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Jack Walker thumbed the small, velvet box in his coat pocket, looking around. He walked through the city late at night, late enough that the sky was coated in an inky blackness, small specks of light twinkling billions of light years away. The moon shone bright onto the deserted street nonetheless, the silver glow lighting his way as he walked.
He knew the truth, the undeniable truth, that Llewelyn was a detective. The truth that echoed in every aspect of their relationship. He knew the truths that Llewelyn had told people--George Crabtree, William Murdoch, Julia Ogden, even Thomas Brackenreid--and knew the consequences.
And deep down, Jack knew the truth--Llewelyn was braver than he would ever be. He let the truth about himself come out on his accord, and Jack loved him for that, more than he ever thought he would. He was a detective, of course, it was part of his job to be brave, but seeing him be true about who he was with people who could easily throw that all away?
It was inspiring, to say the very least.
Llewelyn Watts had changed him, that was a certainty, and as he approached his apartment building, a light was on in the window--he could see it from the street--and a familiar form, slouched, not much more than a silhouette, was seemingly dimming the lamps.
Jack ran his thumb over the box once more, feeling the tiny line where it was set to open, the small hinges, cool to the touch, the velvet, that he had poured nearly a month’s income to purchase. It had to be perfect, he kept telling himself, his Llewelyn deserved nothing less than perfection.
His feet seemed to carry him of his own accord up the stairs to his room, head still lost in the “what if''s, somewhere back on the street, apparently. With each step, the task at hand seemed more daunting than at the last, and by the time he reached the top of the stairway, his heart was racing, thudding inside his chest with a ferocity he knew it never had before.
This was what he wanted. This was what he knew Llewelyn wanted--he had seen him at the wedding, watching Murdoch and Pendrick and Ogden with such admiration and pride and hope--and the two had spent many sleepless nights curled together, silvery light peeking in the window, lighting Llewelyn’s beautiful face with such an angelic halo it sometimes made Jack melt to just think about it, just talking. Talking about their future, their life together.
“You know,” Llewelyn hummed one night, head resting on Jack’s chest, his hand carding through the detective’s curls absentmindedly, “I believe that I am... happy. With you.”
Jack huffed out a laugh, and dropped one of his hands to take one of Llewelyn’s, raising it to his lips to kiss each of the other man’s fingertips. “You think, Mr. Watts?”
“I know.” He tilted his chin up to look at Jack, and the light caught his eyes so beautifully it momentarily took Jack’s breath away. He stretched up to catch the butcher’s lips in a kiss, tender, and without much rush--a stark difference from earlier in the evening, Jack noted silently, and as Llewelyn pulled back for a breath, Jack cupped his chin in his hand, tracing a thumb down his lips.
“You know, Lewie…” Jack murmured, looking at him with a feeling of fondness growing in his chest, one so whole and all-consuming that it felt as though he was burning as bright as the sun… though, he knew that his boy was the sun, brighter and braver and lighter than he would ever be. “I believe I might be happy too.”
As Jack pulled him into another kiss, Llewelyn’s lips slightly chapped and warm and so present and there that it made Jack’s chest ache, he knew it was time.
He felt that same ache, that evening, standing in front of his own apartment door, the number 15 staring into his soul, like the building itself knew what he was planning, and, giving the box in his pocket a quick squeeze, just to make sure it was there, yet again, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, locking it again as soon as he was in.
There was a bit of a commotion coming from the kitchen, and Jack knew that Llewelyn wouldn’t cook, not while Jack wasn’t around, but he heard the faint hum of a record playing, a shuffling, a low voice singing along to something in French as he rounded the corner.
The sight was as endearing as he had expected--Llewelyn, spinning around the kitchen, singing along to some French song. The man couldn’t dance, not in the slightest, but he swayed, eyes shut, a cup of something steaming in his hands, and Jack fell in love all over again.
Jack cleared his throat, and Llewelyn cracked an eye open, immediately seeming taken aback by the butcher’s presence. His eyes widened, and he ducked his head, face flushing, and cleared his own throat, gave Jack a tight-lipped smile and awkward nod. “How long have you been…?”
“Long enough to know that you can’t dance.” Jack teased, stepping forward into the kitchen. Llewelyn looked like he was about to say something, but Jack cut him off with a soft smile. “It was adorable, you don’t have to worry.”
“I see.” Llewelyn took a step forward, looking into Jack’s eyes with a calculating, tender gaze. “Are you nervous?”
Jack considered lying for a minute--wouldn’t it be best to play it off as breathlessness from his walk, or the stairs, or perhaps a near encounter with someone on the street?--but decided otherwise when he saw his lover’s eyebrows knit in concern, the frown on his lips. Instead, Jack leaned forward to kiss the frown away, and it seemed to work like a charm, Llewelyn immediately melting into the kiss.
It had taken some time for them both to become accustomed with the relationship--a real relationship in the eyes of everything but their society, as Llewelyn’s experience lay exclusively with women prior to him, and Jack’s experience had always been a quick night spent together, or if it progressed, merely a few weeks, or whenever was convenient. Never more.
In fact, he had never wanted more, not with those men. Not the way he wanted with Llewelyn, the way he felt like he could wake up every morning knowing he loved and was loved in return. The way he felt butterflies swarm his chest each time he looked at the other man. The way Llewelyn noticed all the tiny things about him, and spent hours pointing them out, laying together in bed, in various states of undress.
