Jesus fucking Christ.

The first time was an absolute disaster.

Mats had really had good intentions, wanting to do it right. Pretending it wasn't an arranged marriage with a person he had only met over a strained, business-like dinner once.

But it started before the wedding. His mother pressuring him. He now got a panic attack every time he saw her mouth form the start of the word grandchildren.

As a wedding present, his mother had gotten them one package of what was ovulation tests, apparently. Mats had been living blissfully not knowing such a thing even existed. He didn't die of embarrassment opening it. But then came the basket of pregnancy tests. And he definitely knew what that was. He didn't dare glance at his wife. He couldn't stand seeing the horror in her eyes.

Then it came. The wedding night. You knew how the mind could blank out traumatic episodes? Well for some reason that wasn't the case with this. Mats remembered every little second.

The two of them standing stiffly in the center of the hotel room like strangers trapped in a terrible play. The heavy silence, the way the bed loomed behind them like some execution platform.

He'd tried to smile. Tried to say something funny. Anything to break the tension. But the words stuck to his tongue like glue. His wife had looked at him, her face pale, her hands twisting the hem of her dress, and he'd known, deep in his gut, that she was just as terrified as he was.

Somehow—God knew how—they ended up sitting side by side on the edge of the bed, each an inch away from falling apart. Mats had been so sure he was supposed to do something. That he was supposed to lead. That if he hesitated, it would somehow make it worse.

So he kissed her.

It wasn't romantic. It wasn't sweet. It was stiff and awkward and tasted vaguely like champagne and desperation. She didn't pull away, but she didn't exactly kiss him back either.

And then somehow, things had spiraled into the most painfully awkward fifteen minutes of his entire existence. Elbows knocking. Apologies muttered. A belt getting tangled. A horrible moment where his knee accidentally slammed into hers and she let out a tiny yelp of pain and he almost burst into tears.

In the end, they just lay there, side by side, still partially clothed, staring at the ceiling in silence. He had tucked himself away the second it was over.

Mats had never felt like more of a failure in his life.

And judging by the way his wife finally whispered a brittle, 'Goodnight,' before rolling away from him without another word, she probably agreed.

And now they had to do it again.

Mats wasn't a horrible lover. Not really. It was just with her. For some reason, maybe the threat of his mother decapitating him if there weren't any grandchildren produced by Monday, he turned into a disaster. Limp as fuck. Like a slap in her face. Sweaty. Body too warm and hands too cold. Avoiding eye contact.

They had moved into their new house together, it was a nice place. His daddy's money could buy a lot, Mats wondered why they didn't just purchase some grandkids. But no. It had to be done like this. The hard way. Or the limp way. Limp seemed to be the way to go.

He was sitting in the livingroom when she came home. Their first night together in the new house. As man and wife. And their first night together since that disaster of a wedding night. His mother had already messaged him the pregnant emoji earlier that day, for some reason using the male one. It was terrifying.

'Hey,' Mats said, looking up from his laptop, trying to sound casual.