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While Lynn's always been able to sleep through bright lights being turned on and loud cars piercing through her eardrums, that night, she's awakened by the sudden awareness that the weight usually dragging her to the middle of the bed is missing. A few lonesome butterfly blinks, a couple clumsy pats to her right to feel the still lukewarm bed sheet by her, and her mind finally emerges.
Cy. Where's Cy?
The answer is, just like her husband, not very far nor hard to reach. Eyes scanning through the dark, she manages to find her way downstairs without turning on the lights and ends her journey in the living room, the glint of a wine bottle being hit by moonlight gliding across her retina. Stranger than she expects is the scene that greets her. Where she would usually be lying down on the biggest couch is Cy, wine glass in hand, and slumped like an inanimate puppet whose strings have been cut. He could've passed as unconscious, hadn't he reflexively turned his head ever so slightly when he heard her stumble in.
“...Hey. Sorry if I woke you up.” Cy mutters with difficulty, like his mouth was just sleeping.
“'S'okay.” Lynn whispers back. She doesn't know why she's being so quiet, they're alone together here, it's not like she's going to wake up anyone.
“Want a glass?” Cy offers, holding the wine bottle up to her, something that would already stand out in its oddity were it not actively being overshadowed by a much rarer event– Cy himself being drunk. Just a glance is enough for Lynn to spot that not only the bottle barely has maybe one small glass’ worth of liquid left in right now, but also that there are actually a couple of empty bottles on the floor, right by the couch.
“...No, thank you.” Lynn says softly, discarding the thirsty voice of the addict inside her she inherited from her father. “I'd rather just sit with you.”
Cy sighs and pours himself what little is left before setting the glass down on their big coffee table. It's a matte black marble, and in the dark like this, it makes the glass look like it's floating in space. When she sits down, Lynn takes the opportunity to lean into Cy and cuddle up to him, now that his hands are free. He wraps them around her with the same energy one would have hugging their childhood dog or their first teddy bear.
“M'sorry about the other day.” he says.
There have been many things lately that Cy could potentially have to apologize for, but only one he would realistically consider relevant.
“That thing you said about feeling ‘cold’?” Lynn guesses. She's being kind, sugarcoating it– Cy went on a depressed rant about how he basically was feeling loneliness for the first time, now that his mystery long-term student girlfriend had finally dumped him. To say it felt like shit would be an understatement.
“...Yeah, I-”
“Do us both a favor, and don't say you didn't mean it.” Lynn cuts him off.
Cy swallows.
“...I didn't mean the way you took it, I… I meant what I said, I was just… very unkind in my phrasing.” he tediously rephrases. “I didn't mean for it to come off brutal like it did.”
Lynn sighs. It's a bad excuse, but it's sincere. She'll take it.
“You sure know how to make a girl feel special.” she snarks.
“I- I know I said it felt cold without her, but honey, I would be freezing to death if it weren't for you, okay? I just…”
“No, I get it.”
“Yeah?”
“...No, you really did break my fuckin’ heart, that day.” Lynn blurts out. The words escape her mouth before she even thinks them.
Cy swallows.
“I didn't– I was just thinking of myself. Not you, or anyone else.” he mutters.
“Is that supposed to be comforting?” Lynn shoots back, quirking an eyebrow.
“I'm just saying it wasn't an attack towards you, just… aimless pain. Lashing out. Venting, as you like to call it. I wasn't trying to hurt you.” Cy grinds his teeth as he attempts to articulate the best he can in spite of his current inclination towards slurring his words. Lynn doesn't think he's ever drunk this much before, at least never in her vicinity.
“I don't want you thinking you're not the most important woman in my life, because you are, that's just the plain truth.” Cy mumbles sadly. “I've just been… you know, struggling.”
“I do know what struggle feels like, yes.” Lynn says very dryly.
Cy blinks.
“Babe.” he says with restraint.
Lynn scoffs.
“...I'm being mean just for the sake of it, don't sweat it.” she mutters before putting her hand on Cy's thigh and giving it a good rub.
Cy stretches his face with a hand, dragging his fingers around his eye bags like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“When it comes to her… I'm not even sorry is the worst part.” he blurts out.
