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Wine-stained lips to kiss me awake

Summary:

Had George always been so pretty?

It was the alcohol, Emma decided. The red wine was both staining his lips and flushing his cheeks pink whilst putting her in rose-coloured glasses. La vie en rosé.

*

“George?” she asked. “What do you think of marriage?”

“As a concept?” he asked.

“As in, for you.”

*

In which Emma falls in love with her bestfriend over Sunday morning pancakes, a cold, Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and an engagement party.

Notes:

This was written with Emma (2020) in mind. Also their ages are 27 and 23.

Emma and Mr. Knightly make me crave that ”If I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more” type of love, and it’s deliciously painful. So this is me, in serious need not to be single anymore… I think there’s a reason I gravitate toward Modern AUs…

Only upon finishing this did I realise there was no plot :)

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

When had George’s lips become so pink and prominent? Had his cheekbones always protruded like that? And had his eyes always looked at her in that satisfied way?

It was the alcohol, Emma decided. The red wine was both staining his lips and flushing his cheeks pink whilst putting her in rose-coloured glasses.

La vie en rosé

It had been a long time since Emma was in love. Not that she was in love now, not with George, her best friend for years and years. No, she wasn’t in love, but perhaps that was why she craved it so. Perhaps that was why she looked at her closest friend as if there was anything more between them when she firmly knew there wasn’t.

Fuck, Emma needed to get laid.

She hadn’t been on a date since Elton unwelcomly came onto her and confessed his love for her at the Christmas Party Harriet and Robert threw, and efficiently turned her off men for the next three months. That was long ago now, and Emma was growing bored of her lonesome, but the idea of dating still seemed unappealing.

The closest Emma had gotten to dating in the last few months was the friendly flirting she and Frank Churchill threw back and forth every now and then, besides, that was probably platonic. The only reason it was probably instead of definitely was that Frank had a very charming and flirty personality that was hard to read. The way he play-flirted with Emma, holding her close, calling her cornier and cornier nicknames and finding innuendos in everything, was often taken as romantic interest by outsiders who weren't familiar with the dynamic.

Not that Emma would be interested in the slim chance he was interested. They’d kissed in the past, stood in dark corners at parties when Frank visited highbury in their youth. That was back when they were only 17 and 18. It’d been fun then, but nothing serious, and ever since they’d reconnected after her move to London she had no reason to believe it would be repeated.

Sitting now, in Harriet and Robert's apartment, celebrating their re-housewarming after flooding repairs from February, Frank Chrurchill was far from the forefront of Emma’s mind.

Instead it was George, half snoozing across from her on the sofa, and Emma made a point having drunk too much wine to have these thoughts. Her and George? Laughable. Looking at the coffee table however, their state wasn’t very surprising. The foursome had ordered three pizzas to share and washed it down with equally as many bottles of wine. Now they were neatly lined up on the table next to the cardboard boxes filled with crusts and crumbs.

Emma nudged George with her foot. He blinked awake.

George looked more tired than she’d seen him lately, which said something considering he was working almost 12 hours a day at his new job. Though it was silly, she felt responsible for his well being. She presumed it was a bi effect of not having anyone to look after since her father still resided in Highbury, ever so resistant to change. She saw George everyday and saw the toll his work took on him, on her George.

George, whom she’d befriended when they were only two scrawny, fairheaded children of 7 and 11 summers. George, who worked so hard to live up to what his parents would have wanted and to take care of his younger brother when he became his guardian at only 19. George, who at 27 was already so much more responsible than most adults she knew. He would make a great father, she mused.

It would getter better soon, though, she reminded herself. He was going to quit soon, find something else. She’d made him promise it, seeing how miserable he was there, and he could only agree.

“George,” Emma nudged him again. “Let’s get a cab home. Robert and Harriet went to bed already.”

He stretched a little on the couch as Emma watched. He stood up and rolled his shoulders.

“What?” He asked, “Do I have something in my teeth?”

He bared his teeth playfully. She threw a pillow at him that he masterfully ducked.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Resorting to violence, are we?”

There was the old George she loved and loathed.

“Let’s just go home.” She rolled her eyes and rolled out from the sofa.

*

George lived not far from Emma, her flat was only two floors above his in fact. They had always been neighbours, so why let tradition die? Emma had left Highbury with Harriet for university. They used to live together, until Harriet moved in with her boyfriend, Robert. Before then, they had lived in her current flat, in the same building as George. It was actually he who had introduced Harriet and Rob.

