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Valko hates being away from you.
Usually, he doesn't have to be outside of working hours, but you've been away on a work trip. He doesn't recall the exact details, he'd been too devastated by the news to process anything you said. Something about a fashion show, design work, and 'outfits to die for' (which is absurd, considering you've never spoken about his clothing that way).
Regardless of his opinions on the matter, you're already some hundred miles away. He mentally curses you for being so cruel as to leave him home alone, then pipes up the second he remembers that he's sitting outside of the airport because you're coming home.
Needless to say, he's missed you. He missed you the second you were out of his sight.
He'll be initiating some mandatory skin-to-skin contact time when you make it home, and he's definitely not grinning at the thought of it.
The tapping on his passenger seat window startles him from his daydreaming, and he beams, making quick work of sliding out of his car and tackling you with a hug.
"Val!" You giggle, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "You missed me that much, hmm?"
"Yes." He murmurs into your neck solemnly. "I tried making coffee the way you do, and it tastes like burnt rocks."
You laugh again and he frowns, lifting his head to pinch your nose.
"Hey—!"
"'s not funny. I've had rock coffee for three days 'cause of you."
"Because of me? You know, if you listened to me when I told you to—"
He interrupts you before you can be the reasonable one. "Rock coffee, for three days, can you imagine that? The love of my life left me with nothing but coffee that tastes like dirt, all to go sunbathe abroad… the betrayal, the tragedy, the—"
"You're so dramatic." You huff, amused, and flick his forehead. "I'm so sorry, baby, I'll never leave you alone with that wretched coffee machine again. Better?"
He pouts but concedes with a nod. "I guess."
You reach for your luggage as the trunk opens, but Valko beats you to it, hauling your suitcase and backpack into the back before you can even try to get it yourself. Then he's opening the passenger door for you and leaning over to buckle you in.
"You know my hands and arms work too, right?" You raise your brows at him and click the seatbelt in yourself. He puffs a breath as he slips behind the wheel and impatiently pulls out of the airport. He taps his finger against the steering wheel, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say he's anxious.
"I know." Valko pouts. "But it's faster if I do it."
"Would it now?"
"Yeah, it would. And it's, you know." He grumbles, gesturing vaguely. "Polite. Gentlemanly. Make you love me more."
Your confusion softens into quite adoration, thumping wildly in your chest as you coo over his words. "You know I already love you plenty, Val."
And he does know that.
Knows it every time you brew coffee for him in the mornings, leave sticky notes in his lunch boxes, and kiss him goodbye before you head into your building. He knows you love him because, in spite of the time zone differences, you called him every morning and night of your trip. He knows you've missed him too, but the irrational, uglier side of his mind can't help but bear its head whenever you're around.
Valko isn't an insecure man, but you're so good to him without trying to be, even when he's whining outside luggage claim because you went away for a handful of days.
"…I love you more." He murmurs, keeping his eyes glued to the road because he won't be able to contain the emotion threading through his veins if he glances at you now. The hitch in your breath is almost enough to send him whirling, he's so undoubtedly infatuated with you.
"Impossible." You argue as he rolls to a stop at the traffic light.
"It's—" His protest is stolen from his lips as you press yours to his, your body fully leaning over the console and hand wrapped around his jaw. He has half the mind not to melt into your warmth and does it anyway. You're pulling away too soon, too late, and right on cue.
How did he wind up like this with you?
Being in your presence puts him in a haze, and all of his sense endlessly sharpen and dull all at once. The sun hits you just right through the windows, gleaming off the tip of your nose and pressing into your cheeks, dancing in your irises and playing in your hair. He never liked afternoons until you came along, prancing about with your carefully packed lunches and collection of knick-knacks.
Valko is thrown out of his trance when the car behind him honks angrily and he scrambles to piece his focus together again. You giggle at his flushed cheeks and reddened ears like the mean thing you are.
He feels like a school boy around you, turning a violent, glowing pink at the thought of bare skin. You're a menace to his sanity and reputation. Imagine what would happen if the board members caught a glimpse of him like this — face flared with blush and practically steaming because of it — he'd never hear the end of it.
But when you smile at him again, with the sunlight highlighting all the things he loves about you, the threat of public humiliation doesn't seem so bad after all.
"Are we gonna sit here for the rest of the day, or are you gonna open the door for me again—" you tease— "mister gentleman?"
He doesn't even remember parking the car in front of your apartment. His muscle memory is far stronger than his conscious mind, clearly, if he brought you here without being fully aware of it. He spends more time at your place than he does his own at this point.
He clears his throat and coughs into his hand in an attempt to mask his surprise, and quite frankly, his embarrassment.
"…'s it gonna make you love me more?"
"No," you grin, "but it'll definitely make me more partial towards solving your coffee problems."
"Deal."