Routine ~ 1

ONE YEAR LATER

TESS

It'd been a strange kind of year.

Not bad, just... full. Busy in the kind of way that made your brain hurt a bit when you tried to think back on how it all started. Tess had blinked, and suddenly life wasn't falling apart at the seams anymore — it was just steadily moving forward.

She and Sam had started landing steadier gigs — nothing glossy or primetime, but real jobs in real TV. Now, this new shoot was coming up. Basically a week-long job on a proper set, out of town. The kind of thing she could only dream about — and now it was real. Happening.

She should've been over the moon. And she was — mostly. But the timing was a little shit.

Lewis was just starting Year One. First week, first class, first proper uniform that wasn't just a reception polo shirt with yoghurt stains down the front. She'd already packed his bag twice. She kept checking the calendar, like maybe the dates would shift on their own. They didn't.

She felt crap about leaving. Not as bad as she might've, though — not like before.

Not now that she was leaving him with Cook.

That was still a sentence that felt surreal in her head.

Because a year ago, she wouldn't have trusted Cook to water a plant. Let alone keep Lewis fed, clothed, and not emotionally traumatised. But now? Now he was doing the school run. Now he knew how Lewis took his cereal and what bedtime story he wanted depending on the day. He wasn't just visiting anymore. He was involved.

And Cook, for the first time in his whole chaotic, up-and-down, fucked-up life, was going steady. Not perfect. Not easy. But he was trying. He showed up. Not just for Lewis — for her too, sometimes. Which was scarier than she liked to admit.

She heard the knock just as she was zipping up Lewis's bag. Two short, one long. Her heart flipped without permission.

She opened the door and cocked an eyebrow. "You're early."

Cook stood there, smug as ever, draped in high-vis and holding a half-eaten banana like it was a badge of honour. "Surprised?"

She gave him a look. "Never thought I'd see you in hi-vis."

"Don't worry," he said, stepping inside, "still a degenerate underneath."

She smiled despite herself and closed the door behind him. "Thanks again for this."

He shrugged like it was nothing, but she caught the slight shift in his expression — the way his shoulders straightened, just a bit. Like it mattered.

She led him into the kitchen, already switching into briefing mode. "Right. Leftovers are in the freezer, he likes the green plate best now.

"What happened to the spotty one?" Cook chuckled

"Don't ask." Tess sighed, "Oh and whatever you do, don't let him convince you that the blue water bottle's safe to use."

Cook looked mildly offended. "The Spider-Man one?"

"It's got growths, Cook. Like, actual mould communities living inside the straw."

"That's half the charm," he muttered, opening the freezer.

"I should've binned it already," she said firmly, handing him a cuppa she'd just poured.

He took the mug with a soft grunt of appreciation. They moved around each other easily now, without thinking. Tess showed him where the medicines were or the emergency night light for just in case moments. It was weird. Not domestic, exactly. But something. Something familiar.

And she kept catching herself watching him. The way he rubbed a hand over his face like he hadn't quite adjusted to mornings. The way he listened, actually listened, nodding and making mental notes. There was something so grown about him now. She didn't trust it entirely — not yet. But it made her want to.

She wanted to say something. Not goodbye exactly, maybe a proper appreciation, something that mattered.

But before she could get the words out, Lewis came thudding down the hallway, a whirlwind of uniform and mismatched socks.

"Mummy!" he shouted, bounding into the kitchen. "I can't find my other shoe!"

Tess's mouth opened — a half-formed sentence dangling there — but it was too late. The moment was gone. 

Just like that.

------

 The morning air was crisp, the kind that hinted autumn wasn't far off, but the sky still clung to summer — pale blue and wide open. Tess walked on one side of Lewis, Cook on the other, their hands linked with his in the middle. Lewis was swinging their arms like a pendulum, half-skipping as he talked a mile a minute about god knows what.

Lewis suddenly looked up at him. "D'you think they've got the same books as last year? 'Cause I already read the rainbow bear one. Twice."

"I dunno, mate," Cook said. "Maybe they've upgraded to, like, ninja bears this year."

"Ninjas can't be bears," Lewis scoffed.

