"It's you."
She's wide-eyed, her lips parting slightly as his words sink in and he cannot believe she doesn't know. She doesn't know that she is his sun, his moon, the very stars that guide him home, that every light shining in his life has come from her. His heart breaks for her, that she has been so alone in her life that she cannot see the impact she has on those around her, that she can't let herself believe that she is all he needs to live happily ever after.
His eyes search hers as her hesitant steps carry her closer, her eyes closing as she leans into him. He wants so badly to kiss her, to seal his declaration upon her lips, to pour his love for her into each brush of sensitive skin against sensitive skin. There are tears glistening on her eyelashes and his heart is in his throat because tears are not part of this plan.
But, oh, her kiss.
She is the moon, her brilliance pulling at the tide that dwells in his bones. He gravitates towards her, he cannot help it any more than the world can help but turn from day to night and back again. Her lips against his, vacillant and gentle, anchor him to her. He feels that this is more than a simple kiss of gratitude, but his fears are too great to allow himself to believe that.
If you're afraid of losing your happy ending, then that means you found it...
Oh, Emma, my love...
They sway with the ebb and flow of the tides within, surging for one another when their lips part, eager for more and for the reassurance that they are here and now and together. Her arms encircle his neck, his around her waist, in no rush to do anything more than express their feelings without words. His thumb rubs small circles on her back, in that spot he knows bothers her after a long day in her chair at the station. Her fingers deliberately through his hair, brush the sensitive skin behind his ears, caress the line of his jaw.
When they finally part, he's distressed to notice tear tracks on her cheeks. "Oh, Emma," he murmurs mournfully, reaching up to cup her cheek.
She swipes furiously at her face, chuckling through her sniffles. He lets go, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief, offering it. She looks at him, bemused. "Of course you'd have a handkerchief," she mutters with another chuckle, taking it and dabbing at her eyes. "I'm not... this isn't because I don't -"
He presses a kiss to her forehead, relief pouring through him because she would never lie to him to spare his feelings - lie to herself, of course, but he knows her to be brutally honest about the matters of someone else's heart. "I know, darling," he murmurs against her. "I know."
She's afraid to believe, but perhaps she's allowing herself to take those first hesitant steps.
He's a patient man. He'll wait as long as it takes for her to catch up.