Lynn can only deduce the blush on Cy's face with how dark it is in here, but the most obvious tell for the depth of his drunkenness doesn't need to be seen, only heard. Honesty.
“Yeah?” she prompts him to continue.
“I… I know I fucked up. Objectively. I can see where I… sort of came up short. So I know she has reasons to be mad at me. I know it, but… I'm not sorry about any of them. I've tried to be, and I just can't. I'm only sorry for myself.” Cy laments.
Lynn bites her lip. She already feels so much tenderness for that man on a daily basis, but this is special. Where other women might run from it, she embraces this glimpse of Cy's ugliest traits– appreciates it, even.
“I'm glad you tried…” she offers.
“I don't even– I don't even feel responsible, how crazy is that? I'm persuaded that even if you knew the whole story, warts and all, you would still take my side. That you'd understand, when she wasn't able to.” Cy rants. He's seldom so visibly upset, and even more rarely so chatty about it.
“I might, yeah.” Lynn guesses. “Is that a bad thing?”
Cy takes a deep breath and starts massaging his eyes. He looks genuinely troubled.
“I don't think it should be. But then again, I'm the asshole who's feeling slighted because his 15 years long situationship dumped him for entirely righteous reasons I can't object to in a politically correct way.”
He sniffs, looking away. He and Lynn share a similar problem, though clearly he has it worse– the crippling weight of extreme self-awareness of every single one of his flaws, and the pathological inability to fix them. She can't help finding his use of the word 'situationship' funny, though; yet another clear sign he spends too much time chatting with teenage girls.
“It's so fucking dumb.” he mutters before covering his face with a hand.
Silently, his shoulders start shaking. What little sound manages to penetrate through his chest sounds like a choked hiccup, like someone trying to throw up while in space, with no air. He sniffs again.
“Are you crying?” Lynn asks.
“No.” Cy sobs. “...God, this is pathetic.”
Lynn hesitates only a second before she practically launches herself onto her husband, straightening up and leaning in to hug him as he tries to turn away.
“Oh, honey…” she coos.
“Th-this is why I came here, I didn't want you seeing this shit. Y’shouldn't have to witness your husband crying like a fuckin’ pansy.” he blubbers.
Lynn frowns.
“Oh, yeah, crying yourself to sleep while completely schnookered off your wife's cheap wine stash would absolutely be less pathetic if you were on your own.” she sardonically remarks before letting her voice soften. “Come on, let me be there for you.”
Cy sniffles.
“It was terrible wine, by the way. Just awful tasting. Why did you buy that crap?” he whines.
“Why did you drink it all?” Lynn shoots back.
“I was drowning my sorrow and saving you from catastrophically mediocre wine, you should be grateful.” Cy mutters with the tone of a sulking kid.
Lynn scoffs and gently strokes Cy's face as he tries to avoid her gaze. He's still crying, just more quietly now. He looks so worn.
“You hurt me real bad, that time, I mean it.” she whispers before giving her husband a peck on the right cheek. He seems to relax a bit.
“I'm real sorry.” he mumbles sheepishly, with enough sorrow in his voice that Lynn knows it's sincere.
“I'll always be by your side, honey.” she adds. “I love you even when I'm upset with you.”
“And- and I'm grateful for it.”
“Good.”
Lynn lets the unease linger, and as what's unsaid only grows bigger, Cy starts twitching.
“I- what is it you want?” he finally blurts out after looking at her with supplication in his eyes for way too long.
Lynn strokes his face again.
“I want you to ask me.”
Cy's frown line deepens, then softens a little. For a moment, he glances around the room, like a kid who's just lost his parents, looking for guidance. Then, slowly, he turns back towards Lynn.
“...Please,” he whimpers, “please, can you take care of me?”
Lynn smiles.
“Of course.” she breathes before wrapping her arms around his face and pushing it against her chest.
His tears stain her satin nightgown, giving her a little chill. But they don't feel uncomfortable– no, instead, they actually feel like a reward. In exchange for her fidelity and love, she gets to see him in a state he would never want anyone witnessing. His quivering lips, his bloodshot eyes, his flushed cheeks– only she gets to see them.
