Disclaimer: Don't own it. If I act like I do, I'm just pretending.
…
Mimi glanced over at Roger. He was less tense than he had been the last time she'd sneaked a peek in his direction, so she assumed he wasn't as mad as he had been then, either. She took a breath, but before she could speak, he began to strum his guitar, not for any particular reason, as far as she could tell, although she suspected it was probably to stop her talking.
Mimi carefully pushed herself upright from where she'd been lying on the windowsill of the loft and slid across the floor in her odd socks. She felt Roger's eyes on her as she casually and purposelessly moved some things around on the kitchen counter, eventually switching on the kettle to make herself some coffee. She didn't look up.
Two can do this silent treatment shit, baby, she informed Roger, in the privacy of her own brain.
Roger's mindless strumming grew louder, and he purposefully stared out the window away from Mimi. This struck her as so absurdly childish that she had to turna way and bite her lip to keep herself from laughing. If Mark had been around, she reflected, he would have told the two of them to grow up around twenty minutes ago, when they'd first lapsed into sulky silence following an argument so petty Mimi was already starting to forget what it had been about.
She made her coffee as noisily as possible, and walked back to her seat by the window, stirring her drink as loudly and arrhythmically as she could. She thought she caught Roger smothering a grin before he turned away and glared at the frets of his guitar.
Mimi opened her mouth to say something, possibly even to voice some form of apology, when Roger abruptly stood up and put his guitar aside. He came and sat next to her, snatching away her clinking spoon with a precision she hadn't known he possessed.
Mimi summoned some reserve of grown-upness and looked Roger boldly in the eye.
"Roger- "
"I know," he smiled. "Sorry, right?"
She nodded, relieved. "You too?"
He tapped the end of his nose with the spoon. "Forgive me?"
Mimi put her coffee down. She didn't really feel like drinking anything anyway.
"I always do," she reminded him.
"Oh yeah."
Roger handed her the spoon.
"What am I supposed to do with this?" Mimi smiled.
He shrugged. "I don't know. What was I supposed to do with it?"
Mimi dropped the spoon into her coffee mug and curled up next to Roger, her arms around his neck. He stroked her back absently, his mouth instinctively finding its way into her hair.
"I love you," he told it softly.
Mimi closed her eyes and allowed the feeling of being loved to fill her up until she felt like she was going to float up and hit her head on the ceiling.
"I love you too," she whispered.
"I love you more."
"Don't."
"Do."
"Do not."
"Do too."
The only logical way to resolve this, Mimi decided, was to kiss Roger until both of them were gasping for air.
Roger looked into Mimi's face, at the same time totally in love and childishly amused.
"You're still wrong."
…
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