You wake up with your head on Johnny's arm. You lay on your side, facing him as his chest rises and falls, a rumble thundering through him with each breath.

His warmth has you in a sheen of sweat. You hesitate to move, not wanting to disturb him.

As you lay and listen to his snores, your stomach topturns.

The realisation flows through you and turns to ice.

As unusual as this awakening is now, this will be your forever.

That's what you agreed to.

Your days, your nights, your everything will belong to Johnny.

You squirm as suddenly you're on fire, your scalp speckling with impending doom.

You shift onto your back and slowly sit up.

You bend your head forward and cover your face as you try to ease the spinning in your head.

You drag your feet from beneath the blankets and turn to sit with your back to him.

To your future husband.

You just can't make it sound normal in your head.

You stand cautiously, mindful not to jostle the bed.

His low snores carry through the air as you walk across the creaky floorboard, peeking over with each step.

Your legs prickle with goosebumps as you get to the door.

A shiver rolls over you, and you hug yourself as the morning air flows up the bottom of the flannel shirt.

You leave him and find your way downstairs.

You turn on the space heater and linger before it, building the courage to detach yourself from the glow of heat.

You continue into the kitchen and carefully make your way around it.

The least you can do is make breakfast. You suppose that will be expected from now on.

It's not so out of the ordinary. It's only Johnny will be more than just a guest, more than a friend.

You take out eggs and a tray of breakfast sausage.

You pause as you wonder if it's too much.

You hope he doesn't mind.

You do your best to be quiet as you put a skillet on the oven to heat.

You line a pan with the sausages and preheat the gas stove.

You flutter your fingers anxiously as you wait, staying close to absorb some of the heat.

"Morning," Johnny's gritty timbre sends a tremor through you.

You glance over as he enters, a brown robe around him as he rubs his eyes and sweeps his hair away from his face.

You return his greeting as you crack the eggs into a bowl to whisk.

He hums and nears the counter, grabbing a tin near the back.

"Coffee?" He wonders.

"Oh, no I-" you set the bowl down, "I didn't- I can do that now."

"Mm, thanks, sweetheart," he puts the tin down and sidles closer to you, "sleep okay?"

His hand touches the small of your back as he stands close. You nod, "mhmm," you step up to the counter and grab the beat-up percolator. "Thanks, I... I did."

"Rain's let up," he reluctantly parts and peers through the window as you fill the percolator from the tap, "should go out and check on the truck after breakfast... then we can head up to the bank."

"The bank?" You shut off the faucet and loud the grinds, then pop the metal lid into place. You put the metal jug onto the burner and twist the knob.

"Get some thing's sorted. I told your mother I'd bring some paperwork,"

he explains as he sits in one of the wooden chairs.

Johnny watches you intently as you face him.

He's quiet as his eyes rove you from head to toe.

A breath fills his chest, "and we can tell her the news."

You try to smile and quickly turn your attention back to the eggs. You put oil on the skillet as you clear your throat, "yeah, she'll... I think she'll be happy."

"Could do a lot worse around here," he grits.

"I didn't mean..." you shake your head as the oil sizzles, "I only... I'm getting used to the idea still."

"Seem to be getting used to it," he remarks, "lucky me got a woman like you to wake up to, make me breakfast..."

"Uh, yeah," you pour the eggs into the pan.

He lets a long exhale, and the chair groans beneath his weight, "it's like a dream come true. Finally," he drawls as the savory smell of sausages blooms from the over, "about time I settled down. Least that's what the old crones whisper down at the grocery store."

"Oh, ha, well, everyone talks," you shrug, "I'm sure they whisper about me too."

"Uh huh, I heard them," he scoffs as his tone harshens, "about you talking to Odinson... making eyes at him."

"What-" You nearly choke, "I...I didn't- I wouldn't."

You scrape the pan to scramble the eggs as your voice knots in your throat. It feels like an accusation, but you know it was harmless. Thor was just being helpful, and that was weeks ago.

"Well, you won't," he says tersely, "from now on, I don't want you being friendly with the likes of him. He's no good."

"Johnny, I wasn't-"

"That's before," he interjects, "this is now. We're gonna be married. Things are different."

"I know," you eke out, "but I wouldn't... I wouldn't do that."

"Uh huh, but you flirted with me," he insists.

"I..." You stop yourself before you begin.

You didn't flirt with him.

You were nice to him. Like you always were. Like you had been for years.

"Sweet thing like you, it's easy to get the wrong idea and men like Odinson, they always get the wrong idea," he growls.

The percolator trembles, and you turn off the burner.

You quickly twist the other down to low and put a lid over the eggs to keep them warm.

You turn to the cupboard and pick out a mug with an ombre of brown. You pour the steaming coffee and bring it to him.

"You don't have to mope, I'm just making you aware," Johnny says, "you're too sweet to see it.

I'm protecting you. That's what a husband does, right?"

You make yourself smile and swallow, "of course, thank you."

"No, thank you," he takes the mug from you with a wink, "look at you, my sweet little wife."