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It’s dark and quiet outside, and the bedroom is lit by a dim light as you two hold each other on the bed. Merula is straddling your lap, ankles hooked together at the small of your back. Your arms are around her waist as the two of you sit in silence.
It’s one of those nights where she’s feeling more affectionate than usual, when she initiates the contact and lets you nuzzle her hair, pressing hundreds of kisses to any skin you can reach.
She tips forward to seal her mouth with yours and both of you melt into it, the tension of a hard day releasing. She’s warm and welcoming and smells like strawberries and bergamot and comfort. It’s not something that happens all the time, but often enough that you’ve mapped out every freckle and mole, every stretch mark and scar. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of her tasting like home.
Even when you’ve been living together for months, every day feels like the first: happy and hopeful and full of a future.
You’re so caught up in that feeling that it startles you when Merula makes a small noise of discomfort and pushes gently at your shoulder.
Her hair tickles as she sits a little straighter. “I’m gonna love you forever,” you declare adoringly after you separate to get air.
Merula’s pupils are blown out as her eyes narrow. “Oh fuck off,” she says, turning her head and sounding a little angry.
You laugh quietly. “I guess it does sound sappy.” She doesn’t answer, refusing to look at you when you curl your fingers in her hair and trace her cheekbone with your thumb. “Merula?” She stays silent. “I’m sorry if I made you upset,” you try again after a minute.
Her shoulders relax by a fraction. “It’s not that. Just — don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Her tone is resigned and bitter, something you hate hearing.
You mull over your next words for a minute while absentmindedly brushing your thumb across her ribcage. “I can’t know for sure if I’m gonna love you forever, but I know ,” you say tentatively but with lots of definitivity.
Merula doesn’t answer, face still turned away. She eases forward so her cheek is pressed into your neck, so she isn’t that upset.
Wordlessly, you smooth your hand over her arm, the other moving to rub her back. She’s warm and soft and so beautiful fitted against you. It’s like she belongs there, and you know she does.
“You’re not gonna love me when I’m old,” she says petulantly.
You splay your hand out over the dip in her back, drawing a breath and burying your face in her neck. “Why wouldn’t I?” It’s easier to just indulge her when she’s in one of her moods.
Merula shifts, arms tightening around you, fingers digging between your shoulder blades. “I’ll be grumpy and ugly,” she says. Her face is turned away from you, but you can still clearly imagine her wrinkling her nose at the statement.
“You’re already grumpy, and I don’t just love you ‘cause you’re pretty,” you say, huffing a small laugh.
“Shut up,” she replies instantly, a reflexive reaction to any compliment, although she might also be telling you off for agreeing that she’s grumpy.
“I mean it,” you murmur against her ear, pressing your lips to the skin behind it. “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”
“Not the prettiest you’ll ever see,” she retorts stubbornly, always so quick.
You tip her head back to face yours and gently press your lips to hers, eyes closed. “You’re the prettiest I’ll ever see,” you insist against her mouth, and feel it twitch upwards in a brief smile.
She chases you when you pull away, so you kiss her again quickly before talking. “You’re smart, and so clever and sharp-witted. And tough,” you add after a second of thought. “And you’re still going to be when you’re old and I’m still going to love you then.”
Merula has stopped smiling. Her expression is a little lost, like this is too overwhelming for her. It practically says: what’s gotten into you? And you know if you don’t pull her to you she’ll bolt at the first chance.
“I wanna grow old with you,” you finish. She lets out a disbelieving noise when you tug her towards you and press your chests together, noses bumping.
“I know this is mushy — don’t laugh — but you’re gorgeous and I wanna spend the rest of my life with you,” you tell her.
Merula isn’t someone who takes words lightly, which is something you’ve learned after spending years with her, together and apart. It’s also why you’re so patiently, so irrevocably in love with her.
It takes her a minute to form words, mouth wavering and uncertain. “You’re right,” she finally says, rolling her eyes. “That’s such a line .” But she’s flushed, mouth pulled into a radiant line. You want to kiss the smile off her face and then keep kissing her till it comes back.
