sciencesaggressively | i dooooooooooooo cherish youuuuuuuuu lmfao no but really

Entry tags:

kate

i dooooooooooooo cherish youuuuuuuuu lmfao no but really

It's been a month. Well, give or take, but still at least a month since he and Kate had gone on their first date. It seems like so much longer, after everything that's happened--the casket, the car accident, meeting the surrogate parent, the nightmare--and yet, he's still got butterflies in his stomach as he waits for her on the roof, holding a bottle of champagne. It had taken him most of the day to prepare this date, and she's been working so he wants so badly for this to be relaxing and enjoyable and all those nice words that should be associated with a date.

He'd been very specific. Meet him at his place, no need to knock--not that either of them do anyway. Just beyond the door, he'd placed that little pink flamingo she'd told him about, the one that her friend had put in the casket with her, with a note reading Change of plans. Take the elevator. Inside the elevator, another note: To the roof. The door to the roof has a bouquet of daisies propped on it along with another note: No broken limbs this time. P.S. Don't laugh.

And he's here, on the other side, surrounded by more arrangements of every kind of flower he could get from the shop--carnations, lilies, roses, tulips. He'd had help, of course, especially with dragging the round glasstop table and wrought iron chairs he'd found at the pawn shop up here. Plus another lawn flamingo that he'd strategically placed next to what is now being designated as Kate's chair. He figures he can leave it all, let whoever happens to come up here take advantage of it, but for now there's a lit candelabra on the table along with an ice bucket, two champagne flutes, and two plates of roasted lemongrass chicken that are still steaming under their lids. A portable stereo is playing some soft rock radio, and he's going to be pretty damn broke until he secures a job but he wants this to be special. He wants it to be something she won't forget.

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Kate's never been one to love any work, but her new job is turning out to be kind of amazing, even if it's exhausting, and by the time she gets to Newt's apartment she's half ready to just fall asleep and half excited to see him and tell him how it's going. But then she sees the flamingo and for a second, all she can do is stand there and look at it. It's the flamingo Jesse brought to put in the casket with her, she recognizes it the moment she sees it and she has no idea how Newt found it or when, but she picks it up, turning it over in her hands before she even sees the note. It takes her another few moments to get herself together, but then she leaves the apartment, holding the little pink flamingo in the palm of her hand and goes to the elevator, then up to the roof as instructed.

Despite what the note says, she laughs anyway, because she's suddenly nervous and her heart feels like it's racing, and she has no idea what she's going to find on the other side of the door, but even this is more than anyone's ever done for her and she can't figure out what she's done to deserve it. She tucks the flamingo into her pocket and takes the flowers from the door, then pushes it open, almost expecting someone to jump out at her and tell her this has all been a joke.

But it's definitely not a joke. "Holy shit," she breathes as she looks at the roof, at Newt, at everything he's done. She doesn't know what else to say, he's successfully rendered her completely speechless and she can only shake her head, staring at him. This is the sort of thing that deserves a response and she opens her mouth to try and say something, but there's nothing. Nothing she can say will be enough.

He chews on his bottom lip, probably harder than he should because it's starting to hurt, and shifts nervously on his feet. She looks pretty surprised which, yeah, that had kind of been the point, but she's not saying much. He takes a few steps toward her, dropping the champagne bottle in the ice bucket on his way, and when he reaches her, he takes her hands and offers a small smile. "Is that like, a good 'holy shit'? I'm really hoping for a good holy shit because if it's the other one, I'm going to have to ask for a refund from that How Is To Datings class I took."

She laughs again, his voice seeming to shake her out of whatever stupor she's kind of lost in, and she smiles at him, still feeling ridiculously shocked by this whole thing. This is normally where she'd come up with some kind of smart ass remark and probably make him feel like an jerk in the process, but she doesn't think she can even do that right now, and she just shakes her head again. She feels like she should be sort of grateful for her apparent inability to talk, because at least it means she won't say anything shitty.

"It's good," she manages finally, looking at all the flowers, the table, the candles, and she has no idea how he managed to do all this or what the hell she's done to make him want to. "You're... how did you do this? When did you do this?" They're questions that don't matter and she has no idea why she's asking them. "No, forget it, you're amazing."

