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If anyone who knew Damian could see him now, they’d surely be convinced that he was body snatched. Because there was no way that this man— the man asleep on your chest, arms wrapped tightly around you, snoring little kitten snores— was the same man who knew a million different ways to kill a person. That, not in a million years, would he ever be whining when you try to shift away from him.
“Bâo bei,” He grumbles, his fingers digging into your sides as he tries to hold you tighter. Letting out a small laugh, you run your fingers through his thick hair, watching as he cracks open a single eye, glaring up at you. You look at his green eye, visible even in the dark room. It softens even though you know he hadn’t meant for that to happen.
“I gotta use the bathroom,” You softly tell him. But he doesn’t seem to care about your reasoning, letting out a small huff and closing his eyes again. Clearly your issue didn’t warrant leaving the bed— him. For all he’s concerned, you’ll have to hold it. “Dames,” With an exaggerated huff, he relaxes his grip and rolls off of your body so you can stand. Not that he’s happy about it, he huffs again when you sit up, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. With a quick thank-you kiss, you head to the bathroom.
On the way, you pass by the sliding doors that overlook the ocean. It’s nearly morning now so you can see the sun rising over the horizon. The orange hues in the water, the slight ripples that remind you of a painting Damian had done some time ago. Now it’s hung up in your office.
You’re on vacation with him and his family in Mo’orea to end the summer. It’s the first night and everyone had agreed to sleep in instead of spending the night exploring or unpacking— it's the only time the whole family actually agrees to go to sleep at a reasonable hour and for longer than two hours. Vigilantes and a resident man, horrible sleep schedules.
When you come back from the bathroom you find the bed is empty, neatly made at that, and Damian is outside, walking into the water. For a moment, you debate joining. It’s so early and the water will certainly be beyond cold. But then again, you really don’t want to go back into bed alone.
Joining him outside, you hear as he exhales when the water reaches his shoulders. The deck creaks as you step on it, getting his attention as he looks at you tiredly. “The water is cold,” The warning falls
upon deaf ears as your mind is already made up. Damian’s eyes flicker down to watch as you step into the water, his hand outstretched to help keep you balanced.
The moment your feet touch the water, you flinch and have half the mind to go back inside. Gently, he encourages you to come inside, ever so slightly drifting away from the stairs so you’re forced into the water. By the time you’re waist-deep, the stairs end and you’re fully inside of the ocean with him. All the while you’re keeping yourself afloat by holding onto the steps, not wanting to wet your hair. Spinning around, you see Damian swim back to you before he wraps an arm around you to pull you onto him. “Good morning, Rohi,” The words fall from his lips like honey before he kisses the side of your head.
“It’s cold,” You hum to which he nods, scanning the water. While he does that, you admire the side of his face; the curve of his nose, a little crooked from the sheer number of times it’s been broken, his eyelashes that Steph says she’s jealous of, his lips as his tongue darts out, separating them before he speaks.
“I see that father and Selina are awake,” He hums, pointing his lips at the two of them sharing a lounge chair several bungalows away. It’s dark but you can tell it’s them. She was cuddled on his chest, her fresh nails dragging along his flesh as they talked, his hand holding the flesh of her thigh like she was about to run away. “They disgust me.” He remarks before turning back to you.
You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck, dragging the two of you deeper into the water. “Luckily they’re not the ones swimming with you, are they?” Shaking his head, his eyes travel to your lips before he presses a gentle kiss against them.
“No, they are not,” He replies, leaning in for another. You don’t go any further for fear of Bruce seeing the two of you and decide to simply enjoy the water while you can.
The two of you swim for a while longer before eventually sitting on the deck chairs when the cold got too much for the both of you. You had pushed the chairs together, creating a sort of bed while Damian gets a blanket from the bed, draping it over the two of you before placing his hand on your upper thigh, draping your leg over his before squeezing your flesh in slow motions.
It’s quiet, you’d expected as much. The sounds of the water moving in the soft breeze and Damian’s soft breathing were the only things you could hear as the two of you watched the sun rise.
—
A couple of hours later and the two of you are in a golf cart, heading down to the resort's restaurant for breakfast. He has a hand in yours, brushing his thumb against your fingers. It’s not hard to notice that he’s taking more time touching your ring finger than normal— something he’s been doing often. You weren’t daft, you’d talked about rings and some time ago he had sent you a link to gemstones to have you rank them best to worst.
