he can't take social cues. it's not as if mike has had many friends. and with even less relationships, he hadn't noticed the way emily might have been looking at him. but now they're sitting at his kitchen table. abby is asleep, the room is dim except for the lamp shining in front of living room, and mike is watching emily stifle a laugh, her smile bright and genuine. he doesn't know when he starts leaning forward, but his lips meet hers with closed eyes, the man lingering there for a moment before he pulls away, looking almost horrified at what he just did. 'sorry, i didn't... um...' he didn't even know what to say. eyes wide, he looks at emily and expects her to leave. 'i don't know why i did that,' - @graveshft
emily is happy. she is blindingly, deliriously happy. things weren't easy when she first woke up–– in fact, they were pretty horrible. but mike has seen her through all of it. through the court case and the name change and the new apartment. through job hunting and nightmares and the confusing shapes of grief. ---he likes her. he likes her and she believes him and she doesn't have to feel afraid because of it.
she'd called him lucky, once. that he still had abby after all that the two of them had lost. and in retrospect, she sees that that might have been kind of insensitive. if anyone knows how much loss eats away at you, it's her–– and she wishes she could have seen that a little more clearly at the time. but now she's the lucky one. lucky, incredibly lucky that mike and abby have welcomed her into their lives. not always easy, but so warm, so safe beneath all the drudgery and the bullshit of the world.
frankly, she can't even remember what he said that made her laugh because now she's looking at him and he's so pretty. she looks at him and sees good–– immutable good in the shape of him, the set of his eyes, the curve of his smile... she isn't expecting him to kiss her–– has, in fact, been very careful not to dare hope. but he's doing it, he's kissing her, and it's such a nice thing, gentle and inoffensive, not aggressive or intrusive-- it's like home. it feels incredibly right, but then just as soon as it's happened, it's over, and as her eyes flutter open she is met with a look of sheer horror on mike's face. her own chin veers forward, eyes growing wide as embarrassment crowds in on her–– should she not have done that? should she have stopped it or–– did she lean in? 'i'm sorry--' she starts, 'i--' emily stops to let mike finish. for a moment they just blink at each other. he may not know why he did it, but he wouldn't have if he didn't want to, right? and acutally, she realizes, she isn't sorry. not even a little. 'i'm glad that you did. can we...' she asks in a whisper, 'can we do it again? please?'