"I am," he agrees, winking, "but I had a little help. Still gonna take like, 98% of the credit, though." He glances behind him and yeah, he maybe feels a swell of pride in his chest because this is all for her, and he thinks maybe he did do a pretty good job here. There's so much he wants to say to her, so much he wants to express but isn't sure how because he's fairly certain there aren't enough words in the English language for that. Or German, for that matter. He's had a lot on his mind since the evening he'd had that nightmare--although to be perfectly honest, since he's gotten his cast off, his thoughts have been leaning more toward the mature audiences side but still, he has time for other thoughts in between. He'd said it to her in a foreign language, ich bin verliebt, I'm in love.

He wants to tell her, it's been on the tip of his tongue ever since, and he doesn't care anymore if it seems too soon or too serious or any of that bullshit because it's just the truth. Still, he's been waiting because it hasn't felt like there's been quite that right moment; he's hoping he'll feel it tonight. He nods toward the table set-up, tugging at her hands as he starts to walk backwards. "Come on. There's food and champagne."

"Yeah, I can see that," she answers with another laugh, letting herself be pulled along, but she pauses after a moment and tugs back. "Wait." She lets go of his hand to poke her fingers into her pocket, pulling the flamingo free. For a second she just looks down at it in her palm, then looks up at him, and she's never good at this part, at being genuine and finding the right words. Even before she says anything, she can feel things getting jumbled and she knows the chances of this coming out wrong are pretty high, but she can't not say something.

It's just a little flamingo, but for some reason it means a hell of a lot more.

"This is... it's kind of the nicest thing I think anyone's ever done for me," she tells him, then slips one hand against the back of his neck so she can pull him toward her for a kiss. Maybe it's better to tell him that way just how much it means to her, because just saying it's the nicest thing anyone's ever done doesn't feel like enough.

It's electric; that's the only way he can think of right now to describe how it feels when she touches him, kisses him. There's a spark he's never really felt before, something he's getting more and more familiar with by the day, and he thinks it might be becoming an addiction. He's seen no shortage of couples going through their ups and downs; he's witnessed what new love and fresh breakups can do to people; but he's never really been committed enough to any one person to get it, at his core be able to understand what it's like to suddenly feel like everything else could fall apart but he'd still be okay as long as that person is there. He knows that's not very realistic, knows that it could very well be the so-called honeymoon phase talking, but it doesn't matter because knowing that he's made her happy in this moment is enough to silence any bit of realism he's got running through his head right now.

"I told you I'd find it," he answers, offering a crooked smile. It hadn't been all that hard, really. A visit to the funeral home hadn't even lasted long because of course the staff remembered the girl who'd apparently come back from the dead. The flamingo had been kept by someone--he wishes he'd gotten her name, he feels like an ass now that he remembers he hadn't--who'd thought maybe Kate would come looking for it one day. "Just got a little side-tracked between now and then, but see? I've got good follow through."

"Yeah, you did," she agrees with a smile and it's not that she didn't believe him, she'd just sort of forgotten about it. There hasn't been a ton of people in Kate's life who actually follow through with the things they say they'll do and it's never bothered her much. It's just a fact of life, she figures. People are generally pretty unreliable, and that's fine, she doesn't fault them for it. It's not like she's the most reliable person in the world.

But he's definitely come through here, not that she's even a little bit surprised and she smiles before kissing him once more, just a brush of her lips over his. She's still sort of speechless and she knows it probably seems like she's not really reacting to everything he's done, but it's only because she truly has no idea what to say. It's spectacular. It's for her. She doesn't know what to do with that.

The flamingo disappears back into her pocket and she looks to the table again. "So what did you make for me this time?" she asks with a teasing grin. The fact that he can cook when she's sort of a horrible fuck up in the kitchen is kind of an added bonus to everything else that's amazing about him. He and Marshall would get along based on their cooking abilities alone.

It makes him feel good, knowing that he's done all of this not because he wants show off or prove that he's awesome or whatever but because he wants to show her that she's worth it. It's not like it's a totally foreign feeling, doing things for someone else's benefit, but he's spent so long just bitching it out with Hermann in the lab and trying to win arguments and prove that his research is better that it's hard to say when the last time he'd gone so far to please someone was.