At first, the idea of marriage scared you, truth be told. Your parents' own marriages imploded and their current marriages are horrible— morally wise, they’re doing fine from what you hear. But then you saw how Dick and Kor’i were, Bruce and Selina, too and suddenly it wasn’t this thing that was destined to fail. It was something that they’d worked for, they cherished their partners. The way they’d look at each other, so fondly and with so much love made you understand that no, your parents were just horrible partners.
So, it was hard keeping your fears when you knew that Damian and your parents have very little in common.
Still, you’d gone to therapy and worked out most of your issues around love so that by the time you graduated, you were able to tell him that you loved him without feeling guilty. Guilty not due to cheating, you’d never. But guilty because love was hard for you and you never felt like you were giving him the same amount that he was.
Those fears were few and far between these days. Your relationship is on solid ground, unwavering no matter what. But you wondered when the proposal would come. Because it wasn’t if, it was when.
Admittedly, you're sure this will be when he asks but there wasn’t anything special about this vacation. The Waynes started taking vacations several years back so this wasn’t out of the ordinary in any way. You didn’t pack any special clothes, the room wasn’t decorated any differently, and no one was acting strange. So, this probably wasn’t it, right?
You still made sure you looked your best, though. Just in case. Because while this was your first actual day in Mo’orea, you’ve been island-hopping for some time now. And each day, you’re sure it’s that day.
Like when the group went swimming with whales, or during the late-night beach walk. But maybe it would be after the spa you have later today. Definitely after snorkeling— can’t lose your ring in the ocean, that would be crazy. Okay— after the spa. That makes sense, surely.
It’s a couple's thing, obviously. Everyone is called in their pairs: Bruce and Selina, Dick and Kor’i, Tim and Kon, you and Damian, Steph and Cass, and Jason and Roy. The two of you were sent to change in a locker room. The others are there but no one speaks as you change into a pair of robes and a pair of slippers before you are sent into a sauna.
Your robes are placed on the outside and you’re reach given a butt towel to catch the sweat. You’d wanted to joke about it but it was too hot in there to talk. As such the two of you just sit, sweating and throwing water on rocks until the timer is up and you’re taken to a shower. That part is separate as workers wash you— it’s a bit awkward, you’ll admit. But you’re allowed to keep your underwear on this time as they scrub off what must’ve been three layers of skin.
From there, you’re taken to a pool— the lady explained that it was infused with some things to help repair your skin. You didn’t question it.
You get there first and swim for a bit until you feel the water ripple and surface in front of Damian. “How was it?” He asked, brushing some water from your forehead before it could reach your eyes.
“I’ve never been raw before,” You reply, holding his hand. “I think they took some of your melanin away, baby,” He laughs at that, checking his arm.
“No, but my hair was definitely ripped out,” Checking your arm, you’re almost shocked that like his, your skin was now free of hair. It’s weird, being suddenly hairless. That must’ve been why it hurt so much. “You’re not hurt, right?”
“No, my love,” Pecking his lips as a form of reassurance, you pull him deeper into the water. “C’mon, enjoy the nourishing water with me.” It doesn’t take much before the two of you are taking small paddles in the pool, swimming around each other before you get tired.
Floating, you stare at the tiled ceilings. Damian moves to sit on one of the steps, watching you. “Don’t fall asleep,” He warns after catching the way your eyes would slowly close every so often.
“I definitely will,”
Before you can, though, it’s time for your next treatment. The hair treatment and foot care. You’re laid on a bed, your head placed into a basin with an arch at your hairline. Damian, too. He’s talking with the lady, something about the vacation while you’re struggling to stay awake. The person working on your hair has some magical hands and whoever has your feet must’ve pinched a nerve because before anyone can notice, you’re out like a light.
—
Clearly, the spa was a no— you don’t know why you thought he’d propose there—so maybe during the boat ride. But no, you ended up swimming with dolphins and even saw a whale. Not complaining about that, that’s arguably cooler. Okay, so then it would be during the dinner with just the two of you.
It wasn’t like the spa, it truly was just the two of you. His family was back in their bungalows, eating their dinner there. He’d booked a private dinner somewhere, forced you to wear good clothes and not just a t-shirt and old shorts— suspicious— and he took more time doing his hair than normal.
This was it, you could feel it.
