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Valentine's Day approaches once more. This will be the fifth one he can celebrate with his crew – no longer a small group of circumstantial friends on an airship, but a big found family in their home. The third one he can spend with Quatre. The one he confesses his love.
He wasn't lovestruck. If asked, he wouldn't be able to say when affection turned into love. It is as if it was always there, as if Quatre had always had a place in his heart.
Matters of the heart are not for him to comprehend. All he knows is that the mere mention of his beloved makes his heart soar higher than the Grandcypher ever will.
The love no longer consumes him at every turn. Then, every waking thought was dedicated to him. Everything else faded away and paled in comparison. All he wanted was to spend eternity with his beloved, have him all to himself. The burning passion, raging obsession, he felt upon his realization calmed to a flame he holds in his heart, never to be extinguished. It is a flame he nurtures himself. He's as certain of his everlasting love as nightfall follows daybreak.
Which makes thinking of a way to confess that much harder. There is no question of if, only how. Uncertainty of requited love, or certainty of rejection... The choice is clear. A rejection won't break him.
A gift would be nice. Nothing too fancy. Chocolates are out, he gives those to everyone anyway. He'd confess with flowers, if Siete hadn't stolen that idea from him. He likes writing poems, certainly wouldn't want to pass up an opportunity to wax lyrical like he has done so often. But not now, one day maybe, not for something as important as this, not when it will just result in embarrassment. Confessing with a poem? If he didn't have a tendency to stutter and cry in crucial moments.
What else is there? Gran wants to get him something. A keepsake. A ring? A ring!
The rise of the beasts is just around the corner, the timing couldn't be more perfect. Siero has mentioned working on a ring as a reward for gathering materials. Which is how he ends up smacking a bunch of primal beasts around to commission a ring made of gold and diamond.
A choice Silva ends up 'disagreeing' with. She is, at the very least, not enthused by his decision.
“Are you serious?” she asks so deadpan Gran feels himself turn to stone.
“Can you be more specific?”
He fiddles with the open box, the ring resting innocently on blue velvet. A mere week before Valentine's Day he finally received it. And immediately tracked down Silva to show it to her.
“When I told you that jewelry is a safe choice I did not mean a diamond wedding ring.”
Gran sputters and smacks the box shut.
“It's not a wedding ring!” he protests. “I'm not going to propo- That's prepost- Silva!”
Silva sighs and pinches her eyebrow.
“You and Song got each other rings too!”
“Yes and we're engaged.”
She gently pries the box from his fingers and opens it back up to take another look.
“It is beautiful,” she says quietly.
“It's called perpetuity.”
“With a name like that, how can it not be for a wedding?” Her tone is light, this time, teasing.
She returns the box to him, keeping her hand over his and looking intently into his eyes.
“Trust your heart, Gran. That's the best advice I can give you.”
His heart tells him yes. He wants to confess. He wants to give Quatre the ring he fought so hard for. He wants to so, so badly.
Quatre curiously is out all day. Gran woke up bright and early, pocketed the ring box, and wandered the Grandcypher in search of him. With no trace of him to be found, he asked Esser; all she could tell him is that her brother left sometime before sunrise. He thanked her and requested she tell Quatre upon his return that he wants to see him.
They're docked at Port Breeze, as seems to have become tradition for Valentine's Day. It's not unusual for some crew members to leave ship. It's weird when they don't bother to tell him they won't be home.
There's nothing he can do about it now. It must be something important if Quatre isn't here. He knows how important Valentine's Day is for Gran. Chasing him down, dragging him back to the Grandcypher, that's not how he wants this confession to go. Quatre will be back before sundown, and he can confess then. With his vigour dissipated he trudges back to his room to start handing out the chocolates he got for everyone. All the while, the ring sits heavy in his pocket.
The early hours of the afternoon begin, and he grows worried. Worried about Quatre, who isn't back still, and worried about himself. He's losing heart, he can feel it. The wait claws on his certainty and drags on his heart. The box sitting inconspicuously on his desk starts to upset him, taunt him with yet another day wasted. It's ugly. He doesn't want to feel that way.
Frustrated with himself he decides stewing in his room is what allows the negativity to gather, and that he should instead find Lyria. She always manages to cheer him up. With that in mind he strides to his door and yanks it open without pause, almost running over Quatre -
Wait.
“Q-Quatre! What are you doing here?”
His voice sounds painfully high even to his own ears, and if the way Quatre's ears flattened against his head coupled with his pained expression is anything to go by, he didn't like the sound either.