"Got a little Zitronengras-Hähnchen," he tells her, drifting over to the table so he can lift the lids off the plates and give a cheesy little bow. "Otherwise known as lemongrass chicken, with a side of mixed veggies for our enjoyment. Figured I should keep it light." He sets the lids aside and pulls her chair out for her with flourish, finding it really hard to keep the grin off his face because he's so pleased that this is going well. It's not like he'd imagined she'd show up and throw the table off the roof or anything, but it's the first time he's been able to do something nice for her since his cast came off, and he wants to make her feel as important as she is.

Even biting her lower lip doesn't do much to reduce her smile as she slips into the chair he's pulled out for her. She's still kind of reeling a little and she just keeps coming back to the fact that no one's ever done anything like this for her before. Nothing has even come close. Briefly, she wonders if something is going to happen to remind her of reality, bring this all crashing back down, but she forces herself to quit it, because she's going to do her best to not be cynical for just an evening. He makes it a hell of a lot easier than anyone else she's ever known.

"So who helped you?" she asks curiously, looking over the table, the flowers, the everything. "God, dude, this is seriously amazing."

She feels like she's probably just going to keep saying that or some version of it until he makes her stop somehow. It's kind of overwhelming, but definitely in a good way, and if she gets even a little bit of champagne in her, she's probably going to end up talking even more than she usually does. It's a good thing she doesn't have to work the next day, because she's pretty sure she doesn't want this whole thing to end.

He gives her a kiss on the cheek before crossing over to his side of the table, reaching for the champagne bottle before he settles with one knee on his chair. "My little elves," he answers. If the smile on his face looks smug it's because his "little elves" had actually just been the one elf and if Derek ever catches wind of that designation, he'll probably rip Newt's face off. But Derek's been popping in to visit him, keeping him company and keeping him from going crazy when everyone else had been otherwise occupied while Newt was sentenced to bed rest. So maybe he'll save the elf comments for when it's actually Christmas and see what happens then. "It was Derek, actually, he's got that upper body strength I just can't beat. I totally carried the ice bucket, though."

She keeps saying that things are amazing, and it makes him brighten a little more every time. There's a part of him that wishes she doesn't seem so stunned because that just means that nobody's ever done this kind of thing for her before; but the other part is overwhelmingly pleased that he could be the first one. He watches her for a moment, taking in how lovely she looks right now before focusing his attention on the bottle. "You know what else is amazing is going to be if I can get this open without spraying half the champagne all over the place," he says as he tears at the foil, removes the wire cage. He pauses, balancing the bottle on his raised knee as he raises an eyebrow. "If this doesn't work out, say nice things at my funeral."

He twists at the cork, pulling hard until he feels it give and hears the pop. Lo and behold, everything remains intact and after punching the air with his fist to celebrate his victory, he pours both of them a glass. "You're going to have to come up with the toast this time," he tells her, setting her glass in front of her. "I think I wore myself the last time."

She doesn't know Derek all that well, but they've talked a few times and she feels like maybe she should make an effort to thank him for helping Newt with this. It's kind of incredible and she hopes she'd do the same for a friend if they asked her, but the truth is she can be pretty lazy sometimes. Derek didn't have to do any of this and she finds that pretty sweet, too.

"Should I duck and cover?" she asks with a laugh and she doesn't quite do that, but she moves back a little, watching Newt with the bottle with a faintly wary smile. "Total badass champagne bottle opener," she says when he manages to get it done without spraying anyone or killing either of them with the cork and when he pours her a glass, she sits forward in her chair again, reaching for it across the table.

"A toast, huh?" she asks thoughtfully. She's only ever made sarcastic toasts, mostly for her mother's benefit whenever they'd have their girly Sunday dinners, but she's pretty sure something like that isn't totally appropriate now. "Jesus, I don't know, I'm just... thank you. For all this. For, I don't know, everything."