He’d booked the Parataito option for a private dinner at Le Bora Bora, you’d seen the email. Sue you. Being on a different island, you had to leave extra early in the day.
It was the fancier option for the private dinner. Suspicious. On the beach, with candles, and fancy flowers. So fucking suspicious, it’s like looking at a purple question mark and having to question if it’s the Riddler.
He pulls your chair out, kissing the top of your head as he pushes the chair back under the table. “Comfortable, ya albi?”
You nod, smiling at him as he walks to his seat across from you. “Thank you, Dames,” His eyes flicker around the table before he shifts the candle a little to the left, further away from a plant.
“I hope you don’t mind that I ordered Domaine Albert Bichot.” He says, watching as you just nod, unblinking. “Beloved, it’s a white wine, I believe thirteen percent alcohol. I’m told it has hints of dried fruits, almonds, and candied fruits.” Despite being together for a while, you’re no more immersed in the rich people's food than you were when you met him. He often finds it amusing.
“Sounds good,”
The first thing at the table is two cocktails. They’re fruity, you guessed it comes that way but there’s definitely a joke in there. There’s also no ring at the bottom of your cup— good, you wouldn’t have liked that. And then an appetizer, sushi. There’s a vegetarian substitution for him, he says it’s good and you’ll take his word for it.
“How excited are you to get back to work?” You ask, dipping your sushi in their house sauce. It’s good, you’ll admit.
Damian smiles, looking towards the water for a moment. “I cannot wait to be back in our bed and back to work,” He admits and you laugh. You had known that he was itching to go back to the real world seeing how he can never relax for longer than two days and this is day five of your vacation island hopping. “What about you?”
Sighing, you shrug. “Considering Bruce said I have a promotion waiting for me when I get back, I’m a little worried,” Since Damian decided to pursue medicine full-time, you’ve effectively taken the role that he would’ve had if he stuck with the Enterprise. It’s not bad, but you can definitely feel the pressure getting worse with each bump in your position. And you’re eternally grateful for this nepotism, even find it a little humorous when you spent your time being jealous of nepotism hires.
But you’re a good nepotism hire, you went to college and everything.
He grabs your free hand in his, dragging his fingers over the palm of your hand before he holds your fingers in his. “Father wouldn’t have given you that promotion if he didn’t think you’d be fit for it,” The gentle squeeze that follows signals the next course. The empty sushi plates are taken away and replaced with the first gourmet dinner of the night and a glass of water and wine.
“I know B doesn’t do favorites in the company but, imposter syndrome and everything. Like, in a week I'm going to be head of my department. I’m twenty-five, y’know? It’s scary. Everyone else is older than me, and has worked longer than I have.”
He points at your plate, telling you to start eating and stop worrying. “If it makes you feel better, the way father promotes is: he’ll remove names or identities from employee reports and scores them. Performance, attendance, any complaints around them, those sorts. So, your merit was more than the people you worked with.” He takes his first bite, slowly chewing. “It was most likely that winter project you did. It brought in large margins for the company, it showed you work well under pressure,”
The winter project, that shit was horrible. Two weeks to prepare an ironclad report to get some snotty— but good, company from New Zealand to have a joint product with Wayne Ent. You probably got greys from it and stayed up long enough to have seen Damian off for his night shift and return from his afternoon shift.
You guess you’re a good worker. You enjoy your job, it’s not just some random position you were granted. And you’d been interviewed by someone disconnected from the family, so, you were doing something right.
Thanking him, he squeezes your hand again before the two of you start talking about the food.
By the end of the third course, you’re waiting for the ring. Any moment now. Because, when the second course started and a small group of people came to play music, you were absolutely sure it was the time.
But nope, dinner ended and you were back on a boat heading to your bungalow. So not that either, he just wanted to spend some time alone with you, valid. No issues there.
It definitely didn’t hurt when Steph tried to stubly check your hand the next morning, clearly a little shocked when it was still bare.
—
Halloween Horror Nights at Universal. It’s a bit of a tradition you have with Damian and his siblings. This year it would be the two of you— suspicious. You know. Usually there are at least four of you going. And then he’s gotten an upgrade on your usual hotel room.
Suspicious.
You get to the park bright and early, as you always do. Just to get all the rides out of the way by the time night falls and you have to visit the haunted houses during prime time.
