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“Be my wife.”
Though the static was a steady hum in your ear, Oikawa’s voice still held the same timbre that made you weak in the knees. Paired with the very nice three-word sentence he just uttered, you felt all the air leave your body, your jaw on the floor as you tried to process what just transpired in the last three minutes.
Pressing the phone against your ear, you heard scuffling and laughter, as well as the faint bassline of a song your Tooru sent you a link of a few days ago. With a calming breath, your response was swift and ruthless.
“Are you drunk, Tooru?”
You heard a giggle from the other line, the relief coursing through your veins like a river of ice. “Maybe a little bit,” he replied, and you could already picture the grin on his face. If you closed your eyes, you could picture yourself beside him, under the dim lighting of the club, this eyes half-lidden and trailed on your lips. Missing him hurt, but your heart was already making backflips at the part where, though he’s on the way to be blackout drunk, his first instinct was to call you.
And propose, apparently.
Shaking your head, you flopped yourself onto your bed, leaving your work for a moment’s reprieve. “You’re killing me, you know that right?”
His voice burst through the call, and you couldn’t help the smile from crossing your face. “That I am! But with love,” the brunette crooned, taking a moment to down another one of the bartender’s concoctions.
His words came out slurred as he proceeded to tell you of his day – nothing unusual as this had become a daily occurrence for you since he went abroad. By the time the background noise on Oikawa’s end of the call had reduced to a faint chatter, your heart had already calmed down.
“I was serious, you know.”
It was the immense seriousness in his tone that took you out, sending you into a fit of giggles as he whined. “No, you’re not, Tooru,” you chastise, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see it. You stared at the framed photo on your bedside table, the one you took several years ago when you surprised him at his apartment.
The two of you had talked about marriage before, and it always came with an air of maybe. With your careers and his constant absence, it would be hard to put down roots. Hard, but not impossible, you remember saying, eyes lit up as he gave your hand a squeeze. With a smile, you coaxed him back into neutral ground, knowing that come morning, he’d only have a pounding headache and dry throat to occupy his mind.
You didn’t think he’d remember the conversation in the morning – much less bring it up when he came back home two months later.
“Yes, I am.”
Once again, it took only three words for Oikawa Tooru to steal your breath away.
Only this time, he’s right in front of you, dropped to one knee, velvet box of starlight in his hand.
“So, what about it?” He began, trying to sound nonchalant when his heart was threatening to leap out of his chest. “Marry me?”