"You're a woman of many words," he says sagely, and it's funny because normally that's pretty true; Kate has never really seemed to find it difficult to say what she wants to say so he figures he should count it as something as a good thing that she's apparently been rendered speechless now. He clinks his glass against hers anyway and smiles over the rim as he takes a drink. He doesn't really think all this is even all that good enough for what she's done for him--not just the making sure he doesn't accidentally off himself while on one leg part but also the part where she's just the bright spot in every day. He suspects that even a few minutes with her might wipe out an entire day's worth of trouble and it's a little scary to think that someone can how that much power over him, can so majorly affect him that way, but it's also exciting because what's life without taking a few risks? The biggest rock stars in the world hadn't gotten to where they were by playing it safe.

"If anything, I should be thanking you," he tells her truthfully as he cuts into his chicken and god, it smells absolutely divine which is probably a bit silly to say about your own meal but whatever, it is what it is. "I don't know where I'd be without you, y'know? And I'm not just saying that, seriously, like... I don't know. I had my work back at the 'Dome. People who knew my name, respected me even if they didn't like me. Here, there's none of that, but then you happened and..." He trails off, taking a bite as he chews thoughtfully. "You make me not care about going back. And I think that's a pretty big deal."

The truth is she's not sure what to say because what she wants to say is still kind of terrifying to her. It's not just the dinner on the roof or the flowers or the flamingo, it's not anything in particular, it's everything, and as she takes a sip of her champagne, she watches him over the rim of her glass for a moment. She knows she can talk and talk and talk when maybe it's less important, when it doesn't mean as much, but right now, the only thing she wants to say to him is maybe still a little too much. It would mean a lot and even though he's not the first guy she's been in love with, it feels different, and she's afraid to say it and not hear it back.

Which is stupid. If she feels it, she should damn well say it and if he doesn't say it back, then at least he knows it. She's always wanted people to know what she thinks and what she feels, or at least she's always thought she does. When it comes down to it, she's still wearing some kind of shield, something to keep herself from getting hurt.

She sets her glass down and picks up her utensils, glancing up again when he says he should be thanking her. She's trying to cut into the chicken, but it's sort of hard when she's watching him speak and actually listening for what feels like the first time in her life. "I wouldn't go back either," she tells him. That part is easy to say, she's known that for ages already. "Back to the island or back to Kansas and I know I don't have anything waiting for me like you do, but I still... I wouldn't."

He watches her, maybe with a little bit of confusion because she seems a little... off somehow. Nerves, maybe, though he's not sure why she'd have them, the vibe between them doesn't feel weird or anything; maybe she's still just winding down from work. That, though, the not having anything waiting for her thing, it makes him lean forward and put his hand over hers. "You'd have your family. People who love you. And with enough time, you could take over any town you step foot in." He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile as he pulls his hand back so she can actually eat without having to shake him off. Maybe it's selfish of him to be pleased that she wouldn't leave but he's never really been the super selfless type anyway. "It's, uh, it's good to know you'd stay, though. 'Cause you have that here, too."

He doesn't know how strong that implication is but he also doesn't know when the best time to say what he wants to say is. He doesn't even know if there is a best time, maybe better times than others. Like here, at a candelit dinner and surrounded by flowers, and he's normally not the kind of guy who gets tongue-tied but that's just another way of showing how much she affects him, sometimes it's like he's ready to say a particular thing and then she smiles and he forgets entirely. Right now is a good example because he thinks he probably looks like a total idiot with his lips parted and no words coming out, chicken on a fork held halfway between his face and plate, blinking at her as he tries to decide if it would be worth it if he said the words and she ended up like, laughing or something. He thinks it is; and that's saying something, right?

"Yeah, and don't get me wrong, I'd love to see them again," she says honestly, because sometimes she thinks she'd do just about anything to have them back. Even if it means bringing them here, taking them away from the things they want to have, she'd do it. She's selfish enough to do something like that and only feel a little bit guilty. Talking about that, it puts her a little more at ease somehow, because it's totally easy to tell him she'd stay here just to be around him. "But I mean something like what you had. I don't have an amazing career that I love to go back to, you know? It was just... Kansas, and that's totally fine, it's not like I feel sorry for myself that I didn't have that. I was only sixteen the last time I was there."

