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Luke finally learns why Ashton’s been restless all week when he pulls out the ring.
“No,” he says immediately, before Ashton can even open his mouth. A look of confused distress appears on Ashton’s face. “I mean, not no. Just, like, no, you aren’t proposing to me now.”
“I one hundred percent am,” Ashton says, sounding exasperated and fond. “Shut up, don’t act like you weren’t expecting it.”
“I wasn’t expecting it!” That’s mostly true. Although it doesn’t mean Luke hadn’t been hoping. “But I don’t want you to propose in quarantine, how un-romantic is that? I can’t think of anything less romantic.”
“Nothing? At all?” Ashton narrows his eyes. “I could have proposed while you were in the bathroom. Just stood outside the door and gone hey, Luke, marry me?”
Despite himself, a thrill runs down Luke’s spine at the words. “Fine,” Luke says. “That would have been less romantic, but only barely. Come on, Ashton, it’s not like being engaged is going to change anything about our situation. We’re stuck at home together anyway.”
“Yeah, but,” Ashton says, “and hear me out on this one: I’ll get to call you my fiancé.”
Luke blushes. “That’s really nothing.”
“You won’t be saying that when I’m calling you fiancé,” Ashton says smugly. “Now if I could please get on with it.”
Luke sighs. “I could always say no.”
“Then you’ll say no,” Ashton says, shrugging. “And I’ll just keep asking.”
Of course he will. Ashton’s nothing if not persistent. To a fault, some might say.
“Alright then,” Luke says, trying to sound as defeated as possible to mask the giddy feeling filling his gut. “Go on.”
Even before Ashton starts talking, Luke knows that in no universe would he ever, ever, ever be idiotic enough to refuse a marriage proposal from Ashton Irwin. And he really wouldn’t even want to.
“Alright, well,” Ashton says, and Luke notices that his knuckles are white from holding the small velvet box, and his free hand is shaking. The steadiest grip of anyone Luke’s ever known, and Ashton’s hands are shaking. It hits Luke, the enormity of this question. “First of all, I want to say that I love you. I’ll love you if you say yes. I’ll love you if you say no. I’ll love you if you break up with me and go fall in love with — with Michael.” Luke snorts. “I mean it, Luke, I really will. Like, you’re it for me. I know that’s what everyone says, but you really are. I can’t even imagine — quarantine without you. Life without you.”
“Grim,” Luke says under his breath, and Ashton laughs nervously.
“Yeah,” he says. “Grim as fuck. I’m not going to waste all my words on this, because — well, for starters because you just said you’re planning to say no, so I’ll save my really mushy romantic stuff for when I know you’ll say yes.” Luke huffs an unsteady laugh. Ashton’s hand is still shaking, and Luke reaches unthinkingly across the table and clamps it between his own palms. Ashton gives him a grateful smile. “But also because you already know it. I don’t think I need to remind you of all the reasons I love you. I will if you ask, though,” he adds, and Luke smiles. “But mostly I think the beauty of a proposal is that it’s not as much about what we have been, but what we will be. We’ve both been here for our whole relationship. You know what’s happened. I don’t need to remind you. I’m just asking if — if you want to see what it can become. What more we can be.” He takes a deep breath, and Luke squeezes his hand. “So, Luke. Cards on the table. Will you marry me?”
And it’s cute that Ashton phrases it as a question, as if there could ever be any more than one answer. Luke swallows thickly. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
“Wait,” Ashton says. “Really?”
“Of fucking course really.” Luke comes around the table without releasing his grip on Ashton’s hand. “God, stop being nervous, Ashton, I’d love to marry you, I’ll marry you literally tomorrow if you want.”
“You were going to say no,” Ashton says, sounding dazed. “What — I really thought you were serious about that.”
“Ashton,” Luke says, falling into a kneel so he can be eye level with Ashton. “I am so ridiculously in love with you I think the only thing that could stop me from wanting to marry you would be actual death. And even then, I’m pretty sure my ghost would haunt you until we figured out necromancy.”
