A/N: This is so fucking sappy, I tell you what. I'm sure some of you will walk away with a few extra dental bills but I hope it hasn't come off as petulant as it feels. Whatever, just have fun with it please.

As for some serious talk, I'm currently revising the schedule for this collection and will putting updates on my tumblr (anotheropti). So if you wanna keep in touch if anything strange happens tomorrow post-wise, then follow me or just check in.

note #2: the parenthesised and bracketed bits are from my own tendency to "listen" to characters I'm writing as I write them. For clarity, parentheses are Andy's thoughts and brackets are April's.

It's watching her from a distance, not caring what others think of it as long as she's okay with it, and then content with just being around. It's hearing her laugh at something stupid he's done, and he knows how much of an idiot he makes himself out to be, or when he speaks and knows the words are beyond stupid but maybe she'll smirk or chuckle at them. It beats in his chest, something burying itself so deep in him it almost hurts, and the thrumming of it makes breathing hard; sitting still a nightmare; his understanding of who he is melting away in its presence.

And now, he thinks maybe they can grow a little with those new roots. Just a little different, and it's not even real change… just a little growth as them. He's never been made happier than when that's answered with a resounding:

"Sure."

It's standing there, watching her from that short distance, and the overwhelming realization as she gives him that grin that yells back – I'm not sure of what we're doing, but hell if I'm not gonna try – and his lungs squeal in an attempt to find air that's suddenly lost. It's hearing her say that she wants to spend the rest of her life – the rest of her entire life – with him (with me?) and not really comprehending what that much time actually means, but it doesn't matter. She says yes, he's not going to answer with anything else either, and they've made it official.

It's wondering if April actually even cares about his band, like it isn't one of the most important things in his life – so important, but barely even a weed in comparison to them; to her – and wondering what that means. It's staring her in the eyes when she walks up and has a look on her face – his recently sold guitar, now stolen back for him – and it's something so different than what he's used to. It's that look, that way her eyes kind of light up when he talks about her (it's the truth, though) as if she's the most important thing in the world – and, God, he's never going to say anything but – and the way they spend that night so close, so long after sex, and he doesn't want to let go of her.

It's being scared that, even now, April can't trust him. Even if it means something as simple as her workday, or as important as withholding her trust in dreams and secrets, he wants to know. He doesn't have to know, of course (just because she's married doesn't mean she's not still April, right?) but it kinda hurts when she keeps things away from him like this. It's listening to her finally tell you that she does have a dream, and she's considering it but she's afraid what he has to say on the matter – and, shit, she's never been dumber in that moment.

It's supporting her in that because he can, at least, do that for her. It's figuring out why, and what's making that happen.

It's love.

She's sure he's one of the simplest people on the planet. From his lack of finesse, poise, to his candor, sometimes verging on insensitivity, all of it seems bewildering. He's one of the few people that honestly confuse her so that's probably where it comes from at first.

It's being a little concerned at the glances that fall away into looks when she turns to catch him, and then when they linger into stares. At some point she'll have to tell him to stop, but she can never really figure out the right time in the middle of a conversation or any of their more prolonged afternoons together in City Hall. It's probably wondering when genuine curiosity stopped being the primary motivator and just talking to him took its place. It's definitely when she catches herself biting her lip and staring at him, holding the cup of coffee so near that it's close to bursting over the lid.

It's the jealousy, the fury, and disappointment – and that last one so much more than the others – when she's in Venezuela. All two-hundred and forty-two voice mails [I definitely didn't keep those for a month] that she patently refused to listen to – or, so she says [...because I totally didn't listen to any of them] because she feels a sad giddiness in hearing them every day: at first excited, then a dark realization that she was supposed to be mad at him – they were definitely part of it.

(Seriously, I have no idea why you're not answering me. If you're mad, tell me, because it's super boring without you)

It's that one, that voice mail. It's wanting to respond.

It's at first thinking how easy it would be to run away from this all and not get married to him, but then walking and her feet carrying her without another thought when she sees his face. It's that face, watching his breath catch for longer than was probably healthy for his brain, and glancing over to Leslie that makes it seem so real [that's not what I was thinking].

It's seeing him so beaten down by the rejection that she has to help him. Officer Andy Dwyer is gone from his dreams, and watching fall apart in that, makes her heart give a twist [wow… that's so stupid, it's not even remotely correct]. It's missing the vibrancy, all the insanity in the house at four in the morning, and hating seeing him so far removed from himself. It's trying to help, finding every avenue from Tom to Ben's charity thing, just so she can see him happy again. Without him like that, she's the positive one and that's just not how they're supposed to work.

It's knowing that he's better than that, and wanting to show him just how much better he can be, that makes her get off her usually apathetic ass and help him. It's figuring out why, and what's making her do it.

It's love.

"I love you," he says, his eyes never leaving hers even when she has to look away.

"Oh my God, you can stop saying it already," April answers because the way his voice sort of croaked that out felt more important than anything else.

"I love you," he puts his hands on her waist and still refuses to break his glare.

"Andy," she complains, and if something's actually falling down her cheek she's sure as shit never divulging that information. "Dude, stop."

"I love you," he nearly growls, pulling her closer to him and that stupid jersey.

Maybe it's because everything that's happened that night is hitting her all at once but April feels incredibly vulnerable and open in that moment. With the freely falling tears, the short dress, and how close they were she can't think of any other reasons. It's definitely just some sort of stupid emotional high, she reminds herself.

"I love you too," she finally gets out, and Andy's lips shift ever so slightly but she can't get over that ridiculous feeling that those words actually mean something coming out of her mouth.

And maybe it's because he's heard it countless times now, but Andy's confused why those words still floor him. He chalks it up to the feeling of April pushing her head into his chest as they dance slowly – alone, way after the wedding when everyone's left, because she refuses to let anyone but him see her like that – to the Sinatra rendition of that song he purposefully dedicated to her. That felt so long ago, and Andy's so happy that despite the run they've had it's all come back to this.

It's just that – it's just love. Simple as, and simply put, it's everything they want.

It's them.