Be kind to her.

You shush her gently. ‘I’ve already forgotten.’

Emma clings tighter to your t-shirt, her fingers curling around it like a child’s. ‘No… you shouldn’t let me off that easily. I am sorry, really.’

‘I’m sorry, too.’ Just saying it seems to lift a weight off your chest. ‘We both fucked up,’ you say quietly, ‘and we’re both sorry. That’s okay. That’s good. Nobody’s perfect all the time. Not even you.’

Emma makes a small, exasperated sound, but snuggles even closer. ‘I’m nowhere near perfect. You must have worked that out by now.’

You don’t respond for such a long time that Emma twists her head, blinking up at you owlishly. ‘What? Are you okay?’

‘Yeah,’ you say, gazing down at her. ‘Thing is, Emma… you may not think you’re perfect, but I sure as hell keep on forgetting.’

Emma can’t quite keep the smile off her face. ‘You’re silly,’ she says, rubbing her cheek against your chest. ‘If I was perfect, I wouldn’t have tortured us both for a week, would I?’

You chuckle, running a hand over her shoulder. ‘Maybe not, but I still feel like I’m dreaming. Every time I see you, I think: I can’t be this lucky.’

Emma nips at your chest playfully. ‘Well, if this is a dream…’ She smiles up at you suddenly, with such affection in her eyes that your heart skips a beat. ‘Please knock me the fuck back out.’

She doesn’t swear often outside the bedroom, and hearing her crisp enunciation of the curse word makes you smile and squeeze her even tighter. Emma squeaks, but giggles and lets you hold her.

‘I feel like I can breathe again,’ you tell her quietly. Emma kisses your neck softly.

‘Me, too. Let’s not fight very often, okay? I miss you too much.’