George followed Emma to the fifth floor and they hugged goodbye at her door before he shuffled down the stairs again.

“Are you coming for breakfast tomorrow?” Emma asked, sticking her head over the railing of the stairway, likely waking the entire building in the process.

“Shhh,” George hushed her, louder than she had initially spoken. He looked up at her from the other side of the stairway, a floor down, before adding: “I always do, don’t I?”

Sunday morning breakfast was another tradition they had kept alive even after moving from Highbury to London. Then, of course, George would walk over the fields between Donwell and Hartfield for her fathers delicious homemade brunch. Now he only shuffled fifty meters in his pyjamas and morning robe to help Emma make some haphazardly pancakes with varying degrees of edibility.

Emma beamed a smile his way. “Bring eggs, I’m all out.”

He muttered a non-committal answer before she stepped away and his echoing steps resumed down the stairs.

*

It took only a week before Emma was back in that hopeless state, although this time feeling tipsy rather than drunk but equally as love starved. This time, however, in a pub with a few more friends around her and Frank to console her. He half sat on a chair across from her in the corner booth they had managed to snag. Their heads were ducked close together as he told her the gossip about the newest intern at his office, and she in turn told him of what she planned, or rather hadn’t planned, to do after uni this year.

“You could come work for me, you know? My company.” Frank offered. It wasn’t strictly his company as much as his aunt’s, but she was soon to retire and the family owned company would surely fall to him next.

“Maybe for a little while. I don’t think it’s my scene though. You know I’m studying to become a journalist, right?” Emma retorted.

“Perks of knowing the boss.” He winked.

“Soon to be, you mean, if you’re lucky.”

“Ouch, it would do you good to have some faith, Woodhouse,” Frank stood up with their empty beer glasses. “I’ll get us another round.”

“Alright, but I want the fruitiest, pinkest drink on their menu. Whatever society has deemed girly, I want.” Emma said and leaned against her elbow to look up at him. “Please,” she added, batting her lashes playfully.

Frank rolled his eyes. “Alright,” he heaved with a smile.

When he left Emma looked for Harriett and Rob, who had long since gone off to the minimal dance floor in the next room that was already packed with people. Instead she met eyes with George, next to Jane Fairfax. Emma frowned slightly. She had been waiting for George to show up, but he’d gotten caught at work, and Jane, well Jane…

Emma had never been great friends with Jane. They were the same age, and it seemed like everyone just expected them to be close because they grew up in such a small town and would meet when Jane visited her aunt in the summers.

Emma’s frown deepened as Jane ran a hand down George’s back and leaned in close to say something over the loud music before she slipped to the bar to presumably get a drink. George looked after her for a second before walking over to Emma.

Since when had that been a thing? Sure, Emma knew the two of them worked in the same building, but they weren’t really friends, were they?

Though they were the same age, Jane was already working. Emma had taken a year off to rest up from school and wait in Harriet so they could begin university together. She couldn’t very well leave the one year younger girl all alone in Highbury for a year. The sabbatical had been a choice the ever over-worked George found silly, mocking that Emma was “on a spiritual journey to find herself” when really she was working in the towns seamstress shop, but then again he found everything she did silly to some degree.

Now Emma regretted it slightly, if only because Jane looked so accomplished leaning against the bar with her white shirt and knee length skirt. Emma wouldn’t be surprised if she turned around to reveal a pearl necklace, tiara and an abundance of golden rings gifted from the CEO themselves.

Self-consciously, Emma started playing with the colorful resin and pearl rings that covered her fingers in shapes of flowers and hearts. Her vinyl skirt and crop top made her feel beneath Jane. Younger, less experienced, less mature, though they were only a few months apart in age.

Emma looked up as George sat down in Frank’s seat. She put on an easy smile, hiding her train of thought: “Hi!” she said breezyily.

“Hey. Everything good?” George asked as he shook off his coat.

She noted that he too was wearing a white shirt she was sad to find didn’t fit him properly. How many times had she asked him to let her shop for him? The arms were puffy and long, but he rolled them up, and to be fair his chest filled out the front perfectly, leaving the shirt only a little loose around the waist where it was tucked into his sleek pants. He looked as accomplished as Jane.

“Yup.” She nodded, “Turned in my last assignment for English lit.”

“Mmhmm, what masterpiece was it this time?” George quizzed.

“I argued that the relationship depicted in Jane Eyre between Jane and Mr. Rochester was actually toxic.”

