10–maybe normal

“Of course, I'm sure of it,” Fern let out, running his long fingers into his towel-dried hair, or the failed attempt of, sweeping it from his forehead with his loose strands a bit too moist as compared to the rest of his head, plummeting past his cheeks, dripping down the sides of his face to his irritation. He was standing before a stoic silver refrigerator clad in a pair of loose grey sweat pants and nothing else over his slim figure, his phone fastened between his ear and shoulder. “I could never mistake rope marks with. . .cut marks, you know that.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line as he finally parted the refrigerator door open, meeting the coolness originating from it with his bare chest that was coated with a fragile tone of rose which had begun to fade. “I have a bad feeling, I don't like it.”

There was finally something. “You mean like as in your cat died or. . .something bloody terrible as in I have a feeling your uncle's killed your aunt and–”

“I'm surprised they chose us to run within this story, Cas,” Fern interjected, with the slight shake of his head as he noted, only to himself and with a frown, that indeed his hair needed quite a trim. It was getting a tad bit longer than usual and more than it had been most of his life, he was not necessarily comfortable with it for quite some professional reasons, maybe he truly needed to cut it.

His friend sighed on the other end of the line. “You think we'll bloody fail?”

“I don't–”

“Well, your arse better start feeling hopeful,” Casper said quickly, cutting him off before he could argue further, “we'll need it. We're on a deadline here.”

“I feel like he knows a lot more here than he pretends,” he said as he reached dor a slightly a cold green apple that shone beneath the light in their neat and intimate kitchen barely easy to move around in, though thay managed just fine. He surely did recall a lot of ‘crusade’ in that same small kitchen just nights before, he thought back to his spouse perched high up there on that counter and the use of that whitewash counter quite vividly, amongst other things. He just snatched himself from these arousing thoughts in time, there were far better things besides getting himself stirred by thoughts of his spouse and particular pieces of furniture within the flat.

He nibbled on his ample bottom lip as he turned his back to the refrigerator, shutting it close with the slight nudge of his elbow. “I don't know what he's afraid of, but he was okay, and then suddenly it–”

“It was like he had seen a ghost? Probably has, poor lad,” Casper chirmed in, finishing off. “It was like he remembered something and then there was that thing he did. . .”

“He's a bit disturbing, isn't he?” Fern sighed with his eyes glued to the shiny apple he held, almost able to see his reflection quite clearly on its shimmering body to the point of discomfort. “I don't know what it is, it could. . .him referring to himself in the third perspective surely.”

“You think that's what he was doing?” Casper asked, a slight echo almost bouncing along with the heavy tone in which he carried these words.

He suddenly noted just how he was all by himself, the dining area and living room, or sitting room as he naturally referred with ease, and just about uneasy he was with it–and how empty he so suddenly felt deep in himself. The usually small and comfortable flat which often brought him quite the comfort with its jolly good, bright, happy, and mellow colors, he had been offered no opportunity to go against, and their subtly colored ‘sofas’ all brought out a distinct relief to his chest and kept a homey sense of familiarity that made the rest of the world easier to pay no mind to–even if it was sometimes far too loud. This evening the flat felt silent much to his dismay, perhaps it was the unmissable absence of his wife or the fact he could not help but recall the color of the boy's eyes matching that of the pool water, just the shade which his camera had captured. It had been quite the oddest of days, despite his attempts for some normalcy, since he had last put his camera to use, despite him always carrying the camera, that was getting heavier as the time went by, with him at all times. He wasn't so sure, but possibly he feared he was to find himself capturing yet another dead body and he found it truly outrageous, of course, but regardless of everything, he couldn't help the nagging feeling, something about this had disturbed him quite deeper than he felt comfortable.

“Are you with here?”

“Huh?”

Fern listened to somewhat of a soft chuckle he was certain Casper meant well by but was somehow making everything else seem even more uneasy, even the way he could see himself in the polished frame of the refrigerator. Fern led himself to the other part of the flat and a bit further from the kitchen for fear of seeing his reflection against the toaster or kettle, for some reason Fern didn't feel so pleased to see himself. “I'm here.”

There was a part of him that wanted to repeat that, over and over again, and perhaps even scream it at the top of his lungs, maybe it eagerly itched to do so–Fern shook it off.