"Says who?"

"Says logic," Lewis replied seriously, and Tess had to bite back a grin.

As the school gates came into view, the swing in Lewis's arms slowed. His steps faltered a little. He looked smaller suddenly, his grip tightening in Tess's hand.

She crouched down automatically. "What's up, chicken?"

Lewis hesitated. "I don't know anyone in Year One."

"You'll know them soon." Tess's chest pinched. She brushed some hair from his face. "Besides you'll see your friends at play,"

"What if they don't like me," He asked innocently, voice quiet.

Cook crouched too, voice going a little rougher in that way it did when he was trying to be gentle but didn't really know how. "Oi, listen here, mate. If anyone's dumb enough not to like you, that's their problem, yeah? But if anyone gives you a hard time, you just tell 'em your dad's a proper scary bastard."

Tess straightened. "He is absolutely not saying that."

Cook cleared his throat, glancing up at her. "...An absolute legend, then."

Lewis tilted his head. "You're a legend?"

"Yep."

Lewis gave a tiny grin. "Okay."

Tess exhaled, quietly grateful. She crouched again and pulled Lewis into a hug.

"I'll miss you so much Lou," She whispered

"Don't be too long," He whispered back

"I'll see you on the weekend ok?"

She gave him one last hug, longer this time — longer than he liked, apparently, because the second the school bell rang, he squirmed a little.

"Mum," he mumbled into her shoulder, "I'm going to be late."

She laughed, brushing a kiss over the top of his head. "Alright, alright. Have fun with your dad, okay?"

Lewis nodded, already stepping away toward the gates. As he turned to call something back to them — something about ninja bears again — Tess muttered to Cook under her breath, lips twitching:

"Not too much fun."

Cook huffed a laugh beside her, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes still following Lewis as he darted into the crowd.

"Can't promise anything," he said.

Tess lingered at the gate longer than she meant to, eyes still tracking the crowd of small bodies in oversized uniforms, even though Lewis had disappeared inside. Cook stood beside her, quiet now, hands deep in his jacket pockets.

She exhaled, slow and a little unsteady.

"I didn't think I'd feel like this," she said, voice low, almost to herself. "It's only five days. Not like I'm leaving the country."

Cook didn't answer at first, just gave a small nod. His jaw shifted like he was chewing over something he couldn't quite swallow.

"I mean, I've left him before, not for this long though." She added, glancing sideways. "This feels different."

"Yeah," he said gruffly,"I know what you mean."

It wasn't Lewis's first day of school, but it was the first time he was there for it. First time walking him in. First time holding that little hand and pretending he wasn't just as nervous. Cook blinked a few times, eyes still fixed on the school building. Then finally, he turned toward her.

"You off now?"

"Nah," Tess said, pulling her sleeves down past her knuckles. "Couple hours before we leave."

"Same," Cook muttered. "Could do breakfast. That place you like."

She narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "The one with the crap hash browns?"

"Yeah."

"You hate that place."

"I'm feelin' generous."

Tess arched a brow, smirking faintly. "You're trying to be nice 'cause you're emotional."

"Piss off," Cook muttered, already starting to walk. "I'm fine."

She fell in step beside him, still smiling, arms crossed lightly as they moved down the pavement — two slightly sleep-deprived, emotionally dishevelled people pretending the world wasn't shifting under their feet.

------

The café hadn't changed much. Same scuffed laminate tables, same sad little plants on the windowsill, same faded chalkboard menu no one ever really read. Tess remembered hating the chairs. They squeaked whenever you moved and tilted slightly, like they were always one moment away from collapsing.

She hadn't been here in years.

They used to come here. Not together, not like that, just as part of the same blur of nights that bled into mornings. Cook would be hungover, she'd be pissed off at something, and somehow they'd always end up here — two idiots nursing lukewarm tea, laughing at things they'd never bring up again.

Now they sat opposite each other like two people who'd almost figured out how to do this — be in the same space, not argue, talk about their kid, sometimes their jobs, but never them. Never them.

Cook was stirring two sugars into his tea — more than he ever used to.

