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“Marry me.”
“Pass me the salt.”
They said at the same time, Minho’s gaze down, focused on the peculiar dish he was attempting to make, without noticing Jisung’s big, shiny eyes on him. He didn’t realize for a whole thirty seconds, as he kept chopping the meat while waiting. When he noticed his request hadn’t been answered, only then he looked up and his brain registered the two words.
“Wait, what?”
“You heard me,” was what the other boy said, walking from the other side of the counter and stopping by his side, hip against it and head tilted, his i-just-woke-up bangs getting on his eyes, “please?”
Minho scoffed, “Haha, really funny, come on! We are going to mess this up and your mom is on her way!” he hurried the boy, shoving him lightly by the shoulder, before gently moving his hair from his eyes with his soft fingertips, leaving a lingering touch on his forehead on the way.
Jisung sighed and stretched his arm to grab the ingredient, but never leaving the place. Minho faced him when he intended to move to grab another bowl, arching an eyebrow in a defiant yet playful manner, like he always did. But the look his boyfriend was giving him wasn’t the one he usually reciprocated with. It was rarer. It was the one that they kept for the important moments. The one that usually comes out where there had been tears, after being dried away by kisses and encouraging words. The fond look that they kept reserved for the nights under the dim light coming from the window, heavy breathes in between, hands attached strongly together. The one that only resurfaced when heartfelt “I love you”s where exchanged, or when Jisung would get lost in that wonderful mind of his, staring at Minho while he played with his cats. Their cats, since three years ago. The one that meant exactly what it meant, pure, raw honesty. No walls guarding any feelings, defenseless. It was Minho’s favorite look on Jisung, it reminded him of the countless times he had opened up to him since they had started dating. And no matter how many jokes he would make about… everything, really, in his heart he cherished those moments the most. It was also the same look that appeared after a huge fight, after the screaming and when the rushing blood had left his face. The one that meant every “I’m sorry”. Even though it was Minho’s favorite, he also knew it was the one Jisung feared the most. The look that only meant vulnerability.
And there he was, eleven a.m. in the morning, barefoot on one of the coldest days of autumn, hair messed up by the pillows, oversized mustard hoodie on. There he was, the boy that had proved him he could feel so much, and never feel “too much” for doing so.
“You mean it,” Minho let out on a shaky breath, his voice nearly a whisper. It wasn’t a question. He places his hand on top of the one on the counter. It's still warm.
“I mean it,” Jisung nods, half a smile painted on his lips, and Minho feels warmth erupt from the center of his chest, covering him all over. Octopus be damned and forgotten, he thinks, when he closes their distance with two steps and latches his arms around Jisung’s waist. He takes his time before crossing the distance between their lips, eyes darting all over the others face, taking every little thing in. Bumping their noses so he can get a giggle out of his boyfriend’s lips. His fiance’s lips. They have time anyways, it’s for sure now.