okay for your body to change and there's nothing wrong with it. you're beautiful no matter what, or handsome, if you'd prefer that."

matthew nods, wiping his cheeks when he finally lifts his head. "i just looked so bad today."

"i'm sure you didn't. i always tell you that i look horrible in outfits you think i look good in. everyone is always really hard on themselves and that's natural."

he drops his head again and let's go of his fork, letting out a heavy sigh and resting his hands in his lap. but i stand, moving his hand away and sitting down on his lap, placing my hands right on his ribs. "when you filmed season twelve, you started to work out more. remember?"

matthew nods. "yeah, of course. what does that have to do with anything?"

"you thought that you would put on weight in muscle, and that's exactly what happened. your shoulders got broader, your thighs got thicker. and you know what?" i lean forward until our noses are touching. i manage to get a tiny smile out of him when i give him an eskimo kiss, our noses rubbing together. "i absolutely loved your body before and after you started working out. you know how much i love your thighs. they're sexy, baby. i know that me telling you things like this doesn't really help but i love your body, no matter what it looks like. what your body looks like doesn't define you."

"really?" he gives me the most adorable puppy eyes. "you like my, you know, my body?"

"i love your body, matthew," i move my hands down from his ribs to his stomach, slipping them under his sweatshirt and placing them on his bare skin. "i love everything about you." matthew lets his head fall forward and presses his forehead into my shoulder as i let my hand continue to roam his skin. "i'm not gonna force you to eat if you really don't want to, but i don't want you to starve yourself either. so i'm gonna go, okay? i'm gonna go sit in bed and you can either eat or not and not feel pressured by me staring at you, and you can join me when you're ready."

i place a kiss on matthew's nose before retracting my hands and heading back to our bedroom. part of me wants to hold him down and force him to eat all of his food and another part of me knows that letting him make his own decisions is the right choice. forcing him to eat when he feels badly about his body is the worst thing i could do. it could make him spin even further out of control and that is obviously the last thing i want.

so i curl up under the duvet on my side of the bed and flip the television on, skimming through the channels until i find some random romcom that i watched with matthew years ago. i leave that on and start scrolling through my social media.

just a few minutes later, matthew comes wandering into the room and closes the door behind him. when he walks towards the bed, i notice he's holding his pint of fried rice in his hand, and while i would normally not support eating in bed out of fear of getting the sheets dirty, i make an exception for this.

he gives me a weak smile as he climbs in beside me, instantly tangling his legs with me. i roll over and rest my head on his chest, bringing my arm around his stomach, resting my hand in his sweatshirt pocket. i try my hardest to ignore it as matthew scoops rice into his mouth slowly. i can tell it's a little bit of a chore for him to be eating, but nonetheless, i'm proud of him for doing it, even if he only eats a few pieces of rice.

"we watched this movie a long time ago. one of our first dates, right?" matthew mumbles.

"mhm," i nod against his chest, "we watched this in your house in the living room and ate pizza and complained about the acting."

"i love you," matthew randomly confesses, leaning down to press his lips to my forehead. "thank you. i don't know what i'd do without you."

"well, you'll never have to find out because you're stuck with me," i quip, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "and i love you too. a whole lot. and i love your tummy too. i think i might love your tum more than i love you. no offense."

[irepookie]

Infinity Chapter 5: IT CAN'T BE LIKE THIS FOREVER

Summary: QUEEN AU where Roger Taylor (aka Rowan Queen) is a young single dad struggling to make it into music industry.

Warnings: not really. Just fluff, sappiness and swear words here and there

Disclaimer: I don't own the pictures. The boys are based on Queen, but Piper, Gina and Callie are mine.

Chapter 5: Basically Row's and Piper's first day on their own, narrative shifting from normal to Row's inner train of thought.

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

Throughout his life, Row would regularly look back with infinite fondness and amusement at the first day he spent on his own with his daughter.

But today, as both him and his week old infant cried in each other's ears, he didn't think either of them would make it through another 24 hours, let alone long enough to look back and laugh at it.

He thought he wouldn't get to the end of the parenting book he was with at the moment with his sanity intact.

He had read many books that contradicted each other. And this one was no exception.

Some said to follow a feeding schedule.

Others to do so whenever she'd demanded it.

Some said that bathing was bad for the umbilical cord.

Some others recommend to rub it with alcohol to help it fall early.

And others said not to touch it. To simply leave it alone.

Then there was Callie and her usual phrase echoing on his head "The best thing is to follow your instincts".

But that didn't help a damn either cause his instinct was messed up.

He had also read somewhere that sharing bed was good at the beginning. That it helped preventing SIDS.

Then on the next book, that sharing room was fine at first, but that bed was a risk factor in SIDS.

But hold on.

What the hell was SIDS?

They mentioned it everywhere. He went through all the pages until he found it, only to be left breathless when finding out what what it stood for:

Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

Whose exact cause was still unknown , and although there were some preventive stuff to do -on which, by the way, all the bloody books differed- there was nothing 100% safe.

So, they meant his little Piper could just fucking die for no goddamn reason, and he wouldn't be able to do nothing about it? What the fuck! It wasn't fair!

