A Hatchetfield Oneshot Collection

Hans Solo and Comfortable Silence

A/N
I might as well dedicate this whole book to Latte_Hottay ilysm

here is my official statement. this book is now dedicated to my very best friend in the world, Latte_Hottay because i love her and she is the biggest paulkins stan i know and every time i write about them i have her in mind.

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The TV played loudly, pictures flashing over the dark space to the apartment, leaking from the living room into the kitchen and the short hallway. Emma's keys jingled as she closed the door softly behind her, pulling them from the lock. Despite the way she crept along the entryway and into the kitchen, quite aware of the quiet snores coming from the couch, her bad leg had other ideas.

"Shit!" she grunted as she blindly stumbled into a kitchen chair that hadn't been pushed in. The table rattled, a spoon falling to the floor, and suddenly her beanpole of a boyfriend was flipping on the light, wiping drool from his chin, hair floppy without his typical gelled style.

"Em, you alright?" he asked, sleep slurred words tripping from his lips.

"Yeah, Babe, just bumped my leg."

Paul's mouth screwed into a frown. He moved to the cabinet by the sink, pulling out a bottle of ibuprofen and cat mug that had long been the holder of his morning coffee, or at least since they'd had that gift exchange with their friends a few Christmases before and they'd gotten it, along with a puppy one to match for Emma.

She took the cup gratefully, acutely aware of the throbbing in her upper thigh. "Thanks Cutie. What'd you say your name was again?"

Paul rolled his eyes and pressed his lips to her forehead, waiting for her to swallow before setting the mug on the table, lifting her gently into his arms.

"Where to M'lady?"

She wrapped her legs around his waist, nuzzling her face into his neck. "Couch please."

They settled in, flipping to a Netflix comedy special by some Tozier guy that Emma liked and Paul secretly tolerated. Laughter radiated from the shorter woman in a relaxed, open way, jerking against him with the force of it. It was comfy, his arm around her shoulders, on of her legs tucked underneath her, the other stretched out, head resting on his chest. This was the life that they lead and both were more than fine with that. Sure, Emma wanted a better job after she finished school, and they'd probably get a dog or two, a bigger apartment, maybe even a kid one day, but at the ripe old age of [number redacted] they were happy.

Somewhere halfway through the show, Emma twisted to rest on her stomach, face to face with Paul, hand resting on his cheek.

"Hi."

"Hi."

He turned his head, pressing his lips lightly to the skin of her wrist, whispering against her, a most casual kiss saying more than most words would dare. A ghost of a smile shone in her eyes, a smirk quirking the corner of her mouth upward.

"I love you," she whispered, thumb hovering over his skin, rubbing a soothing pattern of warmth on his cheekbone.

"I know."

"Did you just Hans Solo me?" Emma's hand was snatched back as she moved to sit on her haunches in front of him, mouth pinched together in a pursed position, forehead wrinkled, eyes narrowed, a bite of annoyance playing on the tip of her tongue.

"Maybe," Paul edged, tips of his ears flushing slightly redder than what could be considered normal. He already missed the weight of her body on his chest, heartbeat murmuring against his own.

"Ugh, that's it. I'm leaving you," she sighed, moving to stand. Paul tackled her lightly to the couch, careful to avoid her leg, pressing her against the soft cushions, arms encircling her waist like a piece of worn, fitted jewelry, lock and key, so used to resting on the dip of her wrist, his face pressed into the warmth of her skin.

"No!" he cried. "I love you too!"

Emma's soft laugh tinkled in his ears, long fingers raking through his thick brown hair.

"I know, I just like to see you squirm." He mumbled something indiscernible into the fabric of her sweater. "Huh?"

"I said there are better ways to goad me into laying on you, namely just asking me. I don't even know why you like it."

He could practically picture the smirk on her face, hear it in her voice. "But that's no fun!" she said, a playful whine hinting in her tone. "Besides, you're always so warm and cuddly, like a kitty or a polar bear."

"Why a polar bear?"

"Because polar bears are the superior bears."

His grumble of "I'm gonna take that as a compliment"  was met with a laugh, an honest to god head lolling laugh, rumbling through her body so hard he felt the humming in her chest against his ear. Only Paul could manage to make her laugh like that, with his dry, awkward quips and gangly legs more fit for a teenage boy than a thirty year old IT consultant.

The moment sobered, silence persisting along with the quiet laughter of the audience on the TV.

He snuggled deeper into her stomach, inhaling the scent of coffee that lingered even after she left the shop, so embedded into her that she'd told him she doubted she'd ever begin to get rid of it. It was nice. It reminded Paul of how they met, awkward words exchanged in a coffee shop, small smiles behind rehearsed conversations, seven numbers and a heart scribbled on a coffee cup, bold moves and witty banter verses timid grins and loud laughter drawn out by soft brown eyes and quirked smiles.

"I'm so glad I met you in that coffee shop." His eyes met hers in a sentimental gaze, eyes ablaze with pure, unadulterated love, not filtered but bursting in his chest, a golden flower dancing across his skin with thousands of beams of light. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

She shifted downwards so his head rested on her chest, long limbs entangled with her short ones. Her fingers resumed their sole task of twisting in his hair, which Paul would never admit he'd grown out a bit so that her hands fit better.

Pressing her lips to his skin, she whispered into him a secret which shouted loudly in her core.

"Me too."