bemusedbicycle:

Beyond thankful for all of your messages of support. You guys make writing so fun, I can’t even tell you how much it means to me you like this little tale. 

Another M rated chapter. This chapter was like pulling teeth, I apologize for the delay. 

Full Story on Tumblr / FF.net / AO3

Chapter 8

Honestly, his expectations had been low. He hadn’t expected her to come to the field at all. He wanted it, certainly, had laid out on the grass and thought of nothing but her - the curve of her lips as she smiled, the way that red dress she was wearing at the gala hugged her lithe frame, the curtain of blonde that smelled like honey and something else, something distinctly Emma and he wanted to bury his face in it, breathe in deep and just - 

So he had been surprised when she suddenly appeared before him - like he had conjured her straight from his imagination. And she kept on surprising him with her breathy words and serious eyes and her I like you. 

Because it was everything he wanted to hear - the things he wanted that he didn’t think he could want - not anymore. 

It wasn’t a trick to get her into bed (he would have put the Roomba somewhere else - like off the bloody balcony had he known she intended to come over, he would have changed the sodding sheets - bloody hell) when he had told her how he felt. Ever since his brush with the inactive list - ever since you could have something when she offered her feelings to him on a silver platter and he had practically fallen to her knees in front of her because she had no idea - not even an inkling of what that meant, of what she was saying. 

But maybe she did. Maybe she saw something in him that she could fix, put back together. Because gods above, he saw something in her. For the first time in years, he saw hope and happiness and warmth, all in the way she looked at him, in the way she challenged him and smacked him across the back of his head and tangled her fingers with his when he was unconscious and sprawled out on a table. 

(He remembered her soft touch, the feel of her hand in his as he lay awake in the hospital - his hand flexing as the ghost of it lingered, burning into his skin.)

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