So he found himself on the phone, dialing the number he always recurred to in times of trouble.

"I think I broke her, mom" he said as soon as he heard her pick up.

"You can't break a person, Row"

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

"Don't be overdramatic. You didn't expect it to be easy, did ya? Or you thought she was gonna be like a doll, huh? Like those that have a switch for when you get tired of playing house?"

"No but I didn't think... I mean she was much quieter in the hospital."

"Well, darling, she must have sensed the move or something."

"You mean she doesn't like my place?"

"No, you silly. Although there's room for improvement in the style... But that's not the point. She just needs time to get used to it. Also I bet she can sense your unease."

"Uh?"

"Babies have this sixth sense when it comes to the emotions of those around them. Specially mother's... Or well, in this case, you. So if she senses you're frustrated, she'll get more distressed."

"Oh." was all he could say.

"Where is she now?"

"She's right..." He looked down at the bundle he had been holding and rocking only to realize it was a bunch of dirty clothes.

Where was she? Had he lost his daughter after 5 hours? Fuck! Fucking idiot

For a moment, he forgot where he had put her and a million terrifying thoughts flashed on his head.

She wasn't crying at the moment.

And that was good.

Right?

Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was the worst thing.

Maybe one of the pillows on the sofa had fallen over her and suffocated her.

Or maybe he had mistaken her for a dirty bundle of clothes and put her in the laundry and...

"Rowan?"

"She's asleep on the bed." He suddenly remembered, peering at his bedroom to check he was right. He was. She was asleep, right in the middle of the mattress, exactly where he had placed her 10 minutes earlier.

"Then take this chance and sleep. You're good at sleeping."

It was definitely a good idea. So he hung up and tiptoed to the bedroom. He reached the bed and froze, trying to think of a way of climbing in without startling her awake.

Maybe the matress sinking at his weight woke her up. And if he got past that, perhaps if he dared to move or rolled in his sleep, he'd wake her up... Or worst; he had heard about the hundreds of kids that died overnight suffocated by their parents.

No. He decided he couldn't sleep with her.

So he got the bunch of dirty clothes and laid on the floor besides the bed, using the bundle as a pillow. He fell right off to sleep.

He woke up four hours later, and the room was still silent.

Shouldn't she need something? Shouldn't she have woken me up?

Once again, a feeling of fear invaded him as he jumped to his feet, and put a small mirror in front of her nose to make sure she was still breathing.

She was.

He sighed with relief and pecked her forehead before tiptoeing out.

He decided to make a sandwich or something, cause his stomach was roaring. Halfway through eating it, he ran his eyes through the parenting book he had left opened on the counter:

<<If your baby sleeps 4 straight hours or more wake them up for a feed; otherwise they could become dihydrated...>>

Fuck. She had been dozing for 4 hours and 20 minutes.

So he hurried into the bedroom, and leaned over the tiny bundle, a smile escaping his lips. She did know how to sleep after all. And she looked like an angel. So peaceful. Calm. It almost hurt him to disturb her. But he had to.

"Hey lil'raisin. C'mon, it's snack time" he said, gently lifting her up. "Hey, lovie. Wake up" he knew one thing he shouldn't do under any circumstances: shake her. Or make harsh movements. As that would lead to Major Danger #2:

Shaken Baby Syndrome. And that was under his control.

So he blew on her cheek instead and got her to open her eyes "Hey, Sleeping Gorgeous" he greeted, holding her up so they were face to face.

She looked up at him, directly into his eyes and something inside him melted.  

Perhaps she had finally settled. Maybe now they were both fresh and rested she'd go easy on him. He could do this.

But then her face scrunched up and she whined.

"Oh no, no, no, baby, what is it? Don't cry. Don't cry. C'mon." Then he felt a warm liquid on his hand. "Okay, okay, message received. Let's do this"

He got a towel and unswaddled her, hoping he'd be able to remember how it was done afterwards and praying for it only being number one. It was, but he hadn't folded the nappy correctly and it had leaked all over the onesie, the blanket and... His duvet.  Goddamn it.

He sighed. If he kept calm, she'd sense it. "Okay, me darl. Shh. Hold on a second.  Where... Where've I left the nappies? Where?" He looked around the room but no sight of the pack. Shit. Last time he had changed her in the living room? So it had to be there. "Okay, hang on a minute sweets. I'll be right back" he ran out to get the pack, as the wailing got louder.

"Alright. Alright. I've got it, I've got it. I'm here. Hush" he managed to do it surprisingly fast and without new incidents. "Alright, alright. Almost done. C'mere." He lifted her up, checking the nappy was properly sealed, and went to the kitchen area where he had left the last clean onesie.

On his way, he found the pinky he had been looking for earlier as well "Hey look at this. Here it was." he washed it with water and put it in her open mouth. She began to suck instinctively, calming down.

Thank. Fucking. Goodness.

He sighed in relief.

He could do this.

He laid her down in the kitchen counter, so he could wash his hands, throw his wee stained t-shirt to the washer and unfold the onesie. She squirmed a little, but kept quiet.

