“Of course that’s alright,” she says, softer than she means to, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like she’s afraid he might disappear again if she doesn’t hold on. She blinks. God, he remembers her favorite flowers. Of course he does. He always does. “You’re ridiculous,” she adds, but there’s no bite in it. None at all. “Come inside,” she says, already tugging him over the threshold by the sleeve, reclaiming him into her space. The door shuts with a decisive click behind them, and it’s like the air changes. Quieter. Safer. She sets the flowers down on the counter and then, because she can’t help herself, she turns back to him and presses her forehead into his chest. Her voice comes out smaller there, muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you until you were standing here,” she admits, which feels dangerously close to vulnerability. Vivian hates that too. That he can pull truths out of her she’d never say out loud to anyone else. “It was stupid. I kept picking up my phone like you were just… late to something. Like you were supposed to walk in any second.” Then, because she can’t just let the moment stay that soft without pretending she’s still in control, her mouth curves into a familiar, sharp little smile. “You know you’ve completely ruined my plans, right? I was supposed to go out tonight and pretend I don’t have a boyfriend who makes stupid romantic gestures. Now I have to cancel and be domestic.” Then, she leans in and kisses him before he can apologize for it, slow and certain, like she’s anchoring him back to her.
