Mike barely had time to step into the room before Kori stepped forward: one moment visibly pulled together, lip drawn up into her mouth in that way she had, and the next taking him in her arms, whimpering words against his chest. It happened so quickly that he didn't understand them, not at first, though the sound of her voice seemed to affect him on a visceral level; his heart sped instantly, pulse pounding in his ears, and he felt his arms circle her. They tightened instinctively, trapping her against his chest.
And for all of the seriousness of the moment, her question -- once he'd had a moment to realize what it was -- brought the smile back to his face. It was funny to think that Kori would ever feel the need to ask, considering the way he felt and how it had shaped his life: the truth of it was so large that Mike had never thought to wonder if she knew. He'd always assumed that everyone did.
So he rocked her a little now, cooing something inanely under his breath, and pulled back to look her in the eyes. Maybe this was the moment that things became a little frightening. A little. In Mike's experience, most important things were.
"Honey," he offered frankly. "That ain't never going to change."
He laughed gruffly under his breath, shrugging. "Love like that don't go away. Not easy."