"Alright, let's put this on you. Please don't squirm too much, darling. I don't want to hurt you." he pleaded.

"Okay, it's all done" he announced 10 minutes later, when he finally managed to button up all the miniscule buttons on the onesie. Bloody miniscule buttons made for small mothers' hands.

"What's next? Oh yes, bottle. Alright. Coming right up"

Just when he had put the bottle to warm up, she spit the pinky, and began fussing. "Hey, love , here" he put it back, but she spit again. "You ain't buying it, are you? You're hungry, and the pinky isn't fooling you." He chuckled "Clever girl. Alright, it's almost done so don't worry, okay? It's almost there" he took her back into his arms, and paced around until the microwave beeped.

He made a mental note to never again waking her up before the bottle was done.

Never again.

"Okay Princess. Here's your cocktail, made with love." he announced, as he carried her to the couch and sat down, propping her up and watching as she immediately sucked into the nipple, face relaxing instantly.

"Yea, you were hungry right? That's what happens when you sleep through lunch time. I hope you've learned your lesson, and that next time, you let me know alright?" He grinned, as a hand closed around his hair.

But she suddenly pulled away from the nipple and began to  fuss again, halfway through the bottle "What? That's all? You're done? So much impatience for half a bottle? No, you've gotta keep going. C'mon" he offered the nipple, and she rejected it, hand pulling his hair

"Ow! Ow! Pips, no honey. Let go. C'mon. C'mon dear, let go." he set the bottle aside and used his free hand to untangle hers from his hair. She cried louder. "Hey, okay, okay, you can pull my hair off if you keep quiet. Uh? Deal?" He got more cries in response. His face fell.

"But you never did this in hospital. You didn't give Daddy hell like this. Why now? Why do you do this when I'm all alone? Am I such a bad dad? I mean I'm following every step. I'm doing my best. Please give me a break" he pleaded, changing her to an upright position.

He was doing nothing wrong, was he? He was doing everything just like he had been taught in hospital.

Well except maybe...

He had an idea and laid her on the couch "Alright, shhh. Let's try this one" he said, unbuttoning her onesie again, -making a mental note to ask Len if he could get him some bigger ones that wouldn't take forever to deal with- and bringing her back to his chest. She instinctively snuggled up, and quieted within seconds at the contact of both their skins.

And he didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry. "So you just wanted this? Well you should've said so earlier." He did both, out of amusement and relief.

Fuck he had cried more these past 7 hours than in the entire last decade. It was ridiculous, really. That someone so little could have such a big effect on him.

"So, where were we hon?" He offered the bottle and this time she did latch, body glued to his, and grey piercing eyes looking right through him, as if she was staring at his soul, as if she was reminding him why he was doing all this. And all the  worries that had crowed him until that moment, just disappeared.

I can do this.

He didn't detach her from his chest for the rest of the day, as that seemed to keep her at peace and he didn't mind it. Rather enjoyed it.

So he changed his peed sheets and threw the nappy away, made himself some coffee and broke the mug in the process, as he struggled to do the whole thing with one hand. Then he had to pick it up and cut himself off with one of the shattered pieces.  However, he didn't mind: it was worth it as long as she remained undisturbed.

"Are you two better?" Mom asked when she called in the evening.

"Yes, yes. We're... We're alright. Got the ultimate trick. I think we came to an understanding."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that. Where is she, by the way?"

"Right here." he pressed his lips on the top of her head, rested on his shoulder.

"Has she eaten properly?'

"Aye. Then spat some of it on me and... Yea. I think she's good." she had finished both bottles fairly quickly.

"And you? How are you eating?"

"Managed to eat half a sandwich. So not too bad."

"Finish it."

"I'm fine, mother."

"Row by neglecting yourself you're putting her in danger too. So eat properly and stay sane for the sake of you both, okay?"

He sighed. "Alright. I'll finish the stupid sandwich."

"And eat some food or whatever. Vitamins."

"Shit, this is like being 10 again."

They hung up and Row did as told, in spite of himself. Mom had a point.

So he finished the sandwich and grabbed an apple, eating it in bites, chewing it slowly and as silently as possible so he wouldn't disturb his daughter.

Damn it was cold. He'd have to turn the heat on, which he never did cause the bill afterwards was terrifying. But hell, both of them were half naked in February. And he had already spent a fortune on that prune sized person, might as well keep her alive and warm.

Then he laid down with her cuddled on his bare chest as she breathed in uneven, scary patterns, which Callie had told him were normal.

And soon, he found they were breathing in sync, every breath he took was three of hers. Or 5. Or none.

But it was normal, he reminded himself. Her breathing system has to develop still. She's fine.

He was exhausted, but completely wakeful at the same time, cause he was hypnotized by the sight of his little sleeping prune.

Like he would be countless nights in the future.

Because there was no better remedy for panic, no better way to put his thoughts in order and make him feel the strongest, happiest man on Earth than the sight of his daughter sleeping.

🥁🥁🥁🥁

As always, a big Heya to my only reader friend, @definitely-darcy. As you know I'm nervous about this chapter, but I enjoyed writing it a lot. So I hope you like It.

Xx ~Pookie