Day 3: Foggy mornings
Summary: Its a foggy morning when Oliver drives to work, Tristan is less than confident in his husband's driving skills.
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17 minutes ago.
Early morning shifts were never fun, Tristan anxiously watched out the living room window, barely able to see the tree in their front yard due to the massive fog that accumulated throughout the late night.
He watched with another sip of his coffee, warming his chilly body, hugging the blanket draped over himself tighter around his form, then an instinctive glance down to his phone.
18 minutes ago.
It was ritual, no matter what the other was doing, they always texted to let them know they'd made it safely. Really, it was for multiple safety reasons. The daily dangers of life like car accidents. Their childhoods coming back to bite them in the ass with revenge from a goon or something of the sort for their fathers' fates. Trouble with corrupted cops like a certain Daniel Martin who still saw them as nothing more than the delinquents they'd grown far from. Yes, in Gotham City there was tragically many reasons to text the other they made it to their destination alright.
19 minutes ago.
He pulled his gaze back up to the window squinting as if he'd be able to still see his husband's vehicle, but Oliver had left about 20 minutes ago, it took anywhere from 17 to 22 minutes exactly to reach the police station. A bit overkill but Tristan made sure to know the exact details. While he knew things happened sometimes and he could be flexible with it, it didn't change his panic about the situation. It was so foggy, surely Oliver would reach it by now. He took another sip, realistically, he knew it was likely fine just bad traffic and the dense, eerie, low hanging fog making him go extra cautious. He could've gone back to bed, his work didn't start for another hour or so, and while he would've liked to, he had to know Oliver was safe, not in some accident.
What if there was an accident though? Oliver not being able to see something through the fog until last minute, swerving to miss whatever it was and rolling off the road. Because of the accident, he was laying in a pile of broken glass and a heavy car pressing against him at all angles, his bleary mind trying to make his mouth form the words to call for help before he subcomed to blood loss. Or even worse, if he was already dead, neck broken at an awkward angle and hanging limply off one of his shoulders.
21 minutes ago.
Should he call? What if nothing happened yet? Oliver was merely moments away and Tristan's panicked call would be his distraction from the road, long enough to make Tristan's fears become a true and horrifying reality. His eyes darted down to his phone once again, tapping frantically at the screen each time it threatened to go black, watching the minute take its dear, sweet time to change. Tristan wasn't sure how much more of the suspension he could handle.
22 minutes ago.
He felt his heart sink. Oliver should've made it by now. Maybe he should call Commissioner Gordon, see if Oliver had shown up and merely hadn't texted him yet. Should he call Oliver directly, what if he was in pain just needing that push to tell Tristan call for help? What if he didn't answer? Would that mean he was still driving or dead? His mind reced, darting his eyes to the window for the hundredth time since Oliver left, desperately hoping to see some sign Oliver not having left yet, having changed his mind and was about to come in and cuddle with Tristan instead of brave the roads.
23 minutes ago.
A ding from his phone.
Tristan couldn't recall a time he'd picked the phone up so fast.
'Made it safely, have a great day, baby 💛.'
Tristan chuckled weakly, relieved. Shaking his head. Maybe it wasn't the morning shifts that were so awful, it was the weather and the fact he didn't have him by his side that made it so bad.
