FicWad

This is how it's been.
Almost everyday, for the last two years.

I come.
He lays.
I talk.
He (hopefully) listens.

"I would've came earlier, you know. It's not my fault. As I'm by the door putting my shoes on, 'cus you remember how I hate putting my shoes in closets, too restricting, I slip one of my feet in and I feel something squishy and warm. Like someone put Playdoh in a microwave for a couple of minutes. I pull out my foot and it turns out Dylan took a huge dump in my shoes! God that was a mess! So I hop over to the bathroom because I don't wanna get crap on the floors, and I wash my foot off and then I go and throw away those pair of shoes, which let me tell you were a nice pair of shoes, and then I go to get a pair of sandals 'cus there's no way Dylan could've dropped a load in without my knowing 'cus I would see it, you know. So, I'm leaving right, and I smell something that I swear would knock out like half of Asia. It turns out, that the intoxicating aroma that comes with not bathing for like two days mixed with cat shit doesn't smell so nice. So, I'm forced to take a shower because it's not a good idea to drive with that scent on me for it was burning my eyes. Fast forward like, two hours, because you know I love long showers, and I'm done and dressed and ready to go. After giving Dylan a good talking to and leaving I reach my car, and that's when I realize I'm starving. Back I go and I make a sandwich. You remember the last time I tried to eat and drive so I had to stay inside. Then as I'm leaving again Dylan decides to exact his revenge on me by pouncing on my back and shredding the nice shirt I spent twenty minutes picking out to pieces so I have to pick another one. Combined with the traffic and the waiting that would be enough to have someone commit sui-."

I stop my endless rambling and look at the gaunt figure in front of me, scared of what I almost said.

Moving up and down in rapid movements, I watch as Ryan's shoulders shake.

Oh God.
Nice going Jon.

Not knowing what to do I lean back in my chair, eyes wide.

Then a soft grunting noise comes from his throat.

Another smile meets me.
I know that grunt.
That's the grunt Ryan makes when he's holding back laughs.

I lean forward in my uncomfortable chair and giggle softly along with him, never leaving my eyes from his shoulder blade.

I'm not sure if I should be ecstatic that I got two reactions from Ryan in one day, or if I should be gravely offended by the fact that he's laughing at my shitty morning. (No pun intended.)

But then again, how could I ever by offended or unhappy with him? In my eyes he's perfect, no matter what those hacks with their shiny stethoscopes hanging from their saggy necks claim.

Besides, it's moments like this, when that small glimpse of hope and a happy future grows bigger and bigger, with every grunt, or groan, or movement, that I live for.