Work Text:
Phillip knocked on the door of their bedroom. “Eloise? Can I come in?”
He heard a shuffling, a thump, and the sound of a drawer slamming shut. Then:
“Yup! You can come in!”
He opened the door to find Eloise sitting cross-legged on the bed with an innocent smile plastered on her face.
Amused suspicion filled him and he tilted his head to stare at her. “You’ve been shutting yourself in here a lot lately. Are you hiding something from me?”
She knitted her eyebrows together in indignation. “Of course not! Why would you think that?”
“Because I know all your tells and you’re a terrible liar.”
Eloise rolled her eyes and blew out a breath, a loose strand of hair fluttering off her forehead. “You’re ruining everything, Crane. Fine - it's a birthday surprise for you, okay? Just don’t ask me any more questions.”
“Aww,” he teased, and crawled onto the bed to wrap his arms around her. “For me? That’s sweet. As long as you’re not going to bake me a cake again.”
She’d attempted a three tiered red velvet cake for his birthday last year, convinced that it couldn’t be that hard after watching a YouTube video. After all, baking was just science - you followed the directions and out came something delicious, right? Except hers somehow turned out both undercooked and overcooked at the same time, the batter dry as dust on the outside but still mushy on the inside, which meant the whole thing had collapsed after she had tried to frost it. And instead of a rich red, the cake had stubbornly refused to be anything other than a muddy mauve color, no matter how much food coloring she added.
It had been the world’s saddest looking birthday cake, but they’d still shared it, laughing together as they picked their way through the mess to find the edible parts and swiping frosting on each other’s noses. She’d ended up licking the sticky sweetness off his lips and after that he couldn’t deny that it was the best birthday cake he’d ever had - but he still insisted she refrain from baking ever again after he’d had to help clean up the flour disaster in the kitchen.
“Well you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” She replied, waggling her eyebrows at him.
A week later, as he gathered his notes to head to work, Eloise appeared in the kitchen holding a box wrapped in blue sparkly paper with a giant yellow bow. She was beaming. “Happy birthday!” she said cheerfully, and thrust the box into his arms.
His face broke into a wide grin. He still wasn’t used to being fussed over, even on his birthday, but Eloise LOVED it. She’d told him that every birthday in her family had been an excuse for a massive celebration, and she’d brought that with her into the relationship.
“Thank you,” he said, giving her a kiss before tearing into the paper. He opened the box to find… a moss green sweater.
Eloise squealed and clapped her hands. “I made it myself! Try it on!!”
Phillip pulled it out of the box and held it up. “You made this?”
“Yes! Remember when I taught myself to knit? What do you think I’ve been doing all these weeks?”
“I thought you gave up knitting after you didn’t like the scarf you made. It was crumpled up in the back of the closet for weeks.”
“Yes, well. That was practice. Now try it on!”
Phillip obediently pulled the sweater over his head, tugging it down over his collared shirt and smoothing down the front before turning back to her and holding out his arms for her to see.
There was a moment of silence.
“Huh.” Was all she could muster.
Phillip looked down at himself.
The neckline was oversized and uneven, the left side sagging down against his clavicle while the right pulled up under his chin. There was a quarter sized hole on one shoulder, and the left sleeve trailed past his fingertips, a good six inches longer than the right. The overall impression was that the sweater was so horrified of its own existence that one side was in the process of melting into a dejected puddle while he was still wearing it.
“Shit,” she muttered, sounding defeated. “It looked better when I was knitting it.” She reached out to tug on the shorter sleeve, then dropped her hand in disappointment.
“Eloise,” Phillip said quietly, catching her hand. “I love it.”
She snorted. “You don’t have to try to make me feel better. It’s… atrocious.”
“Well, yes. It is, but I still love it.” He lifted his left hand and let the dangling sleeve trail across her cheek. A soft smile played on his lips. “I don’t think anyone has ever spent weeks making something just for me.” His voice cracked.
Eloise felt the emotion behind his words and looked at him incredulously. “Seriously? Oh, Phillip...” She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.
Gently, his lips brushed the top of her head before he rested his cheek against her hair. “You’re so good to me,” he murmured.
“You deserve someone to be good to you,” she replied, her voice muffled against his chest. Then she pulled back and studied him critically. “But you also deserve a sweater that doesn’t look like a cry for help. I’ll unravel it and try again.”
Phillip gave her a horrified look and wrapped his arms around himself. “Absolutely not. This sweater is getting a place of honor in my closet. And in fact, I’m wearing it to work today.”
Eloise swatted his arm. “You look like you got into a bar fight with a ball of yarn!”
“Yes. And it’s perfect.”