Before him, clothed in full battle attire stands Quatre. His hair is dishevelled and dirt blotches his clothes. Gran's eyes fall to his hands. They are empty, tapping a slow rhythm against his legs. He moves his gaze back up and meets Quatre's amused eyes.
“Am I not allowed to be here?” he asks in a low voice. “I immediately came once I heard you called for me.”
Gran flushes red. He laughs in reflex and waves, as if to dispel his embarrassment.
“That's not what I meant, you're always welcome. I was just surprised is all,” he says.
“'Always'? Gran, you flatter me.”
“Shut up.”
Quatre leans in closer, cocks his head just a little.
“Make me.”
Gran slams the door shut.
He narrowly misses Quatre's face. Quatre gets out half a confused “what” before Gran squeaks out “just a moment!”. His burning face must rival Percival's hair in its redness. He uselessly pats his cheeks and takes deep breaths. What is he to do now? He never got flustered to this extreme! Just because he will confess? Sure, Quatre likes to drop lines like that on him, but they don't mean anything. With that knowledge in mind he always laughed about them. They don't mean anything. Right?
He's screwed.
He snatches the ring box and stuffs it in his back pocket, takes one last deep breath, and opens the door again.
“I'm back,” he announces.
“Welcome back,” Quatre replies. He's moved away a step from the door frame, to a much more manageable distance.
“Will you tell me what made you react that way?”
Unwilling to confess right this moment, the only answer he can give is:
“Nope!”
“Fair enough,” Quatre says with a quiet laugh.
He runs his fingers through Gran's hair, like he always does when Gran's unwilling to talk, a small comfort. However, this time he suddenly snatches his hand back as though he was burned, his eyes slightly widened in surprise (at his own action?). Huh. That never happened before either, almost as if —
“What were you doing all day, anyway? I tried to find you since this morning!”
It strikes him as ironic, given nothing would make him happier than to know his love is requited, that he is so quick to discard that thread of thinking.
Quatre cocks his head again.
“What's so important you couldn't wait?” he asks.
Diversion won't work on him, not this time when they're riding on a wave of unusualness. Gran lightly slaps his arm and he raises his hands in mock-surrender.
“I was searching for something. But I did not find it.”
“That's a shame... Next time, take me with you, and I'll help you search!”
“That's sweet of you, Gran. However, that won't be necessary.”
Gran pouts. Quatre pokes his nose to make him stop.
“It won't be necessary because the Eternity's Blossom only blooms once a year, on Valentine's Day.”
Gran gasps.
“You were gonna confess to someone!!”
“Yes.”
“But... without the flower, will you still do it? The day is almost over!”
“That's why I am here.”
“Here? But -” Gran cuts himself off.
Quatre steps closer. He holds out his hands, and without thinking Gran holds his own against them, their fingers intertwining. His gaze flits from Quatre's eyes to their joined hands, questioning. However, the pure adoration shining in his eyes proves too much for Gran to handle. He dips his head and breaks their eye contact, making Quatre laugh quietly.
“You're adorable,” he whispers.
The blush from earlier returns and Gran snatches his hands back in favour of hiding his face in them. Quatre drops his arms to lie loosely around his waist.
Without any warning he gently presses his lips against Gran's hair. Everything stops. His breath catches in his throat, not daring to make any sound as he waits.
“I love you, Gran.”
That breaks the dam. Gran hugs him, maybe a bit too tight, he's in no state to care. Without any stuttering or crying, so unlike how he imagined this moment to be, he chokes out
“I love you, too.”
~~ a little extra, since the ring never made another appearance (my bad) ~~
“But I hate you for beating me to it. I was waiting all day to confess to you.” Gran complains as he fishes out the ring box to wave it in Quatre's face. “I even got you a gift!”
Quatre obediently holds out his hand so Gran can gently place it on his palm. When he opens it, he goes stock-still.
“You got me a ring?”
Gran rocks on his feet.
“May I do something?” he asks.
Quatre nods, eyes fixated on the ring. Gran plucks it from the box and takes Quatre's left hand in his own. Quatre chokes. Gran slides the ring on his finger and lifts his hand to kiss the ring.
“I love you, Quatre, with all my heart.”
Quatre exhales forcefully, turns his hand to cup Gran's cheek, and gives him a chaste kiss on his lips. Then he presses their foreheads together.
“All this time you were ready to propose to me?”
“I was what.”