George, a famous lover of the classics, quirked an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“He is childish, kept important secrets from her and lied about his wife. Not to mention that he was her boss, which would make the relationship highly unprofessional, and in the end she was basically bound to take care of him!”

“Do you really believe all that?”

Emma shrugged and reached for her drink, remembering that Frank had taken her glass to get her a new one. What was taking him so long anyway?

George watched her with an amused expression.

“No,” she straightened up, “Perhaps not all of it, but if I argue enough I can make sense of any opinion. It’s a guaranteed A.”

George smirked at her. “If you say so.” Emma held his gaze steadily, seizing up to the challenge.

She only broke away when a cocktail glass was set in front of her. The drink was pink and had a sugar rim. Over the rim hung a slice of lime and half a strawberry, with an umbrella resting against the other side.

“Ah, the things I do for you,” Frank said and sank down on the seat next to her on the sofa-bench. Jane set down a pint of beer before George before taking the seat across Frank and sipping on her own pint.

“What is it?” Emma asked and took a sip.

“They didn’t have anything I think you’d deem acceptably girly enough, so I had them make something especially for you. It’s soda water, syrup, gin, watermelon juice, a little bit of lemon and then some cranberry juice to top it all off. It might taste horrible but if you like it you can ask for an ‘Emma’ at the bar. The umbrella will cost you extra though.”

“Mmm” Emma sighed after the delicious taste. “Perfectly girly and acceptable, as per my command.”

“Sorry if it’s a little watered down, some of the ice might’ve melted while I was chatting with Jane. Had to speak with her before she and George disappeared to discuss work all evening.”

Emma noticed Jane looking down and taking a sip of her pint. Emma wondered if she was blushing.

“That’s all right. Hello, Jane.” She smiled politely. “How is your aunt?”

“Oh, same old. Still chatty. She still wonders why we all fled Highbury instead of staying to live and die there, as if it’s every twenty-somethings dream to live in a town where the nightlife consists of bingo at the communal hall.” Jane replied.

Emma reluctantly cracked a smile. So perhaps Jane wasn’t all bad. “I’ll toast to that.” Emma raised her glass in a silent peace offering Jane probably wasn't aware of.

“Me too,” Frank said and moved in to clink his glass against Emma’s. He put his arm around her shoulders and leaned over to toast with George’s half full pint, then Jane’s.

They all said cheers and drank. Emma took a sip and set down her pink watermelon, cranberry abomination at the same time as George’s empty glass hit the table.

She looked up in surprise and he met her gaze sheepishly. “Long day at work.”, he said and drummed the table with his fingers before standing up. “I’m going to get another one.”

*

It took only half an hour for George to catch up. Jane took it a little easier, nursing a glass of wine and chatting lowly with Harriet, who had returned from the dance floor. Rob was talking with George.

Frank, still with his arm around her shoulders, leaned in close to whisper in Emma’s ear: “Is it only me or is this smalltalk frightfully boring?” Emma giggled. She looked up and found George and Harriet’s eyes on her, and Rob studying George from his crouching position on the floor.

“Should we dance instead?” Emma offered, looking back at Frank. She suddenly noticed how close their faces were and made a point of standing up to create some distance between them. She offered her hand.

Frank smiled and took it, standing up. He placed his hand around his hip. “Gladly,” he said before turning back to their company. “Anyone else care to join us? Jane?”

“Sure,” she said and stood up.

“Oh, I just came from there” Harriet excused herself and fanned her red face with her hand. Rob muttered in agreement as he sat down next to Harriet and kissed her cheek. “We’ll hang back,” he filled in.

Emma looked expectantly at George. She knew he wasn’t much of a dancer, but once in a while, with the help of some alcohol, he would indulge her. It seemed he wouldn’t tonight.

“I have to finish my drink,” George said. Emma didn’t comment on the fact that it was almost empty.

“Alright then.” Frank said and placed a hand on Emma's back to guide her to the next room. Jane linked up next to him as three proceeded to walk toward the dance floor.

The dance floor was dark and crowded, filled with people dancing, kissing and jumping up and down. Emma was pushed around and lost contact with Jane and Frank, but she didn’t mind as she found herself in the middle of a mosh pit. The push of strangers' bodies around her grew normal in the crowded space, never too close for comfort until someone tugged on her arm. Horrified, Emma spun round to find George drowning among the people.

“George!” she shone up and tugged his arm to bring him into her small space in the middle of the crowd. “You changed your mind.”

He shrugged and said something she couldn’t quite hear.

