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Battler has it all figured out.
Speaking on the phone with Ange is always good for him. She’s been the same no-nonsense kind of girl since she first opened her mouth to speak. Her first word to him was “stupid”. Or it wasn’t, Battler’s memory isn’t that good, but she’s called him that so many times it might as well be.
The last issue was: Battler wanted to propose to Beatrice. He wasn’t sure if he should do it. Ange—the least romantic woman on earth—told him if he didn’t do it, she would propose and marry Beatrice herself. She even called them soulmates.
So, Battler is going to propose.
He has a ring to get. He has a plan. It’s going to be perfect.
1
It’s not perfect. It’s terrible, in fact. A literal disaster.
Battler doesn’t know how to make pancakes. He’s half-asleep, and the recipe doesn’t make any sense. The kitchen is still intact though. No house fires, no dark smoke coming from the stove. A small success.
It’s six in the morning. Beatrice is still sound asleep in their bed, unaware of the disaster happening in the kitchen a few rooms over.
Beatrice is usually the first one to wake up. As soon as the sun is up in the sky, her eyes fly open. Battler saw it happen once when he was suffering the heat too much to be able to fall asleep properly. The first ray of sun snuck into their room through the barely open curtains, it hit Beatrice’s face and her eyes shot open. It was scary.
Needless to say, she’s usually the one who makes breakfast for both of them. Not only because she always wakes up first, but also because she knows Battler should never be allowed anywhere near any kind of kitchen appliance.
Today proves it.
Battler keeps mixing the batter, praying to whoever is watching over him for something, some kind of enlightenment. The thing inside the bowl doesn’t look right. It’s too liquid. Battler could drink it like water.
He yanks the top drawer open, takes out a spoon and a spatula, and moves the bowl closer, near the stove, to avoid making a mess (not that it could get any worse).
The website open on his phone says to cover the pan in butter, so the pancakes are easier to flip, and it’s the easiest thing Battler has done up until now. He pours the batter in and waits for the little bubbles to pop up. When they do, he flips the first pancake attempt, but it’s too white. He flips it back.
While he waits, Battler starts cleaning the disaster he made earlier. There’s flour everywhere, sugar on the floor, a carton is still spilling milk on the counter. He puts the ingredients back where they belong and sweeps the space around him until it’s clean again. It looks like he never even set foot inside the kitchen.
A burnt smell reaches his nose.
Of course he forgot about the pancakes.
Battler runs back to the stove and throws the carbonized pancake attempt away. He tries again and again, pouring the rest of the batter, but he either leaves it for too long or too little and then too long again. He manages to burn all the pancakes. If Battler can call those things that.
Beatrice walks into the room moments later, wrapped in a light blanket. Battler is sitting on the floor, a plate of burnt pancakes next to him. He raises his head when he doesn’t hear the sound of her footsteps anymore.
She does nothing to hide the smile tugging at her lips as she extends her hand for Battler to take.
Battler drops his head on her shoulder when they’re both standing. Beatrice runs a hand through his hair.
“Sorry, I made a mess,” Battler mumbles.
Beatrice chuckles. “It’s fine. What’s the occasion?”
Battler thinks about the ring, then about the Disaster, and all he wants to do is go back to sleep and restart the day.
“Nothing. Just felt like it,” Battler says.
Beatrice hums. Battler raises his head, and she wipes batter from his face, bringing it to her lips to taste it.
“Not bad.” She nods, staring at the plate on the floor. “I can take it from here. Go take a shower. You’re covered in flour.”
2
Battler won’t fail again.
His plan for the second proposal attempt is a picnic. It’s romantic. It’s fun. They’re surrounded by nature and nothing else. It cannot go wrong.
He heads out alone in the morning to pick up a bouquet and returns home to see Beatrice placing food inside a basket.
After the pancake accident, Beatrice has been extra careful not to let Battler into the kitchen unsupervised. He feels like a child sometimes, but he can’t say he’s opposed to having his partner (future wife) around all day.
They get to an empty park shortly after, dropping the basket and a blanket under the shade of a large tree.
Battler hands Beatrice the flowers, and she kisses him, slow and sweet until the rumbling of Battler’s stomach interrupts them.
They eat, reminiscing about their first picnic, one of their first dates. They were in the same park, filled with kids playing and screaming, and they couldn’t even hear each other talk. A kid stole some of their food without his mother noticing, a tennis ball flew just over Beatrice’s head, a bird fell into the basket, and they had to try getting him back to his branch.
