It’s a cold evening in New York, you’d swore flurries may have just fell,
had the air not been so desiccated. Shrill, arctic frost loiters each surface, each brick of the city stone, freckled with ice on all the rooftops. The leaves out the window embroider in ice sequins coats, decorated by the frigid crisp itself.
John had come home not too long ago, and you’d felt him tense just by a look his way. He’d hung his coat, sluggish on the entrance coat hanger, movement slow and weary as his limbs trudge along the hardwood floor. Dog had ran his way in a haste, tail wagging frantically as he joys at John’s feet, waiting for an abundance of praiseful pets. John doesn’t quite abide, though.
“Good Dog.” John’s low, deep voice barely manages, settling for just a stroke behind Dog’s ear, before plodding towards the kitchen. You’d heard John come in from your spot on the living room couch, browsing a novel of your choice as you’d wait for him.
You found yourself waiting for John often on days like today. Days when he’d venture out, with little to speak on his whereabouts.
You tried not to press on it much. Over the years of being John Wick’s girlfriend, you’d learned much about the way he was. John was special, for sure. There was no denying it.
John is loving, John is compassionate. John is gentle, sweet, thoughtful. He’s a great listener, trustful and respectful. He makes you laugh just when you need it most, he offers a shoulder to cry on when you need it firm.
John loves you endlessly, unconditionally, here, now, today, as you are. And he will, for as long as he can. You’ve never doubted it. He’d never let you. For John, you’d always been the one everything comes down to in the end. He’s all you’d ever wanted, and plenty more.
But even the best of us have our flaws.
John is quiet, when he feels he needs to be. John carries an unrelenting weight on his shoulders, the burden of all his demons when he feels its best. John often forgets, that he is only human.
That he is, human.
Quiet, you pad towards the kitchen, hearing John shuffle around the marble floors. You catch a glimpse of his fatigued form, expressions low, melancholy. You know he’s not feeling his best, and it hurts you to realize that.
If you had it your way, you’d take all his worries away in a heartbeat. That’s the kind of love you had – an interminable battle to keep each other safe, carefree.
“John? Are you here?” You quietly inquire, making your presence known. Dog’s ears perk up to the sound of your soft voice, as he hops over to you, stopping by your feet.
He shifts his gaze your way, with a glass of tepid water in hand. “It’s just me.” He responds, raising a hand as he sips. He offers a small smile your way, although it never quite reaches his chestnut orbs. He lets out a small cough, a wince apparent in his measure, that he tries to brush off.
As you walk his way, your heart falls heavy knowing he’s had a rough day. With your touch gentle, you wrap your arms around his neck in a hug. His hands come around your waist briefly, as he dots a kiss your lips brief, finishing with a more delicate one to your forehead.
His kisses still sent you in butterflies, no matter the countless amounts you’d shared.
“Long day?” You ask, letting go of him as he moves to wash his hands. His muscles seem tense as he moves drained, although you can tell he’s trying his best to make it not apparent to you. That’s how John was, he’d rather stomach any distresses himself, than have his love worry.
“I’m alright, sweetheart.” He replies, short, keeping his eyes fixed on the steady stream of the faucet flow. You sigh a breathy exhale, knowing he’d rather keep his guard up than let you know. You’d often wonder why John did that. He really was the man to give as much as he could to you, asking for absolutely nothing in return.
But that wasn’t how you’d preferred. For him, you wanted the same. You wanted to be there for him when he needed you, wanted to walk through plights with him, holding his hand each step of the way. You wanted to show him, that what you had was a two-way street.
He takes care of you, and you take care of him.
As you walk closer to him again, you allow your arms to wrap around his waist from behind, leaning yourself on him as he stands at the kitchen sink. With your cheek pressed against his back, you quietly press.
“John, I can tell something is wrong. You’re not yourself today.” You frown, giving his bicep a compassionate squeeze.
You feel his tenseness subside a little as you touch him. With your chest pressed to his back, you soothe up and down his arms, trying your best to get it out of him. If not much, you’d just love if he’d let you talk him through it.
As he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, his frame moves to the kitchen towel, drying the droplets of water off his skin. “It’s okay, I’m alright.” He quietly protests, moving to the living room couch. You trail behind him, refusing to let him wallow alone. As he takes place by the fireplace, Dog runs rush at his feet, padding a few twirls on his paws before plopping comfortable. You trail behind, feeling more uneasy by the second. John doesn’t seem to budge today.
For your own sanity, you need him to be okay.
Silence dawns the room as you try to find the right words. Stood at the doorframe, you watch John rub his worn-out eyes, yawning as he clears his throat. There seems to be no right way to approach him, so you settle for just asking him again.
“John,” you say, voice assertive this time. As you walk up behind him as he sits, you allow your arms to circle his shoulders, planting a kiss on his head. “Please, I know somethings bothering you and I just wanna help.” Ruffling his hair, you try to keep the mood light. “How about we get to bed early tonight? It’s freezing out, maybe we could both just use a good snuggle.” You giggle, pressing another kiss to the side of his head.
You’d always make sure John knew just how loved he is. Make sure he doesn’t forget the feeling of being touched.
