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It was the Friday before Valentines. The stores were decked head to toe in pink, red and white. As you pass by one of the many chocolates in heart shaped boxes, Ivar snorts sharply at a man shuffling about with a blaring red, giant teddy bear. It draped over his body like a magnificent coat.
"Look at that fool, he's overcompensating." Ivar gestures.
"I think he's sweet. Valentine's is such a loving holiday." You respond. Ivar spins you in toward his body. His other arm is braced by his crutch. Your skirt flutters up with the win, only flattening when Ivar runs his hand down your thigh.
"How is he sweet, mmm? He needs a worthless holiday to prove that he cares." Ivar drapes his arm around your hips. The doting man looks to the biggest box of chocolates.
"Clearly he adores her, he's treating her like a Queen." You respond. You glance to your watch, discovering the time.
"Let's hurry and get things for my kids, I have to be at the elementary extra early to set up." You smile.
Treating her like a queen. Was he not treating you like a queen?
It was eating him up inside. Ivar feels bitter about this whole thing. Every week, every month he spoiled you with this, that or the other. Now he felt the expectation was on him to want to do this dumb shit holiday. He was far better than that joke of a man spoiling his lover with a giant teddy bear. How could you call him sweet? Of course he was. They might have joked that he was boneless, but he knew he was a hell of a man. That was why he had to show you that he could do better by you than anyone else.
"I thought you didn't believe in this holiday, Ivar." Ubbe says. He is shocked that Ivar insisted on joining him here to look through jewelry. Ivar is silent as he looks over rings from behind a clear casing. He finds himself frustrated by the lack of pretty red rings. They're all so aged.
"(Y/N) loves it." He murmurs. Ubbe folds his hands, walking about Ivar with a hearty laugh echoing in the space. He stops beside Ivar, running his pinky underneath the angle of Ivar's jaw.
"Ah so that is it. She has you wrapped around her little fingers." Ubbe motions his fingers, garnering a sneer off of Ivar's lips.
"If you would spend less time prattling on about things you know nothing about, and more with helping me, we might actually finish instead of listening to this dreadful shit."
If Christmas music was annoying, the lovey-dovey sappy classics they were playing was like a choking hand on his throat. He really hated this damn holiday.
Maybe you were a little bitter that every year was without surprise. While your other friends showed off flowers and gifts or went out to eat, Ivar and you kept a rather plain Valentine's Day. You woke up that afternoon with a blaring headache from the night before. The alcohol still left your head feeling a bit fuzzy. The furniture seemed larger, the smell of burnt food in your nose reminding you that while chocolate and tequila sounded delicious together... it was not. It was really not. You stumbled along drunkenly, bracing yourself on the wall when the fire alarm nearest you blared.
Then another. And another. Bleep! Bleep!
"Ivar?" Your voice was nearly drowned out by a hacking cough that chimed in time with the outrageous beeps. You opened up the front door before the back, making your way in to find him beside the steaming stove. He uses the mitt in his hand as a fan while grease spits at one of your red aprons that emulates a heart.
"I know you're fond of fire, but lets not." You push him away. He falls away from the kitchen and plops down in a chair in the dining room. You move the skillet off of the burner, jerking back when a crackle of boiling grease pops out as you retrieve the steak from the skillet. You set it beside a pot of freshly fluffed, buttery potatoes.
"Oh..." When you turn back to him, you realize the red of the white tablecloth offers a fresh, large bouquet of stereotypical roses. They're as red as that bear was back in the store but smell fondly of your grandmother's garden.
"Are these mine?" You come to the round table in your dining room, leaning in to the fat flowers.
"Who else would they belong to?" Ivar teases, rubbing your bare thigh beneath the meager little night dress you wore. Ah shit, you think. You aren't even dressed. This was why your mother always told you to get ready first thing in the mornings.
"I thought you didn't believe in Valentines." You say. Ivar shrugs, digging in the pocket of a well ironed pair of slacks for a slender black box.
"Perhaps. But you do." Ivar moves to slide open the box when you slap your hands atop of his, hiding the glisten of diamonds and precious stones.
"Stop, stop, stop!"
Ivar looks to you in a cross between annoyed and confused. His nose scrunches all too slightly when you respond.
"I'm not even dressed yet. You can't just buy me off with pretty things before dinner." You protest. The tension of his face melts away as he reclines back, unlacing his apron and draping it off to the side.
