at home

You stand before the sink clad in one of Tristan's old button up shirts and a cute pair of panties. The faucet silently comes to life at your touch. The soothing feeling of warm water over your hands always makes the task of washing the dishes tolerable. That, and the fact it affords you time to think. There wasn't much to wash, but any excuse to escape, if only for a few moments, into this monotony was valid.

You consider the morning's conversation as you progress through the dishes. Tristan had been...off. Off in that way that only an intimate partner can detect. The normal dance of his routine hadn't been there. A misstep here that put him out of sync, or a millisecond hesitation in a reply...these hadn't escaped your notice.

"Alright," you offered calmly, "what's going on? Is there something at work that you're not looking forward to?" With a sigh, he had set down his coffee.

"No, there's something I want to try later today, but I don't want to talk about it now," he replied. Was that relief you saw?

"You've got to give me something more," you pushed. He had declined with a quick shake of his head. He looked to you, seeming more like his usual self, and smiled.

"Never was good at wearing a mask, was I? Ha, how's this; let's talk this afternoon."

No need to press further. Tristan had seemed normal by the time he left, and you trusted him to take care of himself.

As the replay conversation ended, so did the dishes. After shutting the water off, you begin to dry your hands. The familiar sound of Tristan's footsteps made their way to you. Must've came in while the water was running, you think.

"About this morning," he said as he made his way into the kitchen.