“What?” She said over the music.

He leaned in close. She felt his breath on her ear as he said: “Harriet and Rob kept willing me to go away with their eyes. Seemed they wanted to be left alone.”

Emma smiled. “Good man,” she stood on her toes and said in his ear.

There was a shift in the crowd, probably another mosh pit, and George was shoved to the side. Emma grabbed his wrist and pulled him back to her.

“Stay close, you might get lost.” she laughed.

George nodded and moved closer to her. He placed a hand around her shoulders as they started jumping along to the many beat drops. They must’ve danced for half an hour before Emma placed her hands around George’s neck to lean up and comment on something that he found ridiculous and scoffed at, before she retorted, and then they’d remained like that. Glued together song through song.

They kept dancing for another twenty minutes or so, before Rob came to get them to take the shots Harriet was apparently ordering. He glanced between them before telling them to come along.

The round of shots turned into two, then three. First some hideous sweet thing, then something that tasted of artificial apple, and half an hour later a classic tequila shot. By the end of the evening none of the six could stand on their own.

*

Emma had breakfast at George’s flat the next morning instead of her own, as was the custom, since she had apparently spent the night. They had woken up in the same bed, dressed in yesterday's wrinkled clothes and with no clear recollection of how they got home. All she could say was thank the lord they had, and didn’t lie dead in a ditch somewhere.

George had borrowed her a shirt that engulfed her and went off to shower. In the meantime Emma got started on the Sunday morning pancakes, which now doubled as hangover pancakes. It would be so easy to go home, take a shower and sleep, yet she didn’t. She washed her makeup off poorly in the kitchen sink, watched George flip pancakes by the stove in his blue morning robe, fresh T-shirt and sweatpants and stayed there all day.

They spent most of it drinking water, taking ibuprofen and watching day-time TV from George’s sofa. They ordered Indian food around five and then battled over who got how much of the space on the coffee table.

“It’s my coffee table. I bought and assembled it myself.”

“I paid for the food, didn’t I?” She elbowed him in the side. “Scootch.”

He did, but only an inch. They still sat shoulder to shoulder, battling for terf. Emma flicked George with a piece of her garlic Naan bread.

“Hey!” George scoffed before tackling her into the sofa and stealing her bread to take a big bite. “You were right, I should have taken garlic,” he mumbled, mouth full, before she snatched it back.

When Emma got downstairs she set her alarm and fell into bed immediately, still wearing George’s oversized sweatshirt. It smelled like him, comforting. She fell asleep quickly.

*

A month later Emma was typing on her laptop in a small coffee shop when she got the invite.

“Huh.” she muttered.

“What is it?” George again, across from her and reading his newspaper, barely looked up. Emma was studying for her finals, and George had come to join her for his lunch break. His half eaten tuna-sandwich laid next to her already licked clean muffin wrapper.

“Mail from Frank. Barely happens.” She clicked on it, skimming through the attached file. “Dear Emma, Jane and I are delighted to announce….. Engagement Party?”

“What?” She looked up in shock. “Did you know Jane Fairfax and Frank Chruchill are engaged? I saw Frank just two weeks ago, didn’t even mention he was with her!”

George carefully studied her face, then downcast his eyes. “Oh, I think it was a secret. His aunt wouldn’t approve, you know, but she apparently had a health scare last week and started re-evaluating her life. Said it doesn’t matter who Frank loves and is set to retire at the end of the year. He’s taking over the company.”

George took a sip of coffee, like this was the most trivial of news.

What?” Emma asked again. “How come you know this and I don’t? I know all the latest gossip!”

“Via the grapevine.” George avoided her eyes.

George?” she pressed

“Fine, Jane told me. We had lunch last Wednesday.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t even know you and Jane were friends.”

“Because I…”George huffed. “I… I don’t know.”

The silence hung in the air while he collected his thoughts. “I didn’t know they were engaged. Jane only mentioned in passing that she and Frank had been dating for a while, but that I couldn’t mention it to anyone. I don’t think she meant to say it either, only slipped out when she said she woke up at his place after that night at the pub. It must have happened very recently.”

Still hesitating, he added: “I guess I thought you’d get hurt. I know you and Frank are close. And I know you have a past together.”

Emma looked at him. She didn’t know if she’d call a few kisses a ’past’, so to say, but she appreciated his concern nonetheless. “George, you don’t have to worry about my feelings.”

George held her gaze for a moment, before looking away. “Oh. Good to know.” He cleared his throat before meeting her eyes with a small smile. “I won’t then.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“Do you think you’ll go?” She added after a moment.