And, most importantly, check out the stores. It’s the first thing you always do. This year you get a ton of FNAF stuff, including a blind box pizza set. Damian cheats, something about reading the barcode that you ignore so you can still be surprised. His favorite store was the Fallout one, which you expected. He’d played the game a lot over the years and enjoyed the show.
But aside from that, nothing happened until the sun started to set. So the window for the proposal was narrowing. Not that you’d want it to be at a theme park. Those always stress you out when you see them and honestly, it’s not the most romantic thing to propose while there’s a bloody clown with a chainsaw to your left.
You don’t— haven’t talked to anyone about it. You hate their poker faces but you also don’t want to know when he’s going to propose. It’s just hard to guess when all the normal signs are things he does regularly. Giving you nice clothes for dates, planning vacations, and bi-weekly dates. It’s— fuck man, you’re watching videos on how people knew and their partners were just… doing what Damian normally does.
His fingers thread through your hair as you lie between his legs, watching the show you’d seen maybe two edits off. He’s working on something, you think some medical chart, the laptop resting on his chest where you’d wanted to lie so you opted for the next best thing.
You’re not even watching the show anymore, your focus has turned to his thighs. They’re not covered, pinched by the fabric of his boxers, skin out in the open like he was a harlot. You could see the faint bruises from the previous month where you left his skin looking like he had lost a fight. It’s calling you to, and you’re a weak man susceptible to the siren's song. As soon as his hand moves from your hair, you move, biting the flesh.
“Habibi,” He hisses, moving the laptop to glare down at you. You look at him, confused, his skin still caught between your teeth. Letting go, you quickly give it a small kiss and lie back down properly. He laughs a little before patting your cheek. “I’ll be done in five minutes, if you want to get ready—“ Happily, you spring from the bed and rush to what you lovingly call the prep cabinet.
—
At this point you’re starting to worry that he’s not going to propose. Everywhere you’ve looked says that six years is a long time. That it shouldn’t take that long and normally, you don’t care what people say but it’s really getting to you. Because what if you actually feel that way and you’d been looking into signs that weren’t there for the past couple of months? And because of that, you’ve gotten desperate. One night, during one of his various overnight shifts at the hospital, you tore the house up from the top to the bottom.
It looked like some disaster the way you were looking for an engagement ring, or even the fucking box. Just something to let you know that you’re not crazy. And nothing. Some tangible proof that you weren’t going crazy. To tell you that, no, (Y/n), Damian Wayne-Al-Ghul, the first person you ever truly loved wasn’t getting tired of you. But nope, you didn’t find anything to calm down your nerves. It honestly made you worse.
You cried on the floor for what felt like hours before scrolling through photos of the two of you before it clicked. Maybe he wanted to be proposed to. Surely that was it— you wouldn’t mind it. Honestly. You had no issue getting down on one knee and asking him the question. So fucking hell, why was he?
He was the one who started the relationship, he was the one who was so sure you were the love of his life, and he’s the one who first said I love you.
Shit, maybe he was tired of being the one to start the first milestones in your relationship.
Yeah, that was it. You’re sure of it.
So, you started researching rings. Gay engagement rings. Mlm engagement rings. Gay men engagement rings. Do men wear engagement rings? Why are women engagement rings prettier than men's engagement rings? How to design an engagement ring? Custom jewelers near me. How much is an emerald? Is it corny to make the engagement ring gem the same color as your boyfriend's eyes? Best gems for an engagement ring. Lab grown gems. Which lab grown gems go best with gold? Ring box. Engagement ring box. What’s a ring stack?
The rabbit hole was endless, you must’ve spent hours writing notes about this ridiculous process. You’d taken one of his rings and measured it, before not trusting your measurement and making an appointment with a jeweler for their next available appointment. Thankfully, Damian’s schedule was packed with shifts for the next two weeks. You never thought you’d say that before. That’s wild.
Almost three days later, you woke up bright and early. A little before Damian which rarely happens, so you made breakfast for the two of you. “Rohi,” He smiles, his feet echoing on the cold morning floors. “You didn’t have to,” He takes in the state of the kitchen— batter bowls, cut up fruits and nuts, an almond butter jar haphazardly perched over on the edge of the counter, and a carton of his vegetarian eggs that you say is probably just witchcraft. Or orange juice.
It’s not a mess, but it’s definitely a little more cluttered than Damian prefers the kitchen to be.