“It’s true,” you whisper, and it really shouldn’t be possible for anyone’s voice to sound so reverent. “What’ll it take for you to believe me?”
“A lot ,” she snorts, bringing her hands up to cup your face, touch gentle and affectionate. “Something big.”
It’s a split-second decision, and you’re pulling out a small box from under the pillow behind you. You’d been planning for this to be more organized and predictable, to be at a restaurant surrounded by friends or somewhere more expensive and regal. But your relationship with Merula has never been predictable, and the moment feels so right you don’t think there will ever be another like it.
“Something like this?” You ask, and oddly enough, you don’t even feel nervous. You just feel impossibly happy and content that you get to ask her this question.
It’d been a lot of trouble to get the ring. At first you’d wanted to buy one, maybe engrave both your names into it, but Merula had mentioned on the offhand that she had a family ring that had been passed down generation from generation. Her great-grandmother had worn it, then her grandmother, then her mother — it was only fitting that now it be her. As much as you’d wanted to buy her the biggest and most expensive ring you could find, it didn’t feel right to break tradition, especially when this one seemed so important.
Merula’s grandmother hadn’t been too keen on handing it over, probably because she didn’t like you much, but she also knew no one loved Merula as much as you did.
Which is why you’re holding it out now: an ornate, gold ring, glittering with a blessing and promise of a life together.
You can tell you’ve caught her off guard. Merula’s eyes are wide as saucers as she stares at the band nestled in the bright red of the box.
“Will you marry me?” You ask before she can say anything.
Her voice is disbelieving when she gasps your name. “You — you—“ she stutters. You hadn’t meant to set it on her abruptly, and try to soothe her by stroking her shoulder.
You smooth her hair back, expression soft and serious. “You don’t have to say yes if you’re not ready,” you reassure her quietly. “We can forget this happened until you are.”
“You fucker ,” she spits out furiously, stumbling over the words.
That takes a second to sink in. “Um,” you blink. “Not the answer I was expecting but...” Your hand has stopped moving.
“No!” She exclaims, and alright — now you’re feeling nervous and hurt.
“Okay,” you say awkwardly, glancing away. “That’s fine—“
“ No! ” She repeats, jerking your head back a little too forcefully. “Look at me. Listen to me. You fucker — beating me to it — you asshole pieceof shit — yes .” You stare at her, and she says again, with even more feeling: “you fucker .”
“I — what?” You manage, because sometimes Merula isn’t aware of how fast she talks when she’s worked up about something.
“I said yes ,” she almost shouts. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, you moron. Yes .”
“Yes?” You ask, still processing it.
“How many times do I have to say it?” She snaps. “I want to marry you. I want to be with you forever.” She knocks her forehead against yours, eyes bright and boring into yours. “ Yes . Would you say something already?”
You don’t do anything but stare at her a moment before you’re laughing, feeling full and grateful and so glad to be alive. “I love you.” You kiss her, wrapping your arms around her waist. Merula hands intertwine behind your neck as she returns the gesture with equal fervor. “I love you,” you repeat over and over, hoping the words will travel straight to her heart.
She jerks back, and before you’ve had time to protest she’s pulled something out the drawer. “You think you’re so cool proposing first,” she says accusingly, “well take that .” She slaps an equally ornate ring into her palm and raises it to your face. “You haven’t beat me. I was going to—“
“Today?” You interrupt. That would be a huge coincidence.
“Not today,” she admits. “I don’t know. Whatever. You don’t get to beat me at this.” She grabs your left hand and fits the band onto your ring finger, gently even though her voice is so worked up. “We’re telling everyone I proposed first.”
“Okay,” you say agreeably. “Is that so important right now, though?” You almost laugh at how fixated she is on the ring on your finger.
Her gaze flits to yours. “No,” she says, eyes going dark. She pushes you onto your back, smiling wide and triumphant.
You can’t help it — you start laughing. But Merula doesn’t seem to mind because she’s laughing with you, both your hands entangled as she dips down to laugh into your neck, into your hair. Neither of you pull away for the rest of the night.