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━━━

"...August..."

.

.

.

"August...?"

His head finally snaps up, eyes fluttering. 

His eyes are weighted, heavier.

My head tilts with concern, placing my fork down. 

The outside sky fills my interior, speckles of oranges and purples, a hue of sunset and the closing of yet another day. 

"...You've been awfully quiet,"

He is silent for a long moment, lowering his fork also. 

"...I just don't got nothin' good ta' say 'bout my day,"

Has become yet another repetitive answer. 

He only speaks about his days on weekends - when he heads out to brush Spades or hunt. 

He doesn't speak about work as much - if not at all anymore. 

━━━

From plate to plate, I harbour them within my hands, despite August's protests.

 I collect the dirty cutlery from our recently finished dinner, approaching the sink to wash up, as August's body is close behind. 

"I can do those-"

"I can, August, it's quite alright,"

I assure tenderly, the errand itself holding little issue to me, nor it being a general hindrance. 

His hands run across the sides of my waist, drawing the pads of his fingers across the stitching of my dress, his head leaning in to press a kiss against the skin of my neck.

My skin seethes - heating instantly. 

"Ya' know I don't like it when ya' insist on doin' shit I can do myself,"

He sighs against the back of my neck, the heat of his breath meeting my skin as I speak, words quiet yet caring. 

"...You're tired, August..."

"Tired from work - not tired enough ta' clean fer' ya',"

"I want you to go to bed earlier,"

"I ain't doin' shit without ya',"

"I don't want to argue with you over this..."

"And I don't wanna go ta' bed without my wife,"

He exhales, brushing another gentle kiss against the skin behind my ear, hands sliding up my waist, up my back, scooping the let-out length of my hair into his hands as he brushes his fingers through soothingly. 

"...I love ya', ya' know... you worry too much, too stressed,"

"About you... I know you haven't been enjoying work..."

"I gots' ta' go, I'm the Sheriff,"

"I know, I- I just don't like seeing you so drained..."

His fingers continue to brush through my hair, idly separating the locks as he begins braiding it slowly whilst speaking. 

"Comin' home ta' you makes me feel better."

"You don't speak to me much when you come home, August... that's why I'm worried..."

"I- I ain't meanin' ta' ignore ya' or nothin'-"

"August- I know- I'm not holding it against you-"

"Ya' know I always want ya', always love ya'-"

"I know- I love you too-"

"What can I do ta' make ya' feel better, huh- we can go out, burn somethin', I can watch ya' knit for hours, we can make love, we can-"

"August- I'm not the one that I want to feel better for- I want you to feel better, happier- I'm not the one to be concerned over,"

He finally slows his speaking whilst I finish washing up, his hands lowering from the braid he's lazily produced down my hair. 

"I'm happy with you. Only you. Don't worry 'bout me, darlin' belle."

He mutters, almost a touch grittedly, firmly pressing another kiss against my neck, grunting out as he parts from my back, 

"I'm gon' have a smoke."

As I don't even need to look back to hear the front door soon open and close.

 He's been smoking more often.

━━━

"No."

"But why-"

"'Cause it ain't you I don't trust, it's them."

"Who's 'them'?"

"The town,"

"The entire population of the town?"

"Yup,"

"...But you let me out with you,"

"Yes, with me. Yer' gon' go out while I'm at work. So no."

I swallow, eyes fluttering down to the bedsheets as I sit under the covers, the lamp glazing against our skin as the night paints the outside sky. 

"But I'd be with Dorothy- she wants to take me out-"

"I can take you out. I don't want ya' goin' 'round town without me. Especially with Floyd prowlin' 'bout. He's still sendin' ya' letters; I burnt the rest. Besides - this town is full a' assholes. I don't want ya' to come home cryin' 'cause somebody didn't talk to ya' right."

He grunts out, especially bitter across the 'Floyd' word, completely unmoved about the decision he's made for me, as I reluctantly go silent. 

"Ya' hear?"

He turns, facing me with ice lined through his gaze, sharp and piercing. Lips firm, thin, undeniably serious. 

With hesitance, I slowly nod. 

"Good girl. Head ta' bed, it's late-"

"August,"

I cut, his lashes batting over to me as his gaze rakes over my form, back up to my eyes with a grunt of acknowledgement. 

"...Are you mad at me...?"

I murmur, my words based by many factors - the microexpressions he holds, from the faintly furrowed brows, the grit within his jaw, how his tongue glides over his teeth. The tone of his voice, the lack of smile, the darkened gaze he holds. 

His hand raises, rubbing his jaw, thumb and index finger massaging his eyes. 

"N...No- no... I'm sorry Darlin' Belle- let's just head ta' bed, yeah?"

He sighs roughly, my stomach and heart churning with the same layered feeling of unease, as he leans forward to only peck my cheek, before dismissing the night altogether. 

He is the one to turn off the lamp, to turn for his back to face me. 

And quite silently, I do the same. 

There is no exchanged goodnight, nor a shared 'I love you'.

━━━

The days are quiet. 

Still. 

Days, forming into weeks, weeks, forming into months.

There is nothing to say.

━━━