“Blue.” Billy said, his voice devoid of any emotion. His rough hand took a break from rubbing his jaw and moved to run through his sandy-colored hair.

His blue eyes fell onto your less than pleased expression. He let out a slightly irritated breath through his nose. “What? Blue—you asked what’s..what do you want me to say?” His eyes rolled ever so slightly as his hand ran down his face and took back its previous spot on his jaw. His crystal eyes peered at you with mixtures of pleading and annoyance.

The wedding was fast approaching and he understood (to a certain extent) that you were working hard on it. All the planning, inviting, decorating to get this wedding prepared, the both of your’s special day. For him, finally getting remarried. But Billy was tired, overworked and bordering on being pissed.

“You always do this—you ask me a question but you already have an answer in your head.” His reached for the plastic cup, spitting the wet, chewed tobacco into it. He looked away as he did simply for the fact that he knew you hated him doing it. He also knew that his answer wasn’t the problem, it was his lack of care or thought about it.

He just came home, just came home and you bombard him with questions about how everything should be planned. Ask him about what color flowers should be at the reception. To be honest, though harsh, he couldn’t care less about what fucking flowers are present at your wedding. He knows that pisses you off, you want him to care so damn bad. If he’s being starkly honest, he’s starting to wish you both could skip the wedding altogether. Not because he doesn’t love you, but because planning a wedding is a huge, sore, pain in the ass.

The sound of birds singing outside, the ruffling of trees leaves. God, it only annoyed him more. He stared out from the kitchen table, seeing the patio bathed in sunlight. He knew that he wasn’t being the most present in planning the wedding, he’ll, he hasn’t been very present in your relationship. But the man is just tired. So so tired.