this wasn't requested, i just wrote this a week or two ago after a crappy day at work and forgot to finish it :-)

i wrote this bc i was working at a chipotle where literally everyone mistreated my sister and i. i hadn't been called a b**** or heard someone wish i was dead since high school but when a bunch of teenagers work at a place, apparently they will treat you like it's high school again. but thankfully i moved stores and everyone at my new store has been sweet to me and respects me. idk why i'm telling all of you this but i am anyway. lol

/ / / 

Exhausted and beyond frustrated, you walked out of your place of work and yanked the band that held your hair up out of your face. As your hair fell around your shoulders, you spotted the van pulling up in the parking lot. Music blared from the windows and you cringed; your husband always cranked the music up far more than you preferred, and especially today you were going to find it unbearable. As he slammed on his brakes in front of you and reached over to push open the passenger door. 

"Hey, babe!" he greeted with a giant smile plastered on his face. "How was work today?" 

You tossed your bag inside and climbed in. You huffed as you sat down on your seat and reached over, turning the volume all the way down. You shut the door harshly and sat there for a moment. 

Barley, concerned now, stopped the car. "Hey, what's wrong? Did something happen?" 

"Yeah, a bunch of things," you said, pushing your hair out of your face. You breathed heavily. "I know you're worried about me, but I don't really want to talk about it right now. Can we go home?" 

He nodded. "Seat belt," he reminded, and you obediently put yours on. He started Guinevere back up and pulled out of the parking lot. For a few long minutes, there was nothing but silence. Eventually the guilt crept up on you and you dropped your face into your hands. 

"I'm sorry," you squeaked. "I didn't mean to be harsh---"

"You weren't," he cut in right away, sparing a glance in your direction. "If you don't want to talk about it, you don't want to talk about it. And that's okay."

You uncovered your face and looked at him. "Thank you." 

As he pulled into the driveway, he said, "You know, the guys are coming over tonight for a campaign---"

You groaned. "I forgot." 

"I know," he said, a frown on his face. "I'll text them and cancel. We'll do it next week." 

"No," you said, shaking your head, "you were so excited---"

"Already doing it," he said, and he was getting out of the van before you could protest. You huffed and paused a moment before getting out of the van and trudging towards the entrance of your apartment. He was holding the door open like he always did, and you couldn't resist smiling back at him. He had the same sweet face you fell in love with years ago, with his sharp green eyes that you swore you could just swim in and stare at forever, and when you walked by him, he touched your back, just a gentle, comforting touch. And you couldn't help but fall against his chest. And like always, he held you. Just like he knew you needed. "Come on, babe. Let's go inside. And your amazing husband can make you a snack while you shower and change."

"How come you're the best ever?" you sighed, pulling away from him and shuffling your feet inside. You kicked your shoes off and went to the bathroom, where your pajamas were waiting for you. For some reason, you had a reason you'd need them ready for when you got off work today. 

After a long hot shower and a few minutes of sitting in the bathroom floor with a towel wrapped around you, you changed, dried your hair, and went back to the living room. Barley was moving around the kitchen, making a sandwich for you and one for him. He poured some cheese puffs on the plates and then you saw the mess of the kitchen table. It was covered, every single inch of it, with pieces of his favorite game. A twinge of guilt hit you again --- he had been all ready for his friends with snacks and the game prepped and ready. 

"Barley, you already had everything ready to go," you said, frowning. 

He looked at the table and shrugged. "It's all good. Do you mind it staying there 'til Friday? I know the table will be a mess for a couple of days but---"

"You shouldn't have cancelled," you said, "not for me."

"Hey, stop," he said, handing you the plate of food. "It wasn't a big deal! Really." 

"Oh, but you were so excited---" Tears were threatening to spill now. Finally, the day had taken its complete toll on you. But Barley was there, taking your plate from you again and putting it on the counter before he pulled you against him. He hushed you calmly and kept his hand at the back of your head, keeping your wet face pressed against the cotton t-shirt he wore. It muffled your voice as you spoke. "I'm... I'm sorry."

"You had a bad day," he said, and he found your hand and intertwined your fingers, keeping your hand in midair, as if you were about to be whisked off into a dance with him. "Why don't you let me take care of you? I know you like it to be only us when things are hard. I didn't want you to pretend to be happy for my sake or anything." 

"I never have to pretend to be happy for your sake," you said, looking up at him. "When you're happy, I'm happy."

He smiled. "You know what'll make me the happiest? If you come sit outside with me while I work on Guinevere. I'll even play whatever music you want. No Cry Blood included."

"Good, because you know how badly they annoy me," you said, grinning. "I would love to sit with you. And we can order a pizza tonight so you don't have to worry about dinner."

"You take such good care of me, babe," he said, shaking his head. "You're the only girl I know that orders pizza this much and is okay with it." 

You laughed loudly and leaned against him as he walked with you towards the garage. He grabbed his toolbox --- all decorated with random stickers that he had collected over the years of his favorite band --- and went outside. You sat in the driveway while he laid on his back, connecting wires and doing a bunch of other things you couldn't understand. You let the sun dry your hair and you finally felt okay enough to tell Barley about your day. He listened intently, paused to pat your hand or leg or back, and he pulled you down for a single reassuring kiss when you were done. He promised you that everything was going to be okay, and no matter how stressed, overwhelmed, or hurt you were by those you worked with, he would always be there to pick you up and remind you that everything was going to be okay. 

And during moments like this, you were able to believe that things would be okay.