"Emma," Alex said in an exhausted tone, rubbing wearily at his eyes. Emma sat rather stiffly on a stool at his kitchen bench, her eyes widened.
"Don't Emma, me, Alex Knightley," she twisted her fingers one after the other waiting for him to speak.
Alex took a deep breath and huffed, "it is the middle of the night, Emma. You're just having trouble sleeping again." His dismissive attitude was duly noted and she furrowed her eyebrows at him. Standing stubbornly in front of him she replied, "I've been sleeping fine. Why exactly is that so difficult to believe?"
"Perhaps, because it is 1:30 in the morning, you are standing in my kitchen saying things you would never say with a working mental capacity. You will agree with me once you get some proper sleep." He stepped past her to retrieve a t-shirt he had tossed aside earlier.
"Have you thought that maybe I'm not tired, that I am finally thinking clearly again? People change Alex."
"Then tell me in the morning when you've had some rest, and time to think." He smiled sadly at her pulling his shirt over his head. "I don't want you driving. You can sleep in the spare bedroom." Emma made to block him as he grabbed her keys from the counter, and took off down the hall but a weary backwards glance from Alex left her unable to move. No matter what she had said, she was tired and stressed. She was also stubborn.
He heard her feet tiptoe to a stop in his doorway and tried to suppress a groan without much luck, "go to bed Emma. You'll feel better in the morning." He covered his face with a pillow and tried his best to block out the nights events and sleep while Emma continued watching him trying thinking about what to do next. The Emma he knew was spirited and unpredictable sure, but he found it difficult to believe even she would just waltz into someone house in the middle of the night and declare her love, and yet there she was leaning against the doorway, fiddling with her bracelet and biting her lip in that infuriating way she did when she was trying to figure something out. He heard her shuffle, "I really do love you Alex." She whispered quietly, and with that she padded away leaving him to his not so peaceful slumber.
Alex Knightley, tall, handsome, and the picture of perfect health, awoke the next morning feeling far more tired than he ought to. He had a kink in his neck, and a terrible feeling of dread was swirling around him. This wasn't a new feeling for him, he just usually knew the reason, and that reason was usually- Emma! Of course how could he have forgotten? There was a muffled sound from the living room, and he halted in his search of the cupboards for the new box of cereal. Cautiously he peered around the corner and spied a mass of chestnut hair, hanging from the arm of the couch. Sure enough there lay his business partner, curled up, hair mussed, mouth ajar, yet beautiful as ever. He left her in peace making sure to give her space should she want to retreat when she woke up. She was after all still upset and confused about recent events no matter how she might try to convince him, and even if she really does love him, and he hopes she does, and he wouldn't allow her to do anything she might regret later. He brushes his hand through his hair anxiously as he eats his cereal. A call to Izzy might be the best thing to do but if Emma ever found out, she would make him suffer miserably. There wasn't much time to think about it as Emma calmly entered the room, pulled a bowl out of the cupboard and sat down next to him. They ate in silence, neither looking at the other, seeming to find their breakfast extraordinarily fascinating. Emma placed her spoon down carefully and turned to look straight at him. You were the one that said we should be more honest with each other, I love you, and I've done that. Now if you don't feel anything back, tell me now," She twisted her bracelet a few times. "And we can pretend I never did either."
Alex was faced with the dilemma of encouraging her when her judgment was obviously impaired, telling her exactly how he felt, and cruelly lying to her with the possibility of never having this chance again. His hesitation was bothering her, he could tell, her breathing was quickening and now she was refusing to look him in the eye. Was she trying not to cry? Instead of talking he did what he had berated Emma for doing. "I'm going for a run," he blurted out. And so he left Emma alone in his kitchen for the second time this weekend.