George shrugged. “Yeah, have no reason not to.”

Emma nodded. “Okay. We can go together then.”

George gave her a tightlipped smile and a nod before returning to his newspaper.

*

The same evening as she received the invitation Emma called to congratulate Jane and to curse out Frank, who laughed heartily at her foul mouth.

“Emma, Emma, it was a secret. I couldn’t tell you. What type of secret-keeper am I then?” He said on the other line. “I can expect you at the party then?” he asked immediately after, always the self-satisfied jerk.

“Of course,” she huffed. They hadn’t picked a date for the wedding yet, but the engagement party was on the first Saturday of June. “I’ll be there.”

*

Sadly, Emma got sick the week before, and did her best to get well. She didn’t want to miss the party. All of Highbury would surely be invited, and it had been so long since she saw her old school teacher, the now Mrs. Weston, who was married to Frank’s father. She doubted her own, germophobic father would come, but perhaps her sister would come up from the sea where she resided with her husband, George’s younger brother John.

For a week Emma lived on vitamin D-supplements, tea, nasal spray and cough syrup, not literally though. That’s just how she described it to Harriet over the phone one evening.

“I think I’m getting better?” she said, “I’m barely coughing anymore, just a bit snotty and tired.”

“Awww, babes.” Harriet cooed on the other line. “Have you had any dinner yet?”

“No,” she said honestly. “I’ve got no appetite, and there’s no food in the fridge.”

“I’d love to run over and help but I’m having dinner with Robert and his sisters tonight.”

“No, of course. It’s alright, thank you. I just wanted to hear your voice. It’s been so long since I’ve seen anyone.” Emma chuckled.

“You could always ask George to go shopping for you?” Harriet suggested tentatively.

“No, he’s so overworked already. I don’t want to stress him out any more. I’m fine. I probably have something in the freezer.”

Harriet sighed unwillingly. “Alright. As long as you're sure.”

They chatted for a few more minutes before Harriet had to go get ready. Emma pressed play on yet another episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, which had become her guilty pleasure show since she fell ill. She’d watched through a season and a half already and was getting started on her third.

Halfway through the episode there was a knock at her door.

Emma opened it to reveal George. He looked her over, not commenting on the fact that she was in his sweatshirt.

“Harriet called,” he explained and pushed his way inside with a bag of groceries before Emma could object.

He set the bag down on the counter and started unpacking.

“What are you doing?” She asked as he pulled out a pot from her kitchen cabinet.

“Making you dinner, since you seem incapable of that yourself.” He explained. “Hope you like store bought tomato soup and pasta.”

“My favourite,” she beamed. “Did you get the small pasta?”

“Risoni? Two boxes.”

Later, they sat on the sofa with their bowls of soups, watching the mess that was the white party as the Housewives fought.

“Oh god,” George groaned, now heavily invested in the drama. “I can’t believe they did that to Kim! She’s clearly going through some shit.”

Over her last spoonful of soup Emma looked over at George, amused.

“What?” He questioned, and rolled his eyes. “All I’m saying is that Kim and Kyle are sisters, and they pretend to be a united front, but they always fight and, honestly Kyle could be kinder.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she said with a glint in her eye.

They turned back to the tv. A comfortable silence fell between them, the type that is only comfortable when you’ve known the person long enough to not feel the need to perform for them. After a while Emma turned her head and looked at George. He met her eyes.

“What?” George questioned again. “You’ve been staring at me an awful lot lately.”

“Thank you,” she said, ignoring his comment. “I appreciate you coming over.”

His face softened. “Of course,” George replied, “You should have called me if you needed help.”

She set her bowl on the table and reached out her hand from a safe distance. George took it and squeezed it before scooting closer to Emma.

“You’re not afraid you’ll get sick?” She asked.

“It’ll be worth it,” he said, and pulled her to his chest. They watched on in silence as George stroked her hair, only commenting once in a while with a muttered: “Oh my god,” or “Listen to her!” or even “You’re making her feel ganged up on! God, I know you want to help but you need to do something more and show that you care and support her!”, quickly followed by “Oh, sorry” to Emma who had fallen asleep off and on in his arms.

After the next episode ended, George sat with her for a moment before he turned off the Tv and carried her to bed.

“I can walk myself, you know,” Emma commented, having awoken from her light sleep again by the commotion.

“Yeah, but you’re sick, so I’ll be nice just this once.”

