Maybe being stuck in a human body wasn't so bad after all. Though, the adjustment from a small, limbless core with no depth perception or means of getting around other than a world-defining rail to a wiry-framed human with no sense of coordination or balance would have been mind boggling and on the rim of impossibility if it hadn't been for her.

Grateful wasn't doing his emotions any justice—assuming it was actually the feeling of gratitude that made his pulse hammer; he was still rather lost on the finer points of human emotion—there simply had to be a better word for it.

Oh God, how he loved her laugh; it had become the center of his universe, her voice, because he knew that he was free and alive as long as he could hear her laugh. And her smile, oh man alive, that smile, could make his world stop spinning in its tracks.

Grateful certainly wasn't cutting it.

He'd find a word for his galloping heart and feverish face later, because he wasn't about to allow his ever wandering thoughts to distract him from the warm body laying on his chest, or the way her hair smelled like flowers when the breeze stirred it, or how her fingers had slowly wound around his. She was distracting enough.

Could she hear the erratic sputtering in his chest? Maybe she was too busy watching the way the dappled sunlight danced on their intertwined hands to notice. Or perhaps she was too enveloped in her story, too preoccupied laughing softly at her and her friends' follies over the years to care.

Her chuckles died down, and for the longest moment, the only sounds were that of the birds singing a far away song and her slow breathing. And for once in his life, he didn't feel the need to break the silence; he couldn't find the words even if he wanted to.

"Wheatley?" He'd almost forgotten what his name sounded like when it came off her tongue; it was kindness and acceptance, not anger and annoyance. There was no way he'd ever get used to it.

"Hmm? What is it?"

She dropped his hands, shifting in his arms so she could look at him, a smile playing at the edges of her lips. Oh bloody hell, why was he getting dizzy?

"I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for? If anything, I'm the one who should be saying sorry. Look love, you've done nothing wrong." He could have rambled all day about how far in the wrong he was, but as he spoke, she had turned onto her knees to face him, stopping him mid-breath when her hands landed gently on either side of his face.

It took all of an eternity—about thirty seconds or so—to regain the ability to inhale, another forever to swallow nervously, and a lifetime to find his voice. "W-what are you doing?"

Her smile grew, slow and mischievous, and maybe even a little…nervous?

"I'm sorry," she paused with a breathy chuckle, "because I'm about to do something that's probably going to scare the living hell out of you."

It was quick, left no time for questions or even time to fully process what she had just said before her lips pressed against his.

His brain had short circuited, or, at least, that's what it felt like; but it wasn't unpleasant, he kind of…liked it.

What were his hands doing? They seemed to have minds of their own as they came around her waist, drawing her slightly closer. Bloody right he was scared, but his body was reacting without his commands, as if it were returning the gesture while his brain fried itself over what was going on. He absolutely loved the feeling.

Grateful was definitely the wrong word.