And then she's cutting into her own meal, taking a bite of the chicken when he continues speaking and she pauses in the midst of chewing, her gaze flicking up from her plate to his face. Chances are he probably just means Danny and Carla Jean, the friends she's made on the island who are here now, and he'd be completely right about that. But her chest and her throat feel tight, because maybe that isn't what he means. Maybe he's talking about himself and she's suddenly wildly hopeful that she's not the only one who feels completely nervous and ridiculous right now.

"Yeah?" she asks after she manages to swallow, like she expects him to tell her more about it.

"Yeah," he mumbles around the food in his mouth, and he hopes that his swallowing isn't as loud as it seems to him because he's suddenly so nervous. His eyes are probably way too wide because they're starting to sting from not blinking and his throat feels too constricted because the words are stuck in his throat, trying desperately to come out but to no avail. It's like their first date all over again except he hadn't quite known what to expect then, definitely hadn't expected to fall in love with someone in the span of two months but who ever said love has a time frame?

He wishes there was more he could for her than just a dinner and finding a little flamingo and setting up some flowers. If he'd had more resources at his disposal, he could have figured something out, but then, they probably wouldn't even be here anyway and that's just a miserable thought. He realizes she's waiting for him to speak and when he opens his mouth, he's got nothing but a a hoarse wheeze. "Um," he tries again, clearing his throat and reaching for his champagne because obviously the best way to get his voice back is to drink alcohol. "There's like, your friends, y'know? And your dog, she definitely loves you." He stabs at his chicken because wow, yeah, this is going so well. "And uh, I... I mean, it's a thing for-- ah, shit."

He looks up, making firm eye contact because this is happening, he's done dicking around because if he doesn't say it now, that's one more day she'll go without knowing and he's not okay with that anymore. "I'm kind of in love with you. Not kind of, actually, I'm in love with you. Pure and simple. I love you." It's like a weight's been lifted off his shoulders, and he breathes a sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair as if he's just come down from a runner's high. He's said it and it doesn't even matter to him how she responds right now--okay, it matters a little--because at least she knows.

When he starts talking about her friends and her dog, she feels strangely disappointed and she knows it's stupid of her to have built something up in her mind that clearly isn't on his mind just yet, but she's just been thinking about it a lot lately. Between the casket and the talk with Blaine, and Newt being hit by a car, she's been kind of teetering on the edge of telling him for awhile now, because what happens if she doesn't say it and then he's just gone the next day? Or what if something worse happens to one of them? Then he'll never know and she doesn't think she can deal with that, but at the same time, she's still been terrified to actually say the words. It makes everything a lot more real. It makes him into more than just some guy she's dating, which he's been since the beginning anyway, but she can't fool herself into thinking she's not completely in this anymore if she tells him.

But then he's looking at her and for a second she thinks maybe he's said something else. She has no idea what she thinks she might be hearing instead, but her brain still tries to convince her otherwise for just a moment, because he can't possibly be telling her he loves her. Her fork clatters against the plate briefly and she has to set it down; if she doesn't, she's sure she's going to drop it and when she stands up and braces her hand against the table, she nearly puts it down right in the middle of her plate. She's aware of just enough to avoid leaning straight over the candles, because the last thing they need now is for her to light herself on fire. They totally deserve this moment without any injuries or disasters, and when she kisses him, she's pretty sure it's actually kind of perfect.

"I'm in love with you," she says against his lips, after drawing in a shaking breath. "Not kind of, I'm completely in love with you." Saying it is scary and amazing all at once and she knows it's because she's been waiting to say it for ages now, convinced it was too much or too soon, but she doesn't care anymore.

Any needling worry that he might have had that she wouldn't say it back disappears the second her lips meet his and when she says it, when she actually says it, he experiences this weird moment of not being able to remember where they are, what they're doing, why they're doing it; he only knows that he loves her and she loves him, which is kind of amazing and he knows that there's a lot of happy couples out there and that's great but seriously, he's pretty sure he and Kate would blow the rest of them out of the water. "The fact that I can just say that whenever I want to," he tells her, rising to meet her height so that he can pull her closer, kiss her more deeply, "y'know, that I love you? That's pretty awesome. I hope you don't get sick of it because I don't have a lot of people to say it to so the novelty's not going to wear off anytime soon."