“You’re always nice, George.” She argued from his arms. Her gaze was so intense he almost had to look away. “I love that about you.”

He did look away, but not because her eyes were so piercing and blue. It was because he couldn’t see where he was walking, and he couldn’t do with risking to stub a toe. It certainly wasn’t to hide the blush that creeped up into his cheeks.

*

“Yes, Emma?” George answered as he picked up the phone the next morning.

“It’s Frank and Jane’s engagement party tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know. Did you really call me just to remind me?”

“No, not only. I also wanted to say that I am much better today, so I will be in attendance.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but I’m at work Emma.”

Emma paused. She knew that, of course, it was in the middle of the Friday morning, but she’d really wanted to speak with him. “I just wanted to say: thank you for taking care of me yesterday. Really.”

There was a pause on George’s end. “Of course. You know I’d do anything for you. You're my best friend.” The words hung between them in the non-existent world between phone lines. “Was there anything else?” George asked.

“Well, I was just wondering if we could go together.”

“Go together?”

“Yes, we live in the same building so it’s only practical, and I’d prefer to have someone to talk to since all our friends are now inexplicably in couples.” Emma hesitated for a moment, “Unless, of course, you have a date.” She added.

“No, no. Emma, you know I barely get out of this office.” he chuckled, sadly.

“Just a few more months,” she reminded him.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m holding on.” George sighed. “And I’d love to go with you.”

“Perfect! And wear that suit I like with the green tie you hate, I have a great dress that would go perfectly with it.”

For the first time in their conversation she could hear his smile as he spoke: “So we ought to be matching?” He seemed to find the notion musing.

“Why not? Everyone else will be.” She added.

He chuckled again, genuinely this time, and the sound of it made warmth spread in her chest. “Great, it’s a date. I’ll wear whatever tie you want.”

She was still smiling as they hung up.

*

Emma linked her arm with George’s as they stepped inside the venue. He flashed her a smile and rolled his eyes before repositioning his arm so she could keep a better hold.

“This is beautiful!” Emma burst out as she craned her neck to take it all in, the arcs in the high ceiling, the flower-decorated tables, the people dressed in their charming formal wear. “When I get married I want it to be in a place just like this!”

George chuckled. “You know this is not the actual wedding, right?”

Emma swatted her hand in the air as if to dismiss him. “I know, I know. I’m just pointing it out.”

They looked around for their friends, spotting Harriet and Rob in a corner. Snagging a glass of champagne each from the passing tray carried by a waiter they made their way over.

“Don’t the two of you look sharp together?” Harriet commented with a sweet smile. She hugged Emma tightly. “Glad to see you back on your feet. I assume nurse George has taken good care of you? Did he kiss it better?”

“No, mostly he got hooked on soaps and reality TV.” Emma replied and took a sip of champagne.

“Good to see you as always, Harriet,” George jumped in, teasing Harriet back. “I see you and Rob aren’t bedridden for the moment. A big accomplishment.”

Rob put an arm around her and kissed Harriets forehead, as she blushed a little. They all quipped like one big, old, married couple for a few minutes before heading over to congratulate Jane and Frank on their engagement.

*

Later in the evening, having pulled Emma aside, Harriet sat talking with her friend at one of the many tables around the open space that was now being used as a dancefloor and quizzed her on all things George.

“What is going on between the pair of you?” Harriet asked.

“What do you mean?” Emma asked in return and took a bite of the chocolate covered strawberry perched at the top of her glass. It tasted divine.

“There is obviously something there. Haven’t you noticed the way George keeps looking at you? He’s even doing it now!”

Emma turned around to find that George was, indeed, staring at her from across the room. He quickly whipped his head back to Rob and Frank, who he was talking with, as she took the strawberry out of her mouth.

“I don’t know if that means anything,” Emma argued, because she didn’t know if she wanted it to be like that. She had never liked George before. Never as anything other than a friend, but now? She wasn’t so sure anymore. Emma turned back to meet Harriet’s eyes. “Besides, I’ve known him for years and years.”

“I’m not suggesting he’s been secretly pining over you since we were children, Emma. All I’m saying is, he’s been acting differently lately. And so have you.”

Emma looked over at George again. “Hang on,” she said. “Do you and Rob just talk about us behind our backs?”

Unbeknownst to her, across the room George was having a very similar conversation with Rob and Frank.

*

“Care to dance?”

It was George who had asked her. After sitting with Harriet for another long while, having moved on to more trivial subjects, there had been a knock on her shoulder and Emma had turned around to find George with an outstretched hand.

