Chapter Text
Year Six
He stood at the hob, gently finishing off the bacon. He knew the smell would be the thing that would wake her up, and if it didn’t, he planned to take everything through and surprise her with breakfast in bed. The kids were with Diego, and he’d taken the day off work, so there was no reason why they couldn’t spend the day wrapped in his bed sheets if they chose to. But she appeared anyway, her hair still mussed up from sleep and the night before, one of his shirts loosely buttoned around her. He still couldn’t quite believe that this was normal now. That by some stroke of luck that he definitely never deserved the universe had finally brought the two of them together.
She wrapped her arms around him, lacing her hands together on his stomach. He twisted to press a kiss into the top of her hair, then carried on cooking. “Morning love.”
He’d managed to pull together everything he needed for the perfect start to the day. Not that he ever really understood her obsession with a proper fry up, but he made sure he knew how to cook one properly for her. Including something he’d managed to find specially for today.
“You found black pudding?”
“Eventually.” He shrugged, like it was nothing. Because to him it was. If it could make her happy, why wouldn’t he? He nodded towards the work top. “I made you a cup of tea.”
He turned the heat off and turned around, waited for her to see them. The bunch of flowers. The one where the florist had practically screamed when he explained what he needed this year. White roses. Perfect for new beginnings. Or big questions.
“What’s this?” She picked up the red velvet box and turned back to him.
Four little words. Four little words that carried the weight of everything he’d wanted to say for years. That he never thought he would be able to ask. Because how could he hope for something as perfect as this. As perfect as her. Every minute of time spent hiding from the world together, every night they went to bed together and every morning he got to wake up and start all over again with her. The question that he’d been on his lips from that day a year ago when she’d turned up here, the one he’d fantasised about saying out loud. In a hundred different settings, in a hundred different ways. It had been too soon then. It was still too soon now. But he was sure. He was so sure.
“Will you marry me?”