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An Unexpected Purchase

Summary:

It was simple, sturdy — the kind of older style his grandmother might have had, smooth arms worn faintly where hands had rested for years.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

I opened the front door and the first thing that hit me was the little creak of wood under the hallway lamp — not from the floorboards, from somewhere else entirely. My eyes found it before my brain did: A rocking chair, perfectly placed by the window where the late afternoon light pooled warm and slow. It hadn’t been there that morning. I frowned, then looked up into the living room.

Simon was on the armchair, one leg over the other, a mug of tea cooling on the low table. He looked impossibly small and content, the way he did when he’d win at something trivial and wanted me to notice. He glanced up as I shut the door and gave me the sort of sheepish grin that suggested he’d been waiting for me to find it.

I walked closer, circling the chair like a curious animal. It was simple, sturdy — the kind of older style his grandmother might have had, smooth arms worn faintly where hands had rested for years. I ran my fingers along the back, feeling the faint ridges of the grain, and then I looked at him properly.

“You look just like your grandfather in that chair,” I said, letting the words slide out like honey. I perched on the arm of his chair and folded my hands in my lap. “The only thing missing,” I added, dragging the sentence out with a grin, “is the children and the grandson running about nearby.”

He laughed, easy and a little embarrassed. “That is neither a subtle nor fair comparison,” he protested, though I could see the way his cheeks warmed. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I just thought it’d look nice. For reading. And thinking. And, you know, for looking inexplicably dignified, Jae.”

I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, and let my voice go soft and theatrical. “So this is your way of saying it’s time for us to have a baby?” I asked, eyes locked on his, letting the drama hang in the air between us.

Simon blinked, and for a second his face went beautifully, genuinely blank — the human equivalent of buffering. Then he spluttered a laugh, half surprise, half delight. He set his mug down with exaggerated care and stood, coming around to where I sat. He crouched in front of me as if I were a conspirator rather than a dizzying prospect.

“You really are enjoying this, aren’t you, Jae?” He said, voice low. He reached out, thumb brushing my knuckle, and studied my face like he was trying to read it for a secret. “You know I love the idea of rounding out our little domestic tableau,” he said, keeping the tease alive. “But I wasn’t planning to announce it with a rocking chair.”

I let out a breathy laugh. “So not subtle, then?”

“Not subtle at all.” He smiled, and then, more seriously, his hand came up to cup my cheek. “But… I thought about it. About the future. About mornings with tiny feet, or evenings where someone small falls asleep on the sofa and we’re both utterly wrecked but impossibly happy. The chair felt like a little nudge. If I’m honest—” He paused, searching my face like a book. “If you want that, I want that. If you don’t, I don’t want to rush you. Mostly I wanted you to like it, Jae. And to make you laugh.”

I could see he was trying on every possible answer, calibrating. The grin returned, softer now, realer. I leaned into his hand, eyes glittering. “I like it,” I said simply. “And I like you being thoughtful.” I tapped the chair with a toe. “But if you were trying to be a romantic, you could at least have left a note saying: "Prepare for pitter-patter".”

He laughed again, the tension easing. He kissed my forehead, then my lips, quick and sure. “Next time,” he promised. “But for the record, Jae?” He rose, offering me his hand. “If the rocking chair becomes a bargaining chip in the baby debate, I’ll win by default.”

I took his hand, letting the warmth stitch us together, and stood. We stood there for a beat — the three of us: Him, me, the chair — and I imagined the room fuller somehow, softer at the edges. I nudged his side with my hip and whispered, conspiratorial: “Well, Mr Rocking-Chair-Buyer, you’ve set the scene. We’ll see if the actors are ready.”

He winked, pressing his forehead to mine. “Whenever you are,” he said.

Notes:

Do not steal, repost, translate, create a podfic or fanvideo, etc.
Don't feed to AI.
Just read.

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