Request: Can you write one where Dallon and the reader get into a fight and it's angsty but they make up and it's really fluffy? Thanks xo
Warnings: angst, fluff
Word count: 1 155
A/N: I'm feeling very sick in my stomach while editing and posting this, so excuse the mistakes I failed to spot.
Everyone has bad days, days where even the slightest inconvenience kicks you into the worst rage. Everyone has these days, days where nothing seems to go to plan, where the universe has conspired against you, days where even crawling up in your bed and trying to sleep it off is not working.
And today you were not the only one with such a day. It was way past ten in the evening when you came home from work finally, from a job you had been trying to get rid of and replace with something you were actually educated for. You had been up since way before six, unable to sleep thought the fire siren of the close by fire department station. And that had been only the first inconvenience in a long line of inconveniences today. Now all you wanted to do was make some pasta for dinner and relax with your boyfriend Dallon. But when you had entered the kitchen to find that the dishes from yesterday had still not been done, even though Dallon had been home all day, it was too much.
It was only pure misfortune that Dallon, who usually would have shrugged, and stuffed everything in the dishwasher before making the two of you a cup of tea to calm down, had had an equally bad day.
So before you really knew what had happened, you were shouting at each other about dirty plates, laziness and useless hobbies. He did not like you spending so much time in the evening drawing, you did not like him being always on tour. He did not understand why he had to do the dishes, you did not understand why he would not help out every now and then. He thought your job was boring, you thought his bass was too loud when he was practicing. He wanted to travel more together with you, you wanted to go on Sunday afternoon walks.
And suddenly he ran his hands through his hair, and said a sentence that would ring in your ears for the next hours.
"Fine, I'm leaving."
You just stared at him. Yes, you were angry at him. Why again? But you had not thought for one second that this might be it, the one big fight that would end it all. Yet here Dallon was, slipping into one of his sweaters and throwing the strap of a bass guitar case over his shoulder. He did not even grab the keys; he just walked out of the door, and slammed it shut behind his back.
For a while you stared at the door, your anger slowly starting to melt away. When had you started crying? Probably while you had still been shouting at Dallon.
Carefully you made a few steps towards the door, and opened it just enough to spy outside. Dallon was nowhere to be seen.
You opened the door further, and stepped into the cold air. Still no Dallon. Slowly panic began rising in your chest. Grabbing the keys, you ran down the steps to the pavement and looked left and right. Nobody was in sight. Helplessly you turned left, and ran to the next corner, to be able to look down the road there. Nothing. The road to the other side was empty too. You ran back, and further, looking down these roads too. An elderly woman asked if you were alright, but when you asked if she had seen Dallon, she denied. Slowly you walked back into the house.
Your socks were wet and dirty now, since you had not made the effort of putting on shoes when you had run outside.
Realisation started to settle in. Dallon had left, and maybe he would not come back. Not for you at least, only for his stuff.
You pulled the socks off your feet, and threw them into a corner of the hallway. Your chest felt like it had been ripped open and acid poured in. Sobs were leaving your throat, sounding choked up with tears. Your knees gave out half-way across the living room, but honestly, without Dallon the floor was just as good or bad as the sofa. Trying to keep the pieces of your breaking together, you curled up on the floor and cried yourself to sleep.
~*~
You were woken up by soft fabric gently being dragged over your shoulder. Hastily you sat up, almost head-butting the person, and even before you recognized the face, the memories of what had happened came flooding back into your mind, almost knocking you down to the floor when you felt your heart cramp at the idea Dallon had left you.
But when you looked up, you found he was standing right over you, the blanket with which he had tried to cover you still in his hands.
His brown hair was dishevelled, his eyes red from crying. Uncertainty, almost fear, was written into his features when he glanced down on you.
You were quicker on your feet than your blood circulation was ready for, but by the time the black dots started dancing in front of your eyes, you had already wrapped your arms around Dallon steading yourself.
He immediately hugged you close to his chest, and you could hear over your own quiet sobs of relief that he had started crying too.
"I thought you had left, I thought you were gone," you cried, holding tighter onto him.
"So did I," he confessed, "but turns out I don't make it very far without you."
For a while you just stood in the middle of the living room and hugged.
"Let's go to bed," Dallon eventually suggested, pulling away from you. Without him supporting you, you felt how weak and exhausted you were from all the worries.
"Dallo, we need to-"
"I know, I know, sweetheart," he reassured you, quickly hugging you again, "I know we need to talk. But I think tomorrow is early enough. We're both tired, and let's be honest: none of the stuff we said is something to break up over, nothing that couldn't be solved over a cup of coffee."
When he felt you nod in agreement, he let go of you again, and made his way over to the stairs that lead up to the bedroom.
"Dallon, wait," you quickly skipped after him, and when he turned to you, you got on your tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his lips.
It felt like electricity was running through you; you really had believed you would never get to do that again. By the way Dallon's fingers wrapped around yours, you assumed he had felt the same.
"I love you," you whispered against his lips, "and I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too," he whispered back. "and I love you too much for words...let's go to sleep now, okay?"
When you nodded, he gently pulled away and led you up the stairs, your fingers still intertwined.