Tess watched him, eyebrows raised. "Since when do you put that much sugar in?"

"Since I've started havin' to get up at 7 in the morning," He shrugged. "I'm a changed man."

She smirked, resting her chin on her hand. "Sure,"

He started rambling a bit about work — How he wasn't used to the hours, having a proper boss or wearing shorts in the cold. She teased him about getting soft in his old age. He countered with something about her fancy shoots and how she probably had people holding her umbrella now. They danced around things the way they always had. Close, but not quite.

Eventually, the conversation circled back to Lewis, like it always did.

"Albert was round the other day," Cook said, smiling into his mug. "Showed me and Lou this dance they made up. Whole routine. Arms, spins, serious commitment."

Tess laughed. "He's obsessed with that bloody song. Had it on repeat for an hour the other day."

"Nightmare," Cook muttered

"At least you didn't have to see his Happy Feet phase," She groaned, "Now that was a fucking nightmare."

He grinned, then went quiet. A sip. A pause.

"He's the only thing we ever talk about."

"What?" Tess blinked.

"You and me," he said, not bitterly — just... stating it. "Every time we're together."

Tess looked down at her plate. The corner of her toast was going soggy.

"It's just... been so long since it was us."

She hadn't meant for it to sound like that. But there it was. Just hanging there between the salt and pepper shakers.

Cook sat back, eyes on her like she was the only clear thing in the room. "I still think about it," he said quietly.

Her gaze lifted, caught his. "About what?"

"You know what." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "Sometimes." A pause. "Well, more than sometimes."

It made her stomach twist. The good kind. The painful kind.

"Those few months," he said. "When we weren't fightin'. When it felt easy. When I actually thought—" He stopped himself.

Tess's voice was soft. "When we used to walk the long way round Brandon hill just because I liked it. Even when it was pissing down."

He huffed a laugh. "Always did have a thing for dramatics."

"You brought me hot chips in a takeaway cup and said it romantic"

"Still is."

She smiled, eyes on him now, really looking. The man in front of her wasn't the same one from back then. He was worn in places, softer in others. But she hadn't stopped loving him — not properly. Not ever.

Cook watched her for a beat, then nodded toward the school. "He'll be alright, you know. He's tough."

Tess didn't speak, just smiled faintly.

"Bet you're gonna miss us both too much."

"Piss off," she said — but her voice was fond.

The waitress came over, bright smile and a notepad. "Can I get you two anything else?"

They both shook their heads.

"I should go," Cook said, checking his phone. "Work soon."

"Shit, yeah, it's nearly eleven," Tess muttered, pushing her chair back.

I'll get this."

"You always say that and then—"

"Relax," he cut in, smirking. "I've got my wallet. Big day, innit?"

Outside, the September sun was weak but warming. They both squinted like they'd forgotten daylight existed. The street had filled up now — people with somewhere to be, horns in the distance, the hum of everything moving forward.

Cook glanced sideways. "We could... I dunno. Do something sometime. Just us."

Tess looked straight ahead.

"Maybe," she said, voice unreadable. "We'll see."

He nodded, once, like that was more than enough.

COOK

Cook hadn't meant to be early. It just happened.

He'd walked faster than expected, maybe, or underestimated how long it'd take to get through the bloody construction on the corner. Either way, he ended up lingering outside the school gates with a cigarette half-done and an awkward amount of time to kill.

He eyed the groups of parents milling about — mums in fancy puffers and sleek runners, dads in collared jumpers and smug expressions. Prams that looked like they cost more than his flat, tiny kids with glittery backpacks and matching water bottles.

He flicked his cigarette away and rubbed his hands together like it might make him look less... out of place. It didn't. A couple nearby glanced at him — not long, not openly, but with that sideways kind of look. The one that said, what's he doing here?

Like he was some dodgy bloke lurking outside a primary school.

He shifted his weight, tried not to fidget. Thought about walking further up the street. Too late.

"Excuse me?"

Cook turned to see a woman — sleek ponytail, cautious smile — was standing a few feet away.

"You've been standing here for quite a while," she said, voice sharp and too bright.

