Florence Pugh Imagines

Late for date night (part 1)

You and Florence had been dating for over two years. Due to her busy schedule, you didn't get many alone moments together and in an attempt to fix that, you set up a date night in living room of your shared apartment. But Florence was late, like always, and you finally end up snapping.

**

With one last glance at your watch, you toss the now cold lasagne into the garbage and drop the plates into the sink. It was nine. Two hours after the time Florence said she'd be home for the date night you'd spent weeks planning. Of course you'd expected this. It had happened the last three times you'd tried putting together a date night for the both of you. But that didn't make the ache in your chest any less apparent.

She'd promised she'd be home this time. She'd promised.

Eyes burning with unshed tears, you send one last look at the still made table and walk defeatedly out of the room. You slam the bathroom door behind you out of sheer frustration, and you slide down it, a choked sob escaping your lips.

You didn't know if you could do this anymore. It felt like a chore trying to be in a relationship with her. She was never home. You saw her for five minutes a day when she came home, and she'd be gone by time you wake up. You don't even remember the last time you'd kissed her; hugged her, made love. You don't even remember the last time you'd said you loved each other.

She was busy. You got that. But was asking for a little more attention when she got home really too much to ask? Could she not just take one measly day off so you could actually spend some time together?

You hear the front door opening and closing, and you reach up, bolting the bathroom door shut so she couldn't get in. At this point, you were even contemplating not coming out for the rest of the evening. Just the thought of even looking at Florence right now was enough to make you want to cry all over again.

"Darling?"

At the sound of her voice, you go rigid.

"Where are you? Why's the table-" she cuts herself off, and you knew she'd finally remembered what today is. Of course she hadn't turned up because she'd forgotten. It was always the reason.

The bedroom door opens too, and you hear her quiet footsteps walk towards the bathroom. The handle above you twists, and when she realises she couldn't get in, you hear her sigh.

"Y/n? Can I come in?" She pleads quietly.

You ignore her.

"Look, I'm sorry. I forgot. I know that's my excuse every time but it really is the truth. I was busy all day, and we accidentally ran over time. I'm really sorry."

With a small sniffle, you rise to your feet and turn on the shower. You needed more time before you were to face her. Florence had this way of making you forgive her. You didn't know how she did it. Perhaps it was the pleading look in her eyes; the way they would fill with tears. Maybe it was the way she'd respect your space when you were mad; not forcing you to talk.

Either way, you needed some time to feel sorry for yourself before that ultimately happens. As you strip off and step in, you find your eyes once again brimming with tears. This time, you let them escape, and you stand under the hot stream of water and let your head fall against the tiled wall.

You hated this. You wished, as much as you knew Florence loved what she does, that she had a somewhat normal job. That she'd be home at the same time everyday and you'd spend every morning together.

But that unfortunately wasn't the reality, and you knew this when you agreed to be her girlfriend.

About twenty minutes later, you step out of the shower and wrap a towel snuggly around you. With a glance in the mirror you notice your red rimmed eyes, and you let out a quiet sigh as you rip your gaze away from your self and head over to the bathroom door.