As her bony hands are done petting his soft, shiny white hair, she kisses his forehead and whispers “If you had to eat right now, what would you like me to cook?”. It's a trick question, of course, and Cy clearly is aware of that, but even knowing what his wife is doing, he gives Lynn an honest answer.
“Ma’s mac & cheese, with broccoli.” he mumbles.
Lynn kisses his forehead again. If this guy wants motherly, he'll get motherly.
“Do you know her recipe?” she asks.
“Mh-hm.”
“Will you help me make it? Please?”
Cy pulls away from Lynn's chest to look up at her, and she almost laughs– he looks like a sad puppy, an expression this home has seen on her face a thousand times, and on his basically never. Poor, poor sad puppy.
“...Okay.” he says with the nod of his head.
And very cautiously, he extricates himself from Lynn's arms before heading to the kitchen. When they turn on the lights, it's like a bomb just went off, so Lynn rushes to the dimmer to turn it almost all the way down, so Cy can stop blinking and squinting like a newborn chick.
Still like a child, he points around the kitchen, mumbling to her what she needs and how to prepare it. He's leaning onto a counter top, looking at her with a mix of sadness and reverence. It's highly unusual yet it feels entirely in character, for some reason. This is her husband, after all. This is Cy.
“...Yeah, thirty minutes oughta do it.” he says as Lynn puts the already steaming hot dish into the oven.
Walking back to him, she once again wraps her arms around him, this time burying her face into his chest. A big, hearty hug.
“Will you eat it? For me?” she asks, lips kissing where his heart is beating.
Aside from the wine, the only thing Lynn knows has been in Cy's stomach lately is soup she forced him to eat, about two days ago. He nods sadly.
“Yeah. Yeah, I promise.” he says, hugging her back. When she squeezes his back, she can feel him start to cry again.
“It's gonna be okay.” she coos.
Cy shakes his head.
“It's fucking pathetic. You shouldn't be seeing me like this.” he sobs.
“You're not just sad, you're also very drunk.” Lynn says, almost like an offer.
“...Yeah. Yeah, it must be that. All that wine, getting to my head.” Cy sniffles.
“Mh-hm. So you see, it's okay. You can cry, you have a good excuse.” Lynn adds encouragingly.
Cy nods and squeezes her even harder.
“Thank you.” he says in a sob. “Thank you so much.”
The hug lasts– well, not an eternity, but it does feel like it, until it's interrupted by the oven’s timer’s light beeping. When she pulls out the deep dish, the macaroni is perfectly browned. Like her hair isn't likely covered in snot and tears, Lynn nonchalantly pulls out two small plates and fills them as delicately as she can. She studies Cy's face as he leans onto the countertop with his fork in hand, displaying such an odd mix of emotions she isn't sure where to even look. But eventually, after withstanding Lynn's insisting but benevolent glare for long enough, he takes a shaky bite. Immediately, his face scrunches up, first of pain it seems, but quickly enough it morphs into the face of relief, a huge sigh escaping through his nose.
“Does it taste good?” Lynn asks.
Cy nods and wipes away new tears that were forming.
“Yeah.” he mutters before taking another bite.
This time, the tears are too big to hide as they roll down his cheeks like big pearls. As he cries, Cy takes bigger and bigger bites.
Now, Lynn knows Cy isn't one to starve himself for self-punishment purposes– when he refuses to eat, it's not so much self-harm as it simply is a lack of hunger for life itself. But right now, as tears flow freely down his face, it looks like Cy's been starving and is only now getting what he truly yearned for. More quickly than Lynn expected, he finishes his plate.
Wiping his face, Cy gladly takes the glass of water Lynn is now handing him and downs it in record time, then nods furiously as he goes to fill it and chug it again. When his arms find their way back around Lynn, his chin tucked into the curve of her neck, she can sense the tension that's just left his body. Not jitters, only a desperate need to hug her hard enough that they'll fuse into one human being. So afraid she'll leave him any moment now.
She lets time pass as they sorta-slow-dance.
“...Do you feel cold right now?” Lynn finally asks.
There's a beat. Then another. And another. And then–
“No, I'm warm.” Cy says.
“Yeah?”
“I'm warm.” he confirms.
Lynn nods.
“Then everything is fine.” she says softly.