He sighed. “We do have a deadline as you'd said.”

“I hope we don't find another dead body or. . .” his friend trailed off.

“Or what?”

“Baby!” a voice that brought a wave of relief to his body sounded, cutting into the silence as it bubbled into the room. “I got us curry!”

“Is that Theo? Bloody hell, she's so loud,” Casper let out, chuckling lightly on the other end of the line.

“What were you going to say?” He frowned, his long brows tightly knitted together as his long mouth slightly hung open in what resembled a soft pout. “You said something about–”

“You'll hear it tomorrow, go ahead,” his friend dismissed, letting out yet another one of his chuckles as his tone carried something which he couldn't quite comprehend, to his dismay.

“I–” He was cut off before he could put in another word, causing him to huff just in time for his eyes to greet their kitchen and this time Fern caught the lovely sight of his wife on her toes, reaching for the shelf above with her might and threatening to either pull down the whole cupboard with her or hurt her bare chubby toes.

He slid his phone into his pocket as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, leading himself to where she, slightly, stood on the tips of her feet and he stood behind her, and her behind which he momentarily eyed, as he reached for the ceramic plates on the upper shelf, his body slightly brushing up against her smaller frame as he breathed. “Let me.”

“Thank you,” she said, placing her small hand upon her ample hip, eyes softly twinkling as she beheld him in a way that made him lower his eyes abruply, turning to the plates he was holding and ignoring the apple he had left behind on top of the kitchen counter.

“You look great there, babe,” he breathed out, offering her a slightly lopsided smile.

“Really?” Her brown eyes were by far the prettiest shade of whiskey brown he had ever beheld, so sweet and warm but still holding something quite deep, with a depth which could of course make the earth tremble from its roots but still calm it with the softest lulls which were just bathing within the slight flecks of a more mellow brown twinkling about her irises. “I went out with the girls.”

“Was it fun?” he asked, watching her busy herself as she carried those plates to the table. He leaned against the counter, folding his arms as he lost himself in the sight before him. He felt a sudden ache as if old wounds were close and he couldn't help himself as he watched her dish out the steaming curry and rice, moving around in that pretty satin dress that held her body form fittingly as If a glove. For months and months, he had nudged it to the back of his thoughts, maybe he had even forgotten perhaps, and yet there it was making his eyes fill with several shards as they threatened to water. There had always been a distinction far more than just her complexion or hair, it had hung above them, or to his eyes, all the time. He had despised it, just as he loathed eyes that sometimes fell on them with distaste or curiosity he found was uncalled for as if they had horns growing out of their foreheads, as if they didn't belong as they did and maybe as he stood there watching her care for him he felt out of place–undeserving.

He led himself to the table, sitting down as he offered her an almost clipped smile, accepting the hot food. “Thank you.”

“Jade has just broke up with him again,” Theo announced with an eyeroll and sigh, right after and would have perhaps helped but unfortunately his face rremained feeling far too sour as if it had fallen too far, “we had to cheer her up, you know the drill.”

“Isn't it like the third time this year?” He frowned, watching her slightly chubby hands, and the gleaming wedding band, placing those shiny eating utensils aside his plate of food. He stared at her lovely hands as they dished his food out for him. “You didn't have to, I could've just done it myself.”

“It's not like I cooked this,” Theo stated, shrugging.

“You would if you could,” Fern said, eyeing his steaming curry with the slight crinkle of his slim nose.

“I don't mind,” she said. “I love you, don't I?”

Fern moved for her hand, capturing it with care before he brushed his thumb against her soft skin then he met her small wrist and his soft lips brushed the tiny initials, and then gently his lips met the words tattoed underneath his name. “Cross my heart. . .”

“And hope to die,” she finished off, brushing her little thumb against her name which was tattoed against his paler wrist, biting her lip slightly. “I'm still here.”

He looked up at her. “I'm still here.”

“Better be,” Theo sang, grinning up at him with dimples forming against her plumpy cheeks, “I'm not planning on leaving any time soon, baby.”

“Forever's a long time, yeah?” he said, bowing to his curry and rice with his left hand interlaced with hers.

“I know,” she whispered.