The food is left forgotten as he kisses her again because how can he not want to be as close to her as he can be when they've just told each other something to important? He wants all of her, wants to give her all of him, but it's like he can't get close enough. He kisses down the side of her neck, rests his hands on her hips and pulls so they're grinding. "You and I have a game to finish up," he murmurs, smiling against her jaw. "Sexy Chicken waits for no one."

Somehow they're beside the table suddenly and for several moments, pressed up against him like this, her eyes closed, Kate doesn't remember the food or the flowers or anything except him. He loves her and he keeps saying it like maybe he thinks she might forget between now and ten seconds ago and she kind of loves that, too. Sliding both her arms around him, she presses into his kisses happily, still grinning between them, unable to stop. "No," she manages to murmur, the fingers of one hand sliding through his hair as she pulls back just slightly, just enough to see him. "No, keep saying it. Say it all the time. Because I love you."

She thinks maybe it should be harder for her to say. It's been hard in the past, she's been reluctant and nervous, but this isn't hard at all. Maybe it's passing time or maybe it's him, but she finds she doesn't want anything else to compare it to. This is good, she thinks, she can stay here.

Then he pulls her right up against him and she can feel the breath catching in her throat as his mouth moves over her neck. "What about dinner?" she manages to ask, though, seriously, fuck dinner. She knows he put a lot of work into this, but she's pretty sure she'd be just as happy to eat leftovers a few hours from now and it's not like she's making any attempt to stop her own wandering hand, the one that's sliding down his back, fisting in his clothes to press herself harder against him.

He thinks he could probably cry. Okay, well, not really because that would make things really weird, just him randomly starting to leak tears right now. But honestly, he can't remember the last time he'd been this happy over something non-kaiju related which isn't even a sad thing because the kaiju had made him happy like, daily, but this is way different. This isn't monsters and aliens, this is stars in his eyes, heart beating faster, butterflies in his stomach; this is the kind of thing he'd never even considered would be in his near future, if even at all. She loves him. He shuts his eyes and opens them again, and she's still there, she still loves him. The feeling is unreal.

"Dinner?" he echoes, glancing over at the food. "Screw dinner, dinner can wait. I'll make you a new dinner tomorrow, it's a thing that happens every day. I only get to tell you I love you for the first time once."

She's kind of expecting that and her smile only grows at his words before she kisses him again, reaching blindly for the ice bucket at the same time, because if she's taking anything with them when they leave the roof, it's the champagne. She kind of wants all the flowers, too, because she wants to remember this night, this moment in particular, all the things he's done for her, the fact that he loves her. He loves her.

And it's that easy to distract herself from everything else. Her free hand falls on the edge of the ice bucket and she reaches up with her other hand, cupping his cheek. All that time thinking it was going to be so scary and it's not. Now that he's said it, now that she's said it, she just wants to keep saying it over and over again until he's annoyed with her.

"I'm bringing this," she tells him, tapping the champagne bottle with her fingertips before she leans in, pressing her lips to his cheek, then his jaw, then to the skin just in front of his ear. "Your bed is further away, but there are fewer people in your apartment." She knows Carla Jean doesn't mind when Newt is over, but Kate's pretty much intending on not sleeping for awhile and she doesn't want to be that roommate.

He glances down to see the champagne in her hand and nods because, totally fair, that's the good stuff. Spared no expense. Okay, spared a little expense, but it had clearly all been totally worth it. He's fairly pleased with himself, too, for having the foresight to do what he'd done to his bedroom. He'd briefly toyed with the idea of littering rosebeds over Kate's bedsheets, but he'd walked into her apartment only to walk right back out when he'd remembered Carla Jean would be there to see him do it and having to look her in the eye after a thing like that is something he never, ever wants to do.

"My bed works for me," he says through a kiss, finding it far more difficult than usual to pull himself away far enough to actually make clear conversation. He sidesteps, moving her along with him toward the door. The travel time to the elevator doesn't take very long, and he's got her pinned against the wall, one of her legs hooked around his waist and nibbles at her earlobe as he paws at the buttons until he hits the one for the fourth floor. When the bell dings and the doors open, he's just barely aware enough of their surroundings to be relieved that nobody's lingering in the hall to see them. There's no time for more words, not between the kisses and the quiet sighs and the soft gasps, not until they reach the door to his place and he's managed to open the door and they're in front of his room.

