"I love having a real fireplace." Sara whispered.

They were sitting on their couch snuggled together, a fire blazing before them. Michael had his arms wrapped around her, holding her as close as physics would allow

"I didn't know there was such thing as a fake fireplace." He smirked; he stroked her head then dropped a gentle kiss onto it.

"I had candles in mine, genius." She lifted her head a little, "It was pretty, but I always wanted to have a real fireplace. My landlord would have killed me though. I like having a real one."

Took her candle fireplace, Michael thought. Completely missing her last sentence.

Their meals were always an event. It started with actually making the food. Then it was rounding everyone up. Michael was always in his hammock and didn't like to get off it even for food. Lincoln would walk along the beach but how far and in which direction could never be determined. LJ was the easiest to find, in the water pretending he could surf. Then when they sat down it was chaos. LJ wanted to tell his dad about his new technique, Lincoln wanted to tell Michael about a new hide out he found, Michael wanted to talk to Sara. And Sara wanted to dish out the food before it was cold.

Later that night when she was laying beside him in their hammock, she told him about her smoothie fetish. She told him how every morning she'd buy herself a smoothie so she wouldn't have to eat lunch. Then at night she'd buy another one so she won't have to have dinner. She hated eating alone.

Took her smoothies, Michael thought to himself, again missing the point of her story.

At night they'd play games, if everyone was willing. They had sequence, trivial pursuit, and risk. Somehow the games always ended violent. LJ always accused his father of cheating, with Michael in agreement. Linc would toss the board and only Sara knew that Michael had been cheating.

"I would rent a movie ever single night." She told him after one such game. "Didn't matter if I watched it or not. I'd just play it so I wouldn't be in that quiet apartment all by myself. Now I miss evenings without digging the risk board out of the fire."

Took her movies-hell I can't even give her a TV, Michael thought, missing her laughter.

They were wrapped in each other, many nights later. Both sweaty and exhausted.

"Most of the time I'd sleep on my couch." She muttered into his bare chest. She traced the course of his tattoo, "I hated sleeping on my bed…it was so big it only reminded me that I was alone."

"Took her couch," Michael muttered quietly.

"What?" Sara lifted herself up, bracing a hand on his chest.

Michael looked away, ashamed that he had spoken his thought.

"You didn't take my couch, Michael." Sara whispered gently, staring deeply into his eyes.

"Yes I did, Sara." He sighed then trained his eyes back to her, "I took your candle fireplace, I took your smoothies, I took your movies, I took your couch-"

Sara let out an angry sigh, "You never listen to me, do you?"

"I always listen Sara." He lifted a hand to stroke her face.

"But you never hear what I'm telling you." She pushed his hand away from her face. "I didn't tell you those things for you to add to your list of wrong doings."

"But they are-I took away all those things from you," He stared up at her sadly.

Sara gave a sympathetic smile and laid back beside him, she wrapped an arm around his chest. "Michael I listed those things so you would know what you've given me. I have a real fireplace, I have real meals with people I love, I haven't had a boring evening in months and I never fear sleeping in a bed because I know you'll always be here waiting for me."

Michael stroked her hair back, "You never miss it?"

"Sitting in a dark apartment staring at the ceiling or sleeping with you—" She moved her head to smile at him. "Not a chance."

Michael grinned back, "Goodnight Sara."

Sara laid her head back on his chest, "Goodnight Michael."

"Sara?" Michael whispered twenty minutes later, "Sara-"

"Ummm?" She groaned briefly.

"I love you."

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