Slowly, he wraps his arms under your shirt, his fingers gliding over your skin before they settle on your stomach. “I wanted to,” You hum, leaning into his touch. “Your plate is almost done, I just gotta finish this pancake.” While you’re talking, his lips explore the exposed skin on your neck. He’d never admit it, but domestic activities are something he’s into. Things as simple as cooking together or going shopping are surefire ways to get him in bed.
Not that it’s the reason you do it. Just a perk.
“Thank you, ya helo,”
It’s a somewhat rare occurrence that the two of you can eat breakfast together. With his ever-changing shifts as a resident, these things are more often than not spontaneous. So when there are two plates on the kitchen island next to each other, neither one of you comments on it in fear that the hospital gods would call him in early.
You don’t speak as you eat, because despite yourself, you both do need to hurry. There’s barely enough time to wash the dishes before he’s taking a shower and getting ready to leave.
“I love you,” You say, grabbing his hand as you give him a kiss before he has to leave for his shift. When he says it, you can feel it. He means it, and that’s a good sign. A sign that you take and cling to as you head down to the garage and drive into Metropolis.
You’d made a rough sketch the previous week, a purple sapphire cut like a crescent moon, a gold band with the top half having what you can only describe as vine curls— you don’t know the name. And then, if they can, a twinkle cut out next to the crescent. The jeweler, a lovely woman named Christy, agreed that she could do it and it wasn’t too much. You paid the deposit and then sat in your car for an hour.
Were you jumping the gun on this? Was the design horrible? Would Damian even like the purple sapphire— you think he looks lovely in purple and the online articles agreed that purple brings out green, so, in theory he should. Maybe he wanted more gems, you should add more. But, he’s a busy doctor and too many gems would be a hazard. In retrospect, you really should’ve sat on the ring design for longer than eight days.
But it’s nice. If anything you can have another one made, one that the two of you would design together.
Assured that you were making the right decision, you stopped for food before heading back into Gotham for your meeting.
Your eyes scanned the sign on the front of the building before you paused. Shit— did you have to ask Bruce and Talia if you could marry Damian? Was that something he’d want you to do? You felt like maybe not Bruce, but Talia on the other hand… geeze. She’d at least want a heads-up.
On your way to your office, you scrolled through your contacts before pressing the call button. She didn’t pick up until six rings in, before the seventh could start, her cool voice drifts into your ear. “It’s been a while since you’ve called me, tifil,”
You cringe, scratching your chin. “Sorry about that, Lady Talia. But, I was hoping you’d be free sometime soon? That we could meet for lunch— or whatever you’re free.” The woman scares you, okay? The first time you met her, it was when you woke up to a knife pressed against your neck.
Her reply was nothing short of how Damian was when you first met him, cold and void of any true emotion. “I’m in the city, I’ll see you during your lunch in your office.” And then the line cut, leaving you both confused and scared.
So it really shouldn’t have been a surprise when the next day, you found Talia sitting in your chair, dressed in a green and gold qipao, her hair falling over her shoulders while she thumbed through some of your notes. Uncaring that you’d walked inside until you carefully shut the door, swallow your nerves. “Hello, I wasn’t sure what you’d like to eat. But, I remembered Damian mentioned that you enjoyed the mooncakes and cheong fun from this local restaurant and got some.”
“Mooncakes are for special occasions,” She says, eyeing the bag as you set it down. “Is this a special occasion?” Her eyes shift to you, narrowing slightly. It’s nearly the same way Damian does but his amuses you while hers makes you nervous.
You nod, once and then twice for good measure. “It is. And I understand that you don’t like to beat around the bush,” At that, she hums. “Well, I want to propose to Damian.” Talia sits up, grabs the bag and opens it, a grin spreading across her face.
“I was wondering when you would come to your senses,” It’s incredibly hilarious, how your body relaxes when you understand that she’s more than fine with the notion of you proposing to her son. “You have my blessing, if that’s why you called me here today,”
“Thank you,” You rush forward, helping her grab her food. “How long are you in Gotham for? I could set up a mother-son date for you and Damian— I have his schedule here, if you’d want to check it over.”
—
It’s nerve-racking, having the ring in your hotbar. Not because you’re scared to lose it— the only one for that to happen would be if you died or something— but because you’re constantly looking at it. It’s always in the most left box, spinning slowly in the open green velvet box you panic-bought.