“I’ve noticed you haven’t danced yet, and I know you hate to ask someone else to dance with you” George had said, “Thought I’d save you the trouble. Care to dance?”

Abandoning her champagne and her friend at the table Emma took George’s hand and followed him to the midst of the dancefloor at this rare opportunity. He placed his hand on her waist and she let out a breath, which caught his attention. George looked away as the music started playing, and they began dancing.

It wasn’t strange. Shouldn’t be, at least. But it was definitely… different. Perhaps Harriet was right after all. Across his shoulder she could see said Harriet smiling broadly.

Emma had slow danced with George on multiple occasions, at weddings and other formal parties, but it hadn’t felt the same then as now. Never had she danced with such a feeling of being completely removed from the sea of people around them.

Emma was a rather physical person, but this was something new entirely. George’s both hands were on her waist now as they guided her around the room. They felt warm, made her feel warm and flushed in turn. She reveled in the feeling as she leaned into his chest.

She both heard and felt his sharp intake of breath. It made her heart beat rapidly.

She hadn’t reacted like this even when he was basically consuming all her space at that dingy pub down the street from their apartment house a month and a half ago. She hadn’t felt these same tingles, even when they practically grinded and laughed on the dancefloor. So why now? What had changed? George centaintly hadn’t.

Perhaps it was she who had changed. It was she who had started getting fluttering butterflies at the sight of him, and who thought of ways to enact revenge over their pity arguments every waking moment. It was she who looked forward to Sunday morning breakfast and horrible pancakes just to see him curse as he tried to flip them. It was she who insisted they should match tonight, and she who had failed to return his sweatshirt, because perhaps some small part of her wanted to brand herself as his, and him as hers. To show they came as a pair.

But maybe George had changed too? When she thought about it he had stopped their petty arguments in favour of playfully teasing her, and he hadn’t asked for his shirt back even though he’d seen her in it. It was he who agreed to match, he who asked her to dance, and he who brought her soup and stroked her hair when she was sick. And when he picked her up that evening, she was sure she saw something in his eyes.

He had walked up the three floors to her flat already dressed in his suit and falsely assumed she wasn’t yet. Emma had a habit of running late. When she opened the door at his knock he was surprised to find her purse in hand and the silk of the long, emerald green dress already hanging around her feet.

He’d given her a dopey smile that made her smile in return. He’d looked her over and teasingly said: “You clean up well”, to which she had scoffed and replied: “And you can dress yourself. Today is full of surprises.”

Now Emma looked up, to find George already studying her.

“George?” she asked.

“Yes, Emma.”

“What do you think of marriage?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, but smiled.

“As a concept?” he asked.

“As in, for you.”

“For me?”

“Mmhmm,” she nodded. He hummed and looked out over the sea of moving people as they spun around. Emma waited patiently.

“I would like the idea, if I found the right person.” He said after a moment of thought.

“Do you think you will? Find the right person, that is.”

“The future Mrs. Knightly, you mean?”

The words struck a chord in her. She only nodded.

“Perhaps.” George continued innocently. “It worked out well enough for John and Isabella.”

Emma thought of her sister and brother inlaw. They were only 25 and 26, but so very happy already. Isabella had told her just the other week they were considering trying for a baby. Emma thought it a bit premature, but each to their own.

“And children? If Mrs. Knightely wanted them?”

He smiled at her. “You’re awfully chatty today.”

When she blushed he chuckled. She felt the vibrations from his chest, and it made something warm bloom in hers.

“I do though. I want children.” George answered.

He looked down at her, willing her to meet his eyes.

“Do you want children, Emma?”

“Yes.”

“And marriage?”

“If I find the future Mr. Woodhouse.” She said. “You see, unlike you, I’m not a traditionalist.”

George chuckled. “You’re right. Maybe I ought to take Mrs. Knightleys last name.”

“Then she wouldn’t be Mrs. Knightely” Emma corrected.

George heaved a sigh. “Shut up,” he said affectionately. “You know what I mean.”

They continued swaying to the music into the early hours.

*

Closer to morning than evening, they stood outside Emma’s door. Buzzed by champagne and dancing Emma and George had made their way home and up all the five floors in the stairwell without complains.

“George,” Emma started, keys in hand. She hadn’t opened the door yet.

“Yes, dearest Emma?”

The nickname caught her off guard.

“Hmm,” she muttered. “Dearest Emma, I like that.”

