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They have only been together for about a month (after nearly five painful years of dancing around each other in and after university, of course), but Ashe is so sure about how much he cares for Dedue. He has never felt this way, his feelings both a heavy weight that he’s happy to carry and a blessing that he doesn’t feel he deserves. Granted, he’s only dated one other person, but he just knows. He just knows that Dedue is the only one for him, that Dedue is special.
And, oh, how special Dedue is.
Ashe is completely, totally, in love. He thinks it started when he accidently fell over himself running to class, rounded a corner and ran straight into Dedue, only staying upright and off the ground when Dedue caught him. He suspected it the first time he went to Dedue’s dorm to study with him, saw the potted plants in Dedue’s small windowsill (Ashe later gifted his own favorites, violets, for the collection). He was sure of it the first time he tasted Dedue’s cooking.
That cooking, that curry. It was easily the spiciest thing he’s ever eaten in his life. He hadn’t even liked spicy food at the time but tried it because it was Dedue, and Dedue’s eyes had been so uncertain, so insecure when he offered, and Ashe would never, ever do anything to hurt Dedue. So, he ate it. And he cried, and his eyes burned, but he ate it. And it was perfect, just like its chef.
(He thinks that’s when Dedue fell in love with him, too.)
(He wonders, sometimes, if he’s a bit of a masochist, and he enjoyed the pain, and that’s what finally pushed him to fall in love with Dedue.)
The thought of Dedue always makes him glow, makes him warm (warmer than the curry, even), makes him feel such a deep-rooted panic that it could all change, that he’s not good enough.
That’s ridiculous; he has to stop telling himself that. He is good enough, and even if he wasn’t, he’s working for it. He and Dedue work hard together for their relationship. They schedule time for each other nearly every day, and if they can’t actually see each other in person, they try and send messages to each other (Dedue is convinced that the best way to send long, winding love letters is through e-mail, that texting just isn’t the same, and Dedue is determined to send them as often as possible. The fact is, receiving a notification for a new email with “Let me count the ways…” as the subject line is something Ashe looks forward to every week).
They work hard to overcome their insecurities, as well. To support each other.
Dedue has supported Ashe, helped him in school, taught him so much about Duscur and cooking and well, everything about the wider world outside Ashe’s small town of Gaspard. He’s bonded with Ashe’s siblings, even helped tutor his younger ones. Dedue and Christophe get along well, as Christophe is (currently) the only one in their family to speak Duscur fluently.
(Ashe is practicing. He’ll know what they say about him soon. Oh, he’ll know.)
Dedue gives Ashe affection, cuddles, kisses. So much that Ashe is never at a want for attention. Dedue has accepted that Ashe can’t want sex yet, can’t feel that sort of attraction until the bond between them is deepened, and even then, still may not want it. More than accepted: Ashe was delighted to discover, when he came out to Dedue, that Dedue is very much the same.
(And is their bond ever deepening. Ashe has found himself having some… interesting thoughts, lately. Later, when they’re sure, if Dedue wants it, too, they can explore that together. Until then, or never, it doesn’t matter. They love each other with or without it.)
When Dedue feels a lack of purpose, when he wonders if he’s made the right life decisions, if choosing to live how he wants instead of how others expected him to was selfish, Ashe is there to reassure him that it is perfectly okay to live for himself, that it doesn’t matter what others think. That Ashe will always, always support him.
(First, Dedue was meant to take over his father’s welding business, but it never felt right to him. Next, he thought his place was next to Dimitri, his closest friend, returning a favor he owed him from something Ashe hadn’t even been present for. Neither of these were what Dedue wanted, and so he changed course, surprising everyone when he doubled his studies in both culinary arts and botany.)
(Ashe was, and is, behind him every step of the way.)
Dedue is a hard worker and Ashe is so damn proud of him, will always be there to take care of him, cook for him when he’s tired, rub his shoulders when he’s exhausted and sore and worn. Ashe just wants to see him, know Dedue is there. Ashe wants to be there for Dedue. Always.
And that’s why he’s going to ask him if they can move in together. Oh, but he won’t be asking on just any ordinary day.
He is going to ask on Valentine’s Day.
He is a fool.
Oh, sweet Sothis, holy Seiros, and all the saints. Gods and goddesses of Duscur. Anyone, anything that has the power. Please, please don’t let him mess this up.
----
Ashe has asked Dedue over for dinner, a candlelit dinner, flowers in a vase in the center (red roses, of course, and pink carnations, both for love, and violets simply because he likes them and knows Dedue will smile, remembering the ones that sat on his windowsill).
