Characters: Unnamed man, unnamed woman
Summary: There’s only one way to say you’re sorry, or at least that’s what he’s come to believe.
Notes: Canon. This is referencing a future plotline, so no names or details to avoid spoilers.
Word Count: 171
When they fought, which was much more often than he remembered seeing his parents fighting, there was only one acceptable form of apology: roses. A dozen, preferably red, brought home and presented with the words “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”
The subject of the fight didn’t matter. The petty little spats over leaving towels on the bathroom floor (always her, never him; his neatness would never allow him to do something like that) were on equal footing with the blowout over her buying a new car without discussing it with him first (not that he minded her having a newer, safer car to drive the kids around, but they were married and this kind of thing should be talked about first). No matter what it was, to restore peace in the household required flowers and admission that he was in the wrong. Whether or not he actually was, well, that didn’t seem to matter so much. All that mattered was stopping the screeching, and not having to sleep on the couch.