you and fred fought about something last night. you woke up to him already out of bed, sun streaming in. you aren’t sure if he ever came to bed at all, you couldn’t feel his body heat when you rolled into his empty space. you’re making him breakfast, but remembered to refill the coffee pot just yet. fred strolls out, suit on, freshly shaven. he’s been running the joke shop nearly half a decade. he holds up the coffee pot. “hey.” he says, swishing around the dregs. “do you need me to show you where the coffee is?” you ask, buttering toast. his jaw clenches a bit. “no.” he answers. you eat breakfast in silence as you both read the paper. he stands up, but you don’t react. he leans down, eyes level with you. “you need me to show you where my mouth is?” he asks. he always gets a kiss goodbye.