He’s pacing as he waits, the nerves biting at his feet. His phone buzzes and he screams; it’s a ridiculous meme from Christophe, making fun of him for being nervous. He hasn’t even fretted that much to his older brother.
Are fifty texts that much? No. No, surely not.
They are.
Oh goddess, what if he accidently sent one to Dedue and didn’t realize it, and Dedue has just been politely ignoring it all week and isn’t going to be surprised at all, and in fact, has been making plans on how to turn Ashe down and—
Ashe checks his chat with Dedue. The last message from Dedue is: “Ashe, I am currently in my car. Do not worry, I haven’t started it yet. I will be in route to your apartment shortly. I love you very much.”
Ashe lets himself melt for two seconds before he resolidifies and checks the chat for the past two weeks, pleased to see only more words of comfort, praise, pictures they’ve sent each other, one of the cute cats Ashe and Caspar feed, a picture of Dedue asleep that Dedue’s sister took and sent to Ashe. (Bless her, it is saved away forever in both his phone and heart.)
His doorbell rings, and he turns slowly to face it, feeling all the while like he’s a goose going to the cutting block. He might as well have cooked himself up for dinner tonight, for all that he’s feeling like he may chicken out.
He doesn’t have to go through with it. He doesn’t have to ask.
If he doesn’t ask, Dedue won’t say no.
But he also won’t say yes.
The doorbell rings again. How long has Ashe been standing there, lost in thought? Finally, he takes a deep breath, goes to the door, and opens it.
Everything is right again immediately, and he falls into Dedue’s arms before he even lets the poor man in. Dedue, never questioning it, pulls Ashe to him tightly, carefully holding a box of something away so that it doesn’t drop, kisses Ashe’s hairline. Ashe pulls him in when he’s sufficiently cuddled, bringing Dedue with him to the dining table.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Ashe says, “I made the most romantic of Valentine’s dishes— spaghetti.”
Dedue good naturedly cocks a brow, “And how is that the most romantic?”
“Because, Dedue, as you know, a couple shares a plate, accidently gets one noodle, and meets in the middle for a kiss.” Dedue does not look convinced, the corner of his mouth twitching with mirth. “Listen, Dedue, it is peak romance.”
Dedue rolls his eyes, “Of course, how could I not know that. I am absolutely not sharing a plate with you, I hope you know.”
Ashe gasps in mock indignation, covers his chest with his hand, “Dedue. Breaking my heart on Valentine’s Day?” He turns to the kitchen, starts to rummage through the cabinets. “Sit, I’ll get us plates. Does that need to go in the fridge?” He asks, pointing at the box. Dedue shakes his head.
“No, it’s just my simple spiced cake—”
“Just my simple spiced cake, says the creator of the greatest cake on this planet, casually, like he doesn’t know how perfect he and his cake are.” Ashe looks to Dedue, who is now sporting the lightest of flushes on his cheeks.
He is so perfect.
Ashe hopes this goes well.
---
He waits until after dinner, waits until they are curled up together on Ashe’s secondhand sofa that he got from Christophe, curled into a blanket Dedue’s mother made for him for Christmas last year (before they were even together. She knew. Ashe wonders if Dedue spoke about him a lot). Dedue is laid out, his head in Ashe’s lap so that Ashe can absentmindedly run his fingers through Dedue’s soft hair.
They are about three episodes into a mutual favorite cooking show when Ashe suddenly, inexplicably, decides that it is Time. It’s probably just the wine sloshing about in his head, but he thinks now is the best time. There will never be another time.
He hits pause without saying anything, and Dedue sits up, facing Ashe.
“Everything okay?” he asks. Ashe feels the squint, the scrunch of his own eyebrows as the worry sneaks its way back into his head, taking over from when he had just felt so content, so relaxed.
“Yeah, it’s just. I really need to ask you something,” Ashe starts, biting his bottom lip out of habit, preventing the rest of the words from spilling out. He knows it will be okay, that even if it’s too fast, if Dedue doesn’t want to, they’ll be okay. They can always do it later.
But still, Ashe is sure. About how much he wants to see Dedue more and more, every day, when they go to bed and wake up, when they come home after work. About how much he loves him.
“I want to move in together, soon. And. Be domestic.” He gestures vaguely, traying to pull the words from the air. It hits him now that maybe he should have practiced. “I want to have a weekly chore board, take turns vacuuming, mixing laundry. Share everything in our home, go grocery shopping together, cook together, have a small garden maybe, and just. Exist together. Be together whenever we can. I want more of you, Dedue, even if that’s selfish to ask. I know it’s fast, and it doesn’t have to be right away… but what do you think?”
Dedue stares at him blankly, and then gifts Ashe with his perfect, small, soft smile.
----
They keep a pot of violets on their windowsill.