"Okay, this might be a little much," he tells her, blocking her view of the inside,"but it was like, in all the romance tips I found online, not that I was looking on line because clearly I'm the Doctor of Love just on my own." He steps aside, moving behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist as he waits for her reaction. The lights are dim and hey, it doesn't look half bad. "I want everything to be special for you. Everything."

It seems like it takes them forever to get from the roof to his bedroom door, even with his hands all over her, even pinned against the elevator wall and she's not even remotely surprised by her own impatience. She's been waiting for this since Halloween, even more since the day she caught him on the chair, and her heart is beating quicker in her chest as he pauses in front of his bedroom door. It's like being up on the roof all over again, she has no idea what to say, because he's done so much work and it's for her. All of it. He doesn't get anything out of it except her reactions -- and, okay, he'll get laid, but that was happening regardless -- and she's not used to anyone doing anything for selfless reasons. Certainly not anything for her.

But she's not quite as stunned as she was up on the roof and when she turns to him, pausing to set the champagne bottle down on a nearby tabletop, her mouth is pulled into a smile. "Good thing the roof went so well or this might've been awkward," she teases, her arms sliding around his shoulders. If he ever disappears or if they ever break up, she's pretty sure that's it. No one's ever going to be able to come close to him and she's pretty okay with that, because she might not have control over the disappearances, but she's completely sold on not breaking up. "Everything is special," she promises before kissing him again as she takes a step backwards into the bedroom, tugging him with her.

It would be special, she thinks, without the flowers and the champagne, without the rose petals, without any of it. All of that is amazing and she still can't quite get over that he's done these things for her, but if they'd been sitting on the couch watching TV and he'd turned to her and told her he loved her, that would have been enough, too. That would have made it special. She's only partly aware of kicking off her shoes, lost in kissing him and in the warmth of his skin under her hands when she slips them down to the hem of his shirt and pushes them under, fingers spread over his lower back.

He's glad she thinks so, that everything is as special as he wanted it to be, but it's kind of funny to him when he thinks about the fact that in about five seconds, those rose petals aren't even remotely going to matter anymore. Like, there will be absolutely no shits given about these rose petals by either of them because they'll be way too preoccupied with doing what they've wanted to do for months--that is the plural of month--now. To be fair, he's yet to find a moment with her that hasn't felt significant, that hasn't been just a little different from moments spent with anyone else, and he suspects that might be because he's been in love with her maybe for longer than he'd managed to clue himself in.

She has her hands on his back now and it sends shivers through him and maybe they could draw this out, drive each other even crazier, but they've been waiting for so goddamn long. He doesn't know if he could take it. He pulls his shirt off, a low whimper sounding from his throat when they have to break their kiss, and throws it aside, stepping out of his shoes as he gently nudges her toward the bed. "In case you forgot," he says, reaching around her to unhook her bra through her shirt, "I love you."

He's not the first person to have said it to her, but she doesn't remember it feeling this good until now and she smiles at him, bright and unguarded. "I'm just gonna pretend I've forgotten every day so that you'll keep saying it," she teases, running her hands down his chest, pausing just long enough to look at the tattoos and it's not like she hasn't seen them a bunch of times already, but she's never not going to think they're hot. When he unhooks her bra, a shiver races up her spine and she can feel goosebumps following as she drops both her hands to hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. It gets caught on her hair for a moment and then she's dropping it on the floor, her bra following a second later and she's not nervous this time, not like she has been before. Maybe it's that they've already got the scary part out of the way and it turned out not to be quite so scary after all.

"I love you," she murmurs before she moves to sit down on the edge of his bed. There's a petal under her hand and she rubs her fingertips against it absently before reaching for him with her other hand, curling her fingers into the waist of his pants to pull him closer to her. She presses a kiss to his stomach, just above the line of his pants, and finds herself still smiling against his skin. "It turns out I could say that to you all day." She kinds of hopes she'll be busy saying other things in about twenty seconds, but she thinks she really could. She's never going to get tired of hearing it or saying it.

Edited 2013-12-04 21:21 (UTC)

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