Ashton laughs; Luke recognizes the way his shoulders fall a bit, sees the tension drain from his posture, the stress evaporate from between his brows. “Oh, the fucking ring,” he remembers, and flips the box open, pressing it into Luke’s hand. Luke gazes down at the silver ring with a growing feeling of anticipation, something akin to impatience, if it weren’t accompanied by such elation.
“It’s so pretty,” he murmurs. “Understated. Perfect.”
“I thought you’d prefer understated,” Ashton says, pink-cheeked.
Luke draws Ashton into a kiss, wondering if he can somehow diffuse the warmth pooling in his chest before it grows too hot and burns him. Ashton twists his fingers into Luke’s hair, and they stay that way until Luke’s knees start to feel sore from the tile and he has to pull back.
“I’d marry you tomorrow,” Luke repeats, breathless, and this time means it seriously. “Let’s just get fucking married, Ashton.”
“That’s the idea of the proposal,” Ashton says, freeing his hand from Luke’s hair but resting it instead on Luke’s shoulder, fingertips drumming against the back of his neck. “We can’t get married tomorrow. As much as I would love to.”
“Why not?” Luke challenges. “We don’t know when the next time we’ll be able to do a proper wedding ceremony will be. This pandemic could last another year, another two. I don’t want to wait a year to be married to you. I don’t want to wait a month, Ashton.”
“You’ve really flipped on this,” Ashton says. “Luke, our parents will kill us. Our bandmates will kill us.”
“Whatever,” Luke says. Adrenaline is racing through his veins, and love for Ashton, although if he’s honest with himself all of his blood is tinged with love for Ashton anyway, has been for years. Ashton is what keeps his heart beating. When he bleeds, it’s all love. “We can have a ceremony later, when it’s safe, I just want to be married now. My husband, Ashton Irwin. Doesn’t that sound good?”
“My husband Luke,” Ashton breathes, and Luke can see the moment he succumbs to the idea. A dry smile creeps across Ashton’s face, and he drops his forehead against Luke’s. “Luke Hemmings, my husband. God. Okay. Fine. Let’s get married tomorrow.”
There’s no stopping the grin that stretches Luke’s mouth ear-to-ear, nor the way a furious stampede of cows/horses suddenly makes itself at home in his stomach. “Getting married tomorrow!” he whisper-chants. “Mikey and Cal are going to kill us!”
“Lauren and Harry will end my life,” Ashton adds, mirroring Luke’s smile. “Your mum will have my head.”
“Oh, she will,” Luke says, nodding in agreement. “But I’ll just go, hey, mum, can you not speak to my husband that way?”
“Jesus,” Ashton says hoarsely. “That sounds so fucking good.”
Luke chews on the inside of his lip. “Might keep using it, then,” he says. “If you ask nicely.”
Ashton shakes his head, with obvious difficulty. “Get up, you absolute menace, we need to eat dinner still.”
“Fine,” Luke says. “After dinner, then.” He smirks as he pushes himself to his feet, and Ashton swallows.
“Behave,” he says sternly.
“I’m behaving!” Luke protests. “Why can’t I try and seduce my own husband-to-be?”
“Because we are having dinner,” Ashton says, rolling his eyes and pushing his chair out to retrieve their food from where it’s warming in the oven. “You can seduce me after.”
That’s a pretty fair deal, but Luke still pouts for another moment, because he has a reputation to uphold. “Hey,” he says, settling into his chair as Ashton brings the food out. “Does this make you the housewife? I feel like you do most of the cooking and cleaning.”
“I’m pretty sure that makes you the trophy husband,” Ashton returns, taking his own seat.
Luke snickers. “I can deal with that.” There are much worse things to be than Ashton Irwin’s trophy husband. That’s already a million miles above boyfriend. And frankly, any way Luke gets to be Ashton’s husband is perfect for him.