You didn’t exactly know when to propose, you wanted to set a date. Plan something for the two of you, decorate a hilltop maybe. You knew Damian, he’d hate for it to be in public. Like a restaurant or a gala, so those were off the table. But a nice mountain top, on an empty beach, something like that he’d like.
The thing is, there are so many options that you have no idea on how to settle on one. Thankfully, you were having dinner with your sister and her wife in a couple of minutes so you could ask Kendall how she proposed. Nadia and Kendall got married maybe two or three years ago, a small elopement and honeymoon in the Netherlands. You and Damian were some of the only people to know about it, seeing as you both farm sat for the two weeks they were gone.
During the dinner, you could ask Bruce to call Damian or something. Use the space where he’s off getting the car to ask for their opinions. You’re sure of it.
Walking out of the bathroom, you adjust your cufflinks before looking up. Damian’s in front of a painting, one you haven’t seen before. “You did that?” You ask, stepping behind him, placing a hand on his hip. He hums, giving a small nod while holding your hand. The painting is big, you’d guess around the same size as a family portrait, neatly placed in a golden frame. “Is that us?” You correct, looking across the faces scattered across the canvas. Damian smiles at you, turning to kiss your lips before he excuses himself to leave you to admire it.
The painting is a blend of different moments in your lives. The dinner in Bora Bora, an aquarium date, when the two of you graduated, when you went to a concert together, your first time in Ireland and when you broke your leg so he carried you across a puddle to get to the car. All from different stages in your relationship.
For some reason, your face is in this smile sort of frown as you remember your dates from all those years ago. The fact that, yeah, you did wear those ugly red pants to a cliffside instead of the pants he’d recommend. And yeah, that’s exactly how you looked at him during that song. “This is beautiful, Dames,” Your eyes drift down to the nameplate on the bottom, leaning in to read the laser-engraved words. It’s a bigger plaque than you’re used to seeing and you have to fight yourself on the urge to skip past the paragraph.
Our first concert together, Hozier playing Would that I. That was the first time that I heard you sing something so passionately while looking at me. I still get butterflies when I think about that day. Our trip to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, you’d convinced yourself that you were born to be a merman. That was the first time someone’s let me ramble for three hours about marine life and the ocean. I've thought about getting a tattoo of your favorite jellyfish at least twice a month. Our first trip outside of the U.S., you’d sworn you loved those pants and I couldn’t argue against you. I still can’t. It’s the first time I had the urge to get down on one knee and ask you to marry me without the ring being ready. Bora Bora. I knew you were waiting, and I’m sorry, I almost gave in. But I needed that memory for this, the first time you knew I was going to propose.
Will you marry me?
“What?” You breathe, turning around to find him on one knee in front of you. There’s a red box in his hand, an engagement ring in the metal you wear, and a yellow sapphire in the shape of a sun that sits perfectly in the middle. Quickly, your eyes fill with tears, seeing the way his eyes are glistening.
“Hayati,” He starts, struggling to keep his voice steady while you’re wiping your face, trying to keep yourself together. “We’ve been together for two thousand days and I’ve known since day one that I wouldn’t leave this world without doing this. That you’re the person for me, no questions asked. Will you marry me?”
For a second, you can’t breathe. All this time— all these months you swore you could pinpoint the moment he was going to propose. You’d overanalyzed him to the point that, at some point, you were convinced he woke up an hour early to clean was because he was going to ask that day. Only for it to be so obvious. A dinner with your sister and her wife at a fancy ass restaurant? In clothes he’d bought you, no less.
And now that it was really here, you didn’t know what to do. You were crying, and you’re pretty sure you kept repeating oh my god without meaning to. Quickly, you compose yourself and nod. “Yes— I’ll marry you.” Your voice cracks as he takes your hand, slipping the ring onto your finger before you pull him in for a kiss. He holds your face, wiping away your tears while you flick your hand into your hot bar and pull out the green box before getting down on one knee, making sure to keep your back straight.
“I don’t have a speech,” You admit, letting out a small laugh. “But I-I love you. And-and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life as your husband. Will you—“
“Yes.” He replies without any hesitation, watching as you slip the ring onto his shaking hand. When he pulls you up, you’re pulled in for another kiss. Your finger glides over the cold metal while his fingers twist your ring.
“It’s Ironic, isn’t it?” He whispers, his forehead pressed against yours. “The sun and the moon? Purple and yellow,”
“We’re just a perfect match,” You whisper back, pecking his lips.
“Yes, we are.”