He deserves it, more than anyone else.
He sighs, lips curling into a small smile at the way you’re holding him. “That sounds nice.” He replies, to the thought of having the day over with, falling asleep beside the woman he loves.
“Annnnnnnnd….you’ll tell me what’s up.” You say, quiet, but firm. When he doesn’t reply, let go of him, moving around the couch to take seat by. He’s still strained, his lips purse slight, just enough to exaggerate his tense brow. Taking hold of his hand, you lace your fingers together, rubbing the top of his palm as he stares out the window.
“John, I don’t know what’s bothering you but I know there is something. It doesn’t sit well with me that you’re upset and I don’t know why.” You sigh, as he turns to look your way. “Honey, please. Was it something from…work?” You question, never letting go of his hand. He takes in a deep breath, almost about to speak, before the words seem to get caught in his throat, never quite coming out.
Rolling your eyes, you grow impatient, slightly peeved that he won’t just tell you. “John, you’re doing that thing again. Where you shut me out.” You frown.
He lets out an exhale, jaw tensing. “I’m not…” he frowns. “…shutting you out, Y/N. I’m just tired. Okay? You don’t need to worry.”
Groaning, you grow more annoyed. “John, why do you have to be so stubborn? I know you, and I know somethings up. You’ve been acting weird since you got home, you’ve been dry, you’re all tense and…” you bite your lip, trying not to complain. “You’re not your same…”
Searching for the right words, you continue. “….cheery self today. You’ve barely talked to me since you got home.” With a fretful hand comb through your hair, you breathe. “Did I do something?” You ask, suddenly feeling apprehensive.
“No, of course not.” He replies, giving your hand a small squeeze.
“Then tell me what’s wrong!” You say, a bit louder than intended.
He turns to lock your gaze. Calm and collected still, he speaks. “Y/N, stop pressing. Please. You’re making it worse.”
You’re making it worse. That stung.
Letting go of his hand, you straighten your back, looking down slightly. “Alright then.” You begin to stand, as he lightly grasps hold of your arm.
“Y/N, wait, I’m….” he starts, as you cut him off, a mock evident in your words.
“No. I’m making it worse, aren’t I?” You shake his hand off your arm, sighing as an anxious hand runs through your locks. “Just…leave me alone tonight, alright, John? We’ll talk in the morning when you’ve figured your shit out.” You dispute, turning on the balls of your feet to walk away.
John and you didn’t fight often. Even when you did, they weren’t necessarily arguments. Much like today, they would be confrontation, leaving both of you the space you needed until you’d be ready to discuss again, work things through.
Although, as the words of staying apart tonight had slipped off your lips, John felt his heart heavy, suddenly aware of how much he didn’t want that. If anything, John wanted to take you up on your offer of calling it an early night, more than ever. He knew, just how much he wanted to hold you close, rejuvenate through the night, forgetting about his taxing day. Sometimes, he just needed a little grounding. Something to pull him back to earth, reminding him that there’s more to his life, than what he had become. What he was bound to.
There was you. All things good, all things he needed to remember what he truly needs.
All things, he got from you.
John hated when things weren’t right between you two. He didn’t have anyone else to confide in. For him, it was just you.
But John was anything but inconsiderate. He wasn’t a monster, as the world made him out to be. John understands, he knows how to give you the respect you deserve. If you wanted space, he’d give it to you, for as long as you needed.
Even if it hurt him.
Discontent, he hauls himself up, heading for the wooden stairs that led to your shared bedroom. The one that you’d fall asleep in alone tonight. This wasn’t what he wanted. Why did he always somehow manage to make things worse? He thinks wearily to himself, shaking his head as he rubs his temples, mad at himself for letting it get this way, when all you were trying to do was be there for him.
The same thing he did for you, without doubt.
As he glides the bedroom door open, the creak fills the air around, as the rest of the room sits rather still. He sees you tucked away on your side of the bed, the comforter pulled tight up, covering most of your face. You’d been curled up, as if shielding yourself from something unwelcome.
He feared it was him.
As he cautiously ambles over, his orbs frown, with a grimace coat his features. His heart hopes more than anything that you hadn’t shed any tears. It would ruin him to know he did that to you, when all he wanted was the exact opposite.
As he moves closer to his side of the bed, he sighs, grabbing his fluffed white pillow that matches the one under your head.
Hopefully the guest bedroom sheets wouldn’t treat him too glum tonight.
Turning to head out the door, he kicks himself again mentally, for allowing it to go this far tonight. John wasn’t used to sleeping without you, not unless it was while he was away for a job. Tonight felt wrong. Looking your way once more, he feels himself halt in his tracks, unable to leave.
John had a habit, more of a routine, if you will. Each night, he’d kiss you goodnight, without fail. Even if he’d be away, he’d make sure his nightly phone call went your way, as he’d wish you a goodnights sleep, reminding you that he loves you. While he was home, it was always the last thing on his agenda. Finishing his day off in the way he knew best.
As he bends down, kneeling beside the bed, John observes your features. You lay still, calm, poised and present, chest rising and falling gently. He was glad you were getting rest, he was ready for this dreadful evening to be over soon as well, hopeful for the morning, when you’d wake and could talk it out.
