A/N: Originally posted on AO3.
Seated at the table Asher has asked her not to leave, Michaela worries her bottom lip. The space between her brows narrows as the smell of burnt food more strongly meets her nose.
"Is everything okay in there?" She grips the armrests of her chair, ready to investigate what's happening in her kitchen when she hears his response.
"Everything's good. Don't get up!" The smashing pots she hears in the wake of his voice belies his assurances, but Michaela returns to her previous position at the table—an addition Asher had seen fit to place in her apartment for the evening's events.
Attempting to take her mind off the disaster area that she's sure her kitchen has become, Michaela turns her attention to the flowers in front of her. The bouquet is gorgeous—extravagant in its mix of pink, lavender and red roses. She knows they're expensive, a splurge she would have chastised him for if not for their beauty and the tenderness in his eyes when he'd given them to her. Lifting a hand, her fingers caress the nearest petal. Without her knowledge a soft, giddy smile forms on her face.
Beaming, Michaela takes in the rest of the room. Lit candles cover almost every available surface, and her lamps are veiled in thin pink fabric. They cast the room in a gentle, romantic glow. Even her desk and bookshelves are covered, keeping from view the textbooks and binders of notes she'd been planning to study from before arriving home to Asher's surprise. Her boyfriend's message is clear: tonight is not the night for schoolwork.
A particularly loud bang and exclamation of a curse word draws Michaela's focus back toward the kitchen. She contemplates entering the room when Asher finally makes an appearance. He's wringing his hands and the apron he's wearing is covered in a mosaic of stains. Eyes meeting hers, he lowers his hands to his sides.
Grimacing he speaks, "I, uh, I ruined dinner." His face contorts with a frown as his eyes, again, drop to the floor. The disappointment is evident.
Michaela stands to join him in the center of the room. Her tone soft she replies, "It's okay. We can order a pizza or something—" She moves to lift a hand to his shoulder, but hesitates at the intensity of his words.
"No, I wanted tonight to be perfect!" Lowering his voice he continues, "It was suppose to be perfect. My lady deserves that." At this his eyes return to hers, earnest.
"What's so special about tonight?"
Asher's gaze wavers before looking off in the distance. His lips part to form words, but for awhile nothing sounds. Then finally, "Nothing, I just wanted to do something special for you."
Michaela recognizes the lie, but doesn't mention it. Bringing herself close enough to feel the warmth of his body, she places both hands on his chest.
"This is special. I love my flowers, and I love it, even more, that you cleaned the apartment." Fingers brushing along his chest, above the apron, her voice changes from gentle to commanding. "Though, you will be cleaning the kitchen on your own. Now order me a pizza. I'm starving."
Asher chuckles at Michaela's orders, the tension draining from his body. "Fine Miss Bossy Britches, but, just so you know, you missed out on an A+ dinner. If your insane oven wasn't trying to sabotage me, I wouldn't have burnt the chicken."
Michaela snorts in laughter, her eyes rolling soon after. "Yeah, it was the oven's fault." She leaves him for the table, returning to admire her roses.
"It was. That thing is—"
"Ah!" Michaela stops him mid-flail, "Less complaining. More ordering…please." She says it in a singsong manner, the happiness she feels within on display.
Asher grumbles low, a jesting pout on his lips, "All you do is boss me around." Straightening for a moment, he bends his elbow across his waist then leans over it in a mock bow. "As my boss lady wishes."
His antics bring another round of laughter from Michaela, "Yeah. Yeah. You know you love it." She's still delighting in the flowers before her, lowering to inhale their scent, so she misses the look that passes over Asher's face at her words.
Rising from the bow in slow increments, Asher stutters, "I-I do, actually."
"Mm-hm."
"Michaela," Asher says as he steps closer, coming to stand opposite her at the table.
Michaela looks at him, roses, for the moment, forgotten. The shift in mood from cheerful banter to more pressing matters is marked by the fervent expression on his face.
Clearing his throat, Asher speaks with more resolve this time, "Michaela, I love you. That's what tonight was about. I wanted to cook you a nice dinner to tell you that I love you… I know it's fast, but it's how I feel. And with everything that we've been through—with everything that you've helped me through—you deserve to know. I need for you to know."
Asher's confession shocks Michaela into silence. Frozen, she simply stares at him, her mouth agape. A number of emotions run through her—happiness, wonder, what she thinks might be love—but the greatest of all is fear. Love is a foreign concept to her, and Michaela tends to shy from the unknown. She has the impulse to run, but there's nowhere to go: they're alone in her apartment.
Michaela feels herself beginning to panic, her inhalations coming more rapidly, when Asher places his hand atop hers on the table.
"Relax… You don't have to say it back." It's clear he's saddened by her reaction, but attempting to take it in stride. "You don't have to do anything. I just wanted you to know. I'm going to go order the pizza." He squeezes her hand before leaving.
The physical contact, and his gentle words, helped to ease her alarm, but Michaela still feels blown over. Taking a deep breath, she drops into the chair closest to her. Now, in addition to shock from Asher's declaration, there's worry about the awkwardness that'll shadow the rest of their evening.
Not ready to tackle the first set of emotions, and unwilling to deal with the second, Michaela begins to conceive reasons for Asher to leave. She's almost gathering his things, when he reappears in the room.
Michaela is apprehensive as he approaches, but his demeanor reveals no dismay. In fact, he's smiling as he joins her at the table, having moved his chair to her right side so the vase of flowers isn't between them, and starts to tell her about his day—not a hint of displeasure in his voice.
Sending him a smile of gratitude, Michaela calms further. She leans on the table, bringing herself closer to him, and places her hand on his—squeezing, much in the way he had done for her.
At her gesture, Asher stops what he was saying. He inclines his head, a nod of acknowledgement, and sends her a small smile before continuing to regale her with the theatrics of his day.