“Well, that’s what you are. I don’t know many Emmas, but even if I did I’m sure you’d still be my favourite. 70% sure at least. Better round down to 60.”

“Prick,” she teased and pushed at him playfully. “No, George, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Anything,” George reassured her.

“You and Jane Fairfax. Did you ever?”

“No,” came the immediate answer.

“Not ever?”

“Never.”

Satisfied with his answer she didn’t press the question. George however had one of his own.

“Why do you ask?”

“I was just curious. You seemed so close just a few weeks ago.”

“Were you jealous you weren’t getting my undivided attention?” George teased, leaning against the wall.

“Of course not,” Emma said. “What would I have to be jealous for?”

A silence fell between them. Emma fiddled with her keys. After a moment, she took a sharp breath. “I should probably get inside,” she said.

“Emma…” George hesitated, taking hold of her wrist. “I’m only teasing. I’m sorry.”

George knew Jane was a bit of a weak spot for Emma, though he’d never quite understood why.

She gave him a small smile. “I know,” she said and heaved a sigh, “I know. I suppose she is just so accomplished. It just makes me feel less than." Emma looked away. "Jane was always a better piano player when we performed at gatherings as kids, and she has a good job and works hard and she’s getting married, and I’ve barely figured out where to live since Harriet moved out months ago. I haven’t moved because I haven’t bothered looking.”

And she liked the proximity to him, but she didn't mention that.

George looked at her for a moment. “The marriage thing. Is it about Frank?”

She gave him an odd expression. “No, I thought we sorted this already.”

“Well, technically you never answered my question. I just notice how he hangs around you, flirts, and then he goes off to marry another girl? Everything's turning up Frank.” George rushed out. “Surely that must hurt.” he added, defeatedly.

Emma looked at him. “Are you jealous?” she asked, teasingly.

George looked up at her.

“What no. Of course not! What would I have to be-” he repeated her words from a minute ago. They died on his tongue as she took a step closer.

She stood on the tip of her toes, quite a task in her heels, and leaned up. Emma watched George’s face, watched as he waited for what was to come. Her breath was a ghost on his lips before she leaned into him and pressed their lips together.

George’s arms enveloped her and he bent down to meet her halfway, so she could stand comfortably on the floor.

They pulled away for a second. “Emma I-”, George started, but then he kissed her tenderly again, as if he couldn’t get enough, and lifted a hand to rest the back of her head. Her arms found their way around his neck as she lost herself in the kiss.

She didn’t know how long they stood there, but when they pulled apart again the first rays of sunlight peeked through the window at the end of the hallway.

“Alright” George took in a shaky breath, and took a step back. He placed a kiss on Emma’s forehead. “I’ll come over for pancakes in the morning then?”

“To be fair, it’s morning already. Seems impractical to walk four floors in such a short time,” Emma opened the door behind her back and took a step inside with it. “You could always stay here. Rest up, get tired again.”

George opened his mouth and closed it. Not a minute later was he kissing her up against the door.

*

“You know what I think is an awful waste?” Emma asked one morning, sitting in another one of George’s oversized shirts in his bed.

“What?” He asked from behind her, where he was acting as her human backrest as she laid in his arms.

“You have two perfectly good rooms in your apartment, yet we live in two flats in the same building.”

“Well, the other room is my office.”

“How about this, I move in and we turn the office into something nicer.”

“Where would you sleep?”

“Here, of course”

George hummed and kissed the top of her head. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Well it’s only practical. We’d save on rent and your apartment is closer to the ground so it would mean less stairs, and you definitely need a woman’s touch to liven up this place.” Emma said.

He chuckled. “Perhaps.”

“Just think about it. We could take turn making dinner, flip pancakes every Sunday, I'd be on the couch, studying or writing a piece, when you walk through the door.”

“Only problem is I won’t have work to come home from. I quit.”

“Really?” Emma beamed as he nodded. “Then you can make pancakes for me every morning!”

“Of course, your majesty.” George said and dragged her to him. “Come here you,”

She laughed and kicked as he tickled her. “Geooorge”

Emma shuffled so she could see him better. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” He kissed the tip of her nose and untangled himself from her limbs as he stood up and stretched. Looking back he simply said: “Let’s.”

She beamed at him. “You’re easy to convince. In that case I think we should get a dog too.”

She received a pillow in her face before George excited the room, shouting: “I’ll start on the pancakes.”

Notes:

As you might have noticed the title has nothing to do with the fic, I just liked it :))