i think it's love | ethma

fourteen

He opens the door after three knocks.

Ethan seems to be a little surprised to find her standing there at his apartment door, hands stuffed into pockets of her peacoat, expression drawn tight. But he lets her in.

As he closes the door behind them, Emma tries hard not to think about what happened the last time she was here.

"Why are you here, Emma?" he asks gruffly behind her. She doesn't answer for a good moment; she's looking around, taking in the papers on the desk, the open books, the furniture, the everything about the space he lives in that she didn't take in the last time she was here.

"Will is awake," she informs him after a few moments. "Totally lucid, even cracking bad jokes and everything."

"Don't care," he responds offhandedly, and she rolls her eyes to the ceiling.

She finally turns and gets out what she wanted to say. "His father pointed you out as a possible suspect of stabbing Will." Her own voice is detached as she says it.

She's watching him very closely, though, so the way he blinks slowly is the only indication that he's shocked by this. "What?"

She shrugs. "That's what they're saying. Because you have no alibi or something."

His jawline tightens. "That's what they think? That's what Sophia thinks?"

Emma shrugs. "She thinks maybe."

"Maybe what?" he growls. "Maybe I tried to murder him because his father is the reason my mother is dead?"

Well, he hit the nail on the head. "What is it about that that bothers you?" she inquires curiously. "The fact that you're a suspect, or that Sophia and Dayton suspect you after all this time of knowing you?"

The way his eyes flash murderously tells her all she needs to know.

"I don't care what they think," he tells her coldly, folding his arms.

"Is that right?" she asks mockingly, because suddenly she's angry with him and she doesn't even know why. "You don't care that she thinks you might be a murderer?"

"I don't care," he repeats indifferently with a sardonic smile at the ceiling.

She's not having it. Not this time. She's done. "Who are you trying to convince, me or you?"

"Fuck off." His words hold no venom, just tiredness.

Emma takes a step closer. "But I know you, Ethan."

He watches her wearily and she continues.

"You want everyone to think you don't care," Emma declares. "But you do, don't you? You care more than anyone would be able to believe. That's what scares you."

He still says nothing, but the muscle ticking in his jaw tells her she's hit a nerve. She goes on.

She leans in further. "I think it scares you that you care so much about people who aren't Grayson." She takes a deep, shaky breath. "It scares you that you care about what people think. It scares you that you care about Nate and Amanda and WIll and— I think it scares you that you care about me." He is so silent at that, almost not seeming to breath, that a flicker of doubt goes through her. "You— you care about me." It ends up sounding like a question instead of the steadfast statement she's been trying to make.

He releases a shaky breath, glaring now. "Obviously I care about you, Emma."

She steps right into his space, heart thundering. "Yeah?" He doesn't back down, and she doesn't even try to stop her gaze from flickering down to his lips before rising back to his eyes. "Be more obvious."

One moment he's glowering at her with something like hatred but when he suddenly moves forward, crushing his lips against hers, Emma realizes it's just the opposite.

The kiss has a searing fire to it, but there's a steady burn underneath; his lips are hard and insisting, but the way he cradles her face with his hands like she's precious, strokes her cheeks with his thumbs, is so touchingly soft. In turn, she winds her hands into his silky hair (god how she loves his hair) and pulls him down further.

When they part for air, they're both breathing rapidly. They don't get too far, mere inches between them.

"Do you believe it?" His voice is raspier than usual, and his eyes aren't hard anymore; he's stripped bare in front of her, undone. His hands are trembling a little bit on her face.

"That you tried to murder my best friend?" she asks shakily, looking directly into his eyes. "Not a chance."

His eyes melt. That's the only way to explain his expression when he hears the surety in her voice. She goes on.

"You may be an idiot all the time," she says, "but I know you, Ethan. You're a good person." If there's one thing she knows, after everything, it's that.

This time he leans forward quite deliberately to drop a chaste kiss on her lips. It's quite a different kiss than the one that just occurred; it's almost a thank you, in its own strange way. And then he leans his forehead against hers and they both try to just catch their breath.

"Thank you," he says softly. "For believing in me."

"You want to thank me?" Emma retorts, her hand curling around the back of his neck. He nods at her.

She's tired of playing games. She leans forward and captures his earlobe between her teeth, biting down lightly like she did on that other night. She hears his sharp intake of breath. She lets go and whispers into his ear, in her most throaty, raspy voice, "Then fuck me."

His hands tighten on her waist and there's silence for a split second.

helloooo