Jack had always felt self-conscious about himself, about all the little things former lovers had pointed out--the softness of his stomach, the freckles on his arms and seemingly nowhere else, the discomfort with intimacy on some days and not others--but Llewelyn never forced him not to be. In fact, he knew his lover had his own insecurities, and rather than trying too hard to make them not such, they both found a comfortable medium.
Some nights, Llewelyn would lay with his head on Jack’s shoulder, tracing the freckles with a fingertip or a pen, pointing out designs or words or constellations. Others, when Llewelyn needed reassurance he was there, when the noise in his head would overwhelm, Jack would lay in bed with Llewelyn, brushing his hands up and down his sides, pressing soft kisses to his collarbone, trying to ground him.
Their form of intimacy wasn’t just sex, and while it was amazing, Jack loved their quiet moments most--the ones after a kiss where Llewelyn would stare up at him with a silent admiration, which Jack hoped was reflected back in his, the ones late at night, laying together, staring into each other’s eyes, the heavy breathing as they drew apart one last time to collapse wordlessly next to each other, nothing spoken.
This was one of those moments, he found, as he pulled back, Llewelyn leaning forward to chase after his lips, and Jack couldn’t help but chuckle, indulging him in another soft kiss. “I might be a bit nervous,” he whispered, lips brushing against Llewelyn’s with each word. “But it’s alright.”
“Swear?” Llewelyn whispered back, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the corner of Jack’s lips. Jack nodded, tilting Llewelyn’s chin back up to kiss him once more--a silent promise.
When they finally pulled apart, Jack’s heart was in his throat, holding onto his boy. “Llewelyn Watts, I love you.”
He felt Llewelyn’s shoulders relax, a soft sigh escaping his lips, which were tilting upwards at the corners into a lovestruck smile. “I love you too, Jack Walker, but what-”
With that, Jack was pulling back from his embrace, breathing shakily as he knelt down to the ground, looking up at his Llewelyn with as much hope as he could muster. “I love you, Llewelyn. My Lewie, I…”
He took a breath, looking down at his hands, which shook, slipping down to his pocket. He couldn’t see Llewelyn’s reaction, but heard a quiet intake of breath, which trailed off. It seemed his boy was shaking just as much as he was, Jack realized, with a soft smile. He took the box in hand, looking up again--and Llewelyn’s hand was over his lips, his shoulders shaking with every breath.
“I didn’t think I was worthy of real love,” Jack started, clearing his throat. “Not… not really. But then you… you came, you barreled into my life full-force, and you made my life undeniably better.” He laughed, looking down, and blinked hard, trying to get the tears to clear. “You changed me, Lewie. Through and through. I thought I would die, I thought I would… die alone, because in this world, men like us, we don’t often get happy endings.”
“But you gave us a chance, and you… you give everyone like us a chance. You give me life , Llewelyn, you’re the brightest thing in this hellish world, and I would endure a thousand more lifetimes if it means I could be with you again.”
Jack looked up again, succumbing to the tears, and he gave a hoarse, tearful laugh when he saw that Llewelyn was quickly wiping his own eyes, nodding. He took a deep breath, and offered the small box, flipping the top open to reveal a simple ring--a small sun engraved onto the band, and a tiny band of gold on it.
“While I know it’s impossible, I ask you this. I ask you for us to spend the rest of our lives together, I ask for your hand, I… I ask you this, Llewelyn, because I love you. I love you more than life itself, I love you more than… more than all the stars in the sky, more than the universe itself.”
“Llewelyn Watts, will you marry me?”
Wordlessly, Llewelyn was kneeling down beside Jack, pulling him into a kiss--at least, it was supposed to be a kiss, but both of them were crying and gasping into each other’s mouths and somewhere, Llewelyn murmured out a “yes, yes, of course, always-” and was kissing him again.
They broke apart, laughing, crying, trying to catch their breaths from both the tears and kisses, and Jack cupped his cheek, wiping his thumb under Llewelyn’s eye, feeling his lover relax into his touch. In a soft breath, Llewelyn whispered another, “Yes.”, and Jack laughed breathlessly, repeating. “Yes?”
“Yes.” Llewelyn whispered, and leaned forward, kissing him again. “Yes.”
Still shaking--the both of them--Jack took Llewelyn’s hand, slipping the ring onto his finger, and silently, he thanked George Crabtree for the help with the fit. He raised his hand, kissing his boyfriend--no. Fiance.--his fiance’s knuckles, his finger, his wrist, then leaned up to kiss his cheek, his brow, his nose, his jaw, and finally his lips again.
“I love you, Llewelyn.” He whispered, not bothering to pull away. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”
“I love you too… Jack Watts.” Llewelyn beamed, and Jack melted, right then and there. “Or Jack Walker, with Llewelyn Walker…?”
“We can worry about that later,” Jack reassured him, tracing the line of his face. “We can worry about everything later, Lew, for now…”
Llewelyn laughed, raising a hand to wipe his teary eyes. “For now… I… would quite like to spend time with my fiance.”
Jack nodded wordlessly, and leaned in to capture his lips again. For now, words could wait, and for as long as he held Llewelyn in his arms, Jack knew he was happy.
It was the undeniable truth.