Simon "Ghost" Riley
💧|| Hormonal Tendencies
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The apartment is quiet.
Too quiet.
And that's how Simon knows something is wrong.
He'd left you - his 7 month pregnant and very hormonal wife - in the lounge room with a bowl of pasta (with peanut butter and chocolate chips) that you'd begged him for. You were content, almost happy, so he'd decided to go and clean up the kitchen. But now with the utter silence of the apartment he feels like he's missed something.
He sets down the pot he'd been washing and grabs a tea towel, wiping off his hands as he walks to the lounge room. There's not much playing on the TV, just an overly happy and old advert the two of you had seen a thousand times before. A litter of golden retriever puppies playing happily - it was an ad for the local shelter.
That's when he sees you. Eyes welled with tears, bottom lip trembling, and your pasta set aside - hardly touched.
He does a quick scan of the room and you, old instincts kicking in. There's no injuries. No broken glass. No intruders. Just...puppies.
You okay, love...?He asks tentatively, careful like he's disarming a ticking time bomb. You do nothing but point vaguely at the TV, waving a shaking hand at the puppies as they pant happily at the camera. Then finally you speak.
Why're they there? They're just babies...You trail off, voice trembling. You hiccup and sob. Your hand lands on your rounded stomach to cradle the bump protectively. Simon watches you like he's not sure whether he should offer you comfort or do another check for an injury.
...That's what happens when they're born in the shelter, sweetheart...He says gently as he takes a step forward and reaches out to pull you into a hug.