"Alright," Cook replied, a bit thrown.

She frowned. "Are you... waiting for someone?"

"...Yeah? My kid."

Her face didn't budge. "Really."

The woman's eyebrows lifted slightly, like she hadn't expected that answer. Or believed it.

Just as he was about to tell her to mind her own fucking business, the school doors swung open.

"Cook!"

Lewis came barrelling out with his bag half-zipped and his coat flapping. He was grinning ear to ear, cheeks pink from excitement. The woman's mouth opened a bit — like the puzzle pieces didn't quite fit — but Cook ignored her.

"Hey, mate," he said, crouching slightly. "Have a good one?"

"Yeah!" Lewis launched straight into it. "Miss Olly brought her dog in! He's called Trevor and he's not technically a puppy but he still looks like one and he can sit and roll over and play dead!"

Cook laughed, ruffling his hair. "Trevor, eh? Reckon I could teach you to do all that."

They were walking now, past the crossing guard and the chatter of other kids. Cook adjusted his pace to match Lewis's little bounce-steps.

"Meet any mates?"

Lewis nodded. "Yeah! Dion. He's three — no, four months older than me and he likes dinosaurs too. Maybe not as much as me, but we both drew stegosauruses. Mine was purple and his was green 'cause that's his favourite colour."

Cook smirked. "Strong choice."

Lewis looked up at him. "What's your favourite colour?"

"Mine?" Cook shrugged. "Dunno. Black?"

Lewis made a face. "That's not a colour."

"Don't tell your mum that," Cook muttered. "She's been wearing it for the last eight years."

Lewis giggled like that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Then, like a lightbulb went off in his head, he shouted, "Chips!"

They'd just passed the chippy near the harbour — the smell hit you before you even saw the sign.

Cook grinned. "Fancy some?"

"Yes please yes please yes please."

Minutes later, they were back out with a warm paper bag between them, the smell already sinking into their clothes.

Cook handed Louis a chip and took one for himself. Grease on the fingers. Vinegar in the air.

The harbour path stretched out ahead of them, sunlight bouncing off the water in sharp flashes. A familiar ache settled in Cook's chest as they walked. The last time he'd walked this side of the harbour, it had been with Paddy.

Paddy had been what — eight? Nine? Same age Lewis would be in a few years. Cook had been eighteen, out on bail, trying to act like everything was normal while the world closed in around him.

Paddy had believed him. Always did. Asked him if he'd have to wear a suit. If the judge would yell. If he could come.

He'd been so hopeful. Cook had hated it.

And then Cook had run. Left him with their mum, drinking herself sick and screaming at the walls. He was a kid and Cook just left him behind. Abandoned him.

They saw each other now, him and Paddy. Regularly. He came round, helped out, gave Lewis football tips like he was a pro and nicked all of Cooks food.

He was fifteen now — still mouthy, still trying to act older and yeah he went down some of the same roads— but he wasn't like Cook. Not as violent. He had something Cook never had at that age. A softness. A conscience. A heart. And he wasn't as scared to show it.

Cook was proud of him. Even if he'd never say it out loud.

He looked down at Lewis now — tiny hands jammed into the chip bag, tomato sauce smeared on his chin.

"Do you think Dion likes chips?" Lewis asked suddenly.

Cook scoffed, "Mate who doesn't like chips?"

"Do you think Trevor likes chips?"

"Dogs can't eat chips."

Lewis frowned. "But what if Trevor really wants them?"

"Then Trevor's just gonna have to get a job and buy his own."

Lewis giggled again, skipping a little ahead as they neared the main street.

Cook watched him, heart weirdly full. Maybe he didn't fit in at the gates — maybe he never would. But here? This bit — walking, talking shit, sharing chips with his kid,

This, he could get used to.

----

By the time they got home, Lewis had already declared he was starving again — which didn't seem physically possible, considering he'd only just finished the last chip in the paper bag five minutes ago. But Cook, determined to be semi-responsible, decided it was time for a proper dinner.

Sort of.

He'd remembered the screenshot Tess had sent him last week — simple steps, bolded ingredients, her own sarcastic little notes in brackets like "don't burn it this time."

