Meredith tips her head back, arching up into his touch with a small, high sound as her eyes fall shut. As good as it feels, his hand on her, the insistent press of his body, it's the words that wind up being most potent. Because, the thing is, she believes him. It's a little terrifying, believing that, being this sure he loves her, when she's been so uncertain of these things for so long, when she's so used to second-guessing — terrifying, but heady. Being all that matters — it would be impossible not to let that go to her head and her thundering heart.

She could make some crack about the lights or tell him the feeling is mutual. Instead she settles her hands against his face, pulling him toward her so she can kiss him, slow and deep. "You have me," she murmurs against his mouth. "Whatever you want. Tell me what you want."