With his hand coming down to cup your cheek softly, his lips move in, pressing a gentle, delicate kiss to your forehead. He lingers in place for a moment before pulling away, lips hovering over your face, close enough to give you another. But he’d held himself back, afraid he’d wake you up. John didn’t want to ruin your night more than he already had.
Giving your hand a gentle squeeze, he reluctantly pulls himself back, pillow tucked away under his arm, giving you a final glance, before he leaves for good. The door creaks again on his way out, his foot steps audible towards the guestroom.
You’d been awake, well aware of the way he was silently regretful. But you decided it would be good to sleep separate tonight, it would give you both a chance to collect your thoughts and be alone. John was sorry for sure, but that didn’t compromise for the fact that he hadn’t reacted in the best way tonight.
You love him with all your heart, you respect him and understand he’s a quiet man. But as his girlfriend, you felt you deserve to at least know why he’d been behaving the way he was.
If not tonight, the least you wanted was him to let you know that he’d tell you when he was ready. Not completely shut you out.
As the sun shines through the bedroom windows, your eyes flutter open to the remembrance of last nights past. Out of habit, you turn to hug John closer, hit with the reality that he’s not there. The spot lays cold and empty, his pillow missing and the sheets untouched on his side.
You sigh, bringing your hands to rub your tired eyes. You wished he was here, tucked away beside you, where he belongs. No matter what had happen last night, you just wanted him here, now, in this moment. You miss him, despite knowing he’s only a room away.
It doesn’t sit well with you knowing you’re in the middle of a fight.
Lifting the covers off yourself, your groggy eyes adjust to the bright morning glow channeling the room. It’s still chilly out, and you catch glimpse of the frost speckle the tree branches outside, gleaming, beaming, sparkling as a new day wakens.
Dragging your tired, bleary limbs as you walk, you hope John is already awake. You don’t want to wake him prematurely; you know he needs rest. But you can’t drag this on longer, you just need things to be alright again.
Walking through the hallway, you smell the aroma of fresh coffee being brewed on the timer downstairs. John sets a pot for exactly 6:00AM every morning, for you both to enjoy when you’d wake up together. It had become routine at this point. Morning coffee was one of your favourite times of the day, when you’d have John all to yourself in his clumsily sleepy state, as each sip woke you both up more and more. John is a sweetheart in the morning, affectionate as he peppers you with kisses while you browse the morning paper, reading aloud the intriguing headlines for him as well, as he cooks you breakfast.
This morning, however, was a dire contrast to your routine ones.
As you sway the guestroom door open quietly, you see him lay on his back, eyes shut as the sheets bunch and pleat around him.
He’d been tossing and turning all night.
You frown at the exhaustion that paints his features, suddenly regretful that you may have been the reason for that. Perhaps you’d been a bit harsh on him. Maybe you should have just let it go, understand that he wasn’t ready to talk about it.
Slow and cautious, you make your way over to the bed, taking seat beside him. Your hand moves to softly rest on his cheek, giving the skin a few gentle strokes, hoping he was able to get a little bit of decent sleep last night. He deserved it.
“John?” You quietly speak, trying to awake him calm. “Jonathan?”
You try to shake him gently, making sure not to startle him. As you call his name again, his eyes shoot open, adjusting to the light before they set on you, heavy.
“Y/N,” John’s morning voice rasps as he sits up slightly, looking your way.
“I-..” You begin, before he cuts you off, setting a hand on your thigh.
“Wait, before you say anything, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, sweetheart.” He shakes his head. “I was just overwhelmed and I didn’t want you to worry. You weren’t making it worse at all, I didn’t mean what I said.” He sighs. “I’m sorry I made you upset.”
You smile, the anger of the night completely forgotten. All you wanted right now, was to be with the man you love. As you move closer to him, your arms wrap around his neck, placing a kiss to his cheek, as you finish with a rest of your head on his shoulder. His arms come around you as well, tucking his head into your neck with a sigh of relief. He holds you close, pressing sweet kisses wherever he pleases.
“I’m sorry too. I should have understood that you weren’t ready to talk about it.” You run your hands through his hair as you hold each other in an embrace, both happy to put the night behind. “I won’t press next time, I promise.” As you pull back slightly to connect your eyes, your hand comes to cup his bearded cheek. “You’re not mad at me, right?” you bite your lip.
John shakes his head, placing his hand over yours that holds his cheek, as his other stays wrapped around you. “Of course not, princess.” He plants a kiss to your wrist, letting you know he’s ready to move on as well. “ You’re not mad at me either, right?”
“Of course not. I love you.” You reply, smiling as you stare his lips.
He brings his own in closer, hovering just above yours as a smile curls his lips as well. “I love you so much more, sweetheart.” He kisses you brief, before his lips speak again. “Always. Don’t forget it.”
As your lips connect in a heartfelt kiss again, your hands never leave each other, as your arms hold close, savouring in each other once again in the wake of the daybreak sun.
It’s a cold morning in New York, you’d swore flurries may have just fell,
had the love of your life not made,
the world around seem,