He stared at it now, phone propped against the kettle, sleeves rolled up like he was going to war. "Right," he muttered. "How hard can it be?"

Very hard, as it turned out.

By step three, the kitchen was already vaguely smoky and Lewis had declared the cutting board "gross." Cook swore under his breath more than once and nearly knocked over a bottle of oil reaching for a colander, but he managed. Somehow.

The pasta wasn't great. A bit stuck together. Maybe slightly too much garlic. But Lewis didn't seem to notice.

Later, with dishes drying and the smell of burnt something still faint in the air, Cook wandered out of the kitchen to find Lewis curled on the couch.

He blinked. "When the hell did the telly come on?"

Lewis didn't even look away. "When you were talking to yourself about pasta."

Cook squinted at the screen — a football match, of course. "Who's playing?"

"Arsenal and someone else," Lewis said, then added, "I don't really like Arsenal."

"Neither," Cook nodded, flopping onto the couch.

Lewis reached for his school bag like he'd just remembered something. "I gotta show you what I drew."

"Oh yeah?" Cook leaned forward, curious.

First came the stegosaurus — bold, lopsided, very purple. "Steg-a-saur-us," Lewis announced proudly, spacing out the syllables like a little professor. "That's the one I told you about. Miss Olly said mine had personality."

Cook studied it like it was fine art. "Reckon that's one for the fridge."

Lewis beamed, already rummaging for more.

The next drawing was... messier. Lots of stick figures, all wonky arms and wild hair, crayon scribbles for clothes. A big one in the middle with what might've been a beard. "We had to draw our families," Lewis explained. "Miss Olly said families come in all shapes and sizes."

"Right," Cook said, blinking at the picture.

"That one's me," Lewis pointed. "That's Mum. That's Nana and Paul and Auntie Chelley. That's Uncle Paddy with the hair — see? And that's you."

Cook's heart stuttered a bit. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I had to use grey 'cause I ran out of pink. But it's still you."

Cook chuckled. "Cheers, mate. Love lookin' like a corpse."

Lewis ignored that. "And that's our house, but I didn't know how to draw the stairs properly so they just go sideways."

"Modern architecture," Cook said solemnly. "Very advanced."

Lewis grinned and handed over his crayon family. "You can keep this one."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. You don't have any drawings at your house. It's boring."

Cook was starting to rearrange the cushions on the couch. He pulled the folded blanket out of the linen cupboard and began setting up his makeshift bed.

Lewis glanced over, puzzled. "Why are you doing that?"

"What?"

"Making up the couch. That's where I sit."

Cook looked at him. "Well, now it's where I sleep."

Lewis hesitated. "Why can't you just sleep in Mum's bed?"

Cook blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"She's not here."

"Well... yeah, but—" he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's your mum's bed. I shouldn't intrude."

"Why?"

"It'd be wrong."

Lewis squinted at him. "How come? It's just a bed."

"It's her  bed."

"But she's not here."

Cook groaned lightly, sinking onto the edge of the couch. "It's not about her being here. It's just... it's her space, you know? Feels weird."

Lewis was quiet a moment, then: "I don't understand why you can't just live with us. It'd be way easier. I wouldn't keep leaving my toys at yours. And I always forget the good ones."

Cook snorted, scrubbing a hand over his face. "That's fair."

Lewis leaned over the armrest, unrelenting. "So? Why don't you?"

Cook hesitated. He looked at the kid — hair sticking out in every direction, socks mismatched, who looked way too much like both of them for his own good — and sighed.

"Okay, so... You know Uncle JJ and Lara, yeah? They live together 'cause they're a couple. They're married. You went to their wedding, remember?"

"There was cake," Lewis nodded. "And speeches."

"Exactly. But me and your mum — we're not... like that."

Lewis narrowed his eyes. "Not like what?"

Cook tried again. "We're not together... Not anymore."

"Not anymore?"

"Yeah. We were, once. Kind of."

Lewis blinked. "So she was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah," Cook said slowly. "We were mates. Then something more. Then mates again. Then not. Then more again. It was a bit... up and down."

"That sounds confusing."

"Tell me about it." He mumbled

Lewis kicked his feet against the side of the armchair. "So, you can't live here because you're not together?"

Cook nodded. "That's the short version."

"But you still like each other."

"Well... yeah. As friends."

"And you always help me with my drawings."

"Sure."

"And you pick me up from school."

Cook raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes."

"And you make dinner. Well, sort of."

"Oi."

Lewis grinned. "So... can't you just be together again?"

Cook went quiet for a second. "It doesn't really work like that, mate."

"Why not?"

"Because..." He paused, glancing at the pile of cushions he still had to rearrange. "Because grownups are stupid sometimes. And sometimes, even if you care about someone, stuff just... doesn't go the way you want it to."

Lewis considered this, then shrugged. "Well. At least you're friends now."

Cook smiled faintly. "Yeah. We are. Probably always will be. It's... hard to forget someone you loved."

A pause.

"So you still love her, probably."

Cook raised both eyebrows. "Alright, cheeky. Time for bed."

"I'm just sayin'." Lewis shrugged "I think she does too."

Cook grabbed a cushion and chucked it playfully at his head. "Go brush your teeth, you pint-sized therapist."

-----

Lewis was in the bathroom, singing something tuneless around a mouthful of toothpaste, when Cook's phone buzzed on the kitchen bench.

Tess.

He answered on the second ring, already smiling. "Hey. You alive?"

"Barely. Sam's losing it over the ring lights for some reason and I've eaten four protein bars instead of dinner, but yeah — I'm surviving. How's it going there?"

Cook glanced toward the hallway, where Lewis was loudly gargling like a dying dinosaur. "The usual chaos."

Tess laughed. "He behaving?"

"Course. Extra chatty today though... Wonder where he gets it."

"Oh, absolutely no idea." She sounded tired, but light. "How was your first day?"

Cook hesitated, then grinned. "He can tell you himself."

He knocked gently on Lewis's door. "Hey, phone for you."

Lewis grabbed the phone like it was a trophy and flopped onto his bed, already mid-sentence. "Mum! I drew you in class—"

Cook sat back on the edge of the bed, just listening. Lewis's voice rose and dipped with every detail — chaotic and animated — but Tess let him speak, all warm patience even through the phone.

Eventually, she cut in gently. "Alright, Lou. It's probably bedtime."

"Fine," he sighed dramatically. "Love you mummy."

Cook took the phone back. "She's a popular woman."

Tess chuckled. "Always have been."

There was a pause, soft and familiar.

"Bye, Cook," she said.

"Night, Tess."

Lewis tugged on his sleeve. "Can we read one? Just one. A teensy one."

Cook gave in with a groan. "Alright. Just one."

By the time he got to the last page, Lewis was blinking slow and heavy, thumb tucked against his cheek. Cook closed the book quietly.

As he stood to leave, Lewis muttered, already halfway under.

"Night, Dad."

Cook stilled.

Just for a second.

"Night Lewis," but he was already asleep.

Cook pulled the blanket up a little higher and slipped out the room.

Downstairs, the silence felt different — not lonely, not tense. Just still.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, running a hand over his face. He'd had a good day with Lewis. With Tess, too. It was the first time in forever that it had felt... normal.

And Christ, he wanted that.

He wanted to be a part of it.

But the guilt still snuck in. That night with Foster. The years that followed. The night he left, not knowing who he'd become. The memories always found him when things got quiet — sharp little reminders of everything he didn't deserve.

Even now, even after coming back, after trying to make things right... he still couldn't quite forgive himself.

Not even when Tess had let him back into Lewis's life, not when she let him come over like it was nothing.

But Lewis had said it like it meant nothing — like it wasn't a big deal.

And somehow, that made it everything.

Like Cook had always been there.

And maybe — just maybe — he could still become the person they both needed.

If there was a second chance buried in all this — with Lewis, with her —he wasn't going to waste it this time.

Cook exhaled and reached for the kettle.

Christ, he was domestic now. More than he ever imagined he'd get to be.

And weirdly... he didn't mind it.