It’s quiet this time. It took them a few years to find the perfect spot, where kids playing or other couples walking around wouldn’t disturb them. This tree is one of their Spots now. Beatrice always leaves two of Battler’s flowers under the tree as a “we were here” sign.
Beatrice is laughing at something dumb Battler said. This is it, he thinks. He fishes through the basket for the box he hid in there earlier.
Leaves and petals are falling around them, Beatrice is still laughing, and her lips are red from all the cherries she’s been eating. It’s the perfect moment.
The box is not there.
Beatrice filled the basket, not Battler. He never hid the ring inside.
Beatrice grabs his face with both hands and kisses him again. Battler pushes the thought of another failure to the back of his mind as Beatrice pushes him down into the blanket.
3
“Hello, I’d like to order a cake,” Battler says into the phone. He looks around to ensure Beatrice won’t appear out of thin air. “I want to propose to my partner. I need you to write the proposal in gold.”
“Sure,” a voice replies from the other end of the phone, “anything else?”
Battler rattles off the rest of the information. Then, “I’ll need it ready for the end of the week.”
“Okay. You can pick it up on Friday.”
“Perfect! Thank you.” Battler feels a pair of arms settling around his waist and a forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. He turns his head around and smiles down at a sleepy-looking Beatrice.
“Who was that?” she asks.
“No one, sorry for waking you. Let’s get you back to sleep.”
He throws his phone on the table and turns around. He kisses the top of Beatrice’s head and disentangles them to grab her hand and follow her back into the room. She lies half on top of him again and closes her eyes. Battler caresses her hair until she falls asleep.
On Friday, Battler drops Beatrice off at work before making his way to the cake shop.
Finally, it’s time. He closes his hand around the ring box in his pocket and walks inside.
The shop is full of customers: mothers buying pastries for their kids, people having breakfast in one of the corners, a guy picking up a giant wedding cake. My turn soon, Battler thinks.
The queue moves quickly, and soon Battler finds himself in front of the counter.
“What can I get you?” a young girl asks.
“I ordered a cake a few days ago. For a proposal.”
The girl nods with a smile. “Can I have a name?”
“Ushiromiya. Battler.”
“Wait a moment. I’ll bring it out for you in a second.” She turns around and disappears behind a curtain.
Battler takes the time to look around, studying the design of the various cakes, wondering what Beatrice would like for their wedding, what Ange would suggest, what his father wouldn’t let him choose.
He imagines Beatrice and himself in front of a tall white cake, knife in hand, while their friends cheer around them and take bad pictures. He sees Beatrice laughing with cream on her face, kissing him, and tasting like too much sugar.
The girl returns empty-handed.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have anything with your name in the fridge. A man picked up the only proposal cake we made this morning.”
Battler groans, but he doesn’t have the energy to argue with a young girl who probably has no fault.
“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says instead.
“We’re terribly sorry. I can give you something else for the trouble.” She hands him a box of pastries. “On the house. I hope the proposal works out for you.”
Battler barely stifles a snort. Yeah, he hopes so too.
4
A romantic, candlelit dinner would be the perfect moment for a proposal.
If this was a movie, the partner would be drinking expensive red wine, the main character looking at them, a soft smile on their lips, warmth in their eyes. The entire room with all the people and the noise would fade into the background. It’d be just them. The main character would take a velvet box out of their jacket pocket and hold it in front of their partner’s face. Everyone around them would clap.
It would be the perfect moment if Battler didn’t manage to make a reservation at the same restaurant as some old friends.
Beatrice spots Erika as soon as they walk through the door. Battler can tell by the way her eyes light up. Erika is pretty hard to miss, with her blue hair in the middle of one of the fanciest restaurants Battler knows.
Beatrice unlinks their arms and walks to their friends’ table, immediately starting an animated conversation with Erika. Battler walks closer too, and Erika sends him a wink like she knows she just ruined his entire plan with her mere presence.
Their table is next to Erika’s, and Beatrice spends most of the time talking to her and the others. Battler joins the conversation as well. He has no choice if he wants to talk to Beatrice for even a moment.
The timing couldn’t be worse. Out of all the times and places, it had to be here and now.
Battler’s dream to redeem himself after dinner by bringing Beatrice somewhere private gets crushed before his very eyes by Beatrice herself.
When she sees everyone leave without Erika, Beatrice immediately asks her to join them for a walk around the city. The walk turns into the two women getting plastered inside a bar and ends with Battler shoving both of them in the back of his car.
Back at home, Battler drops Erika on the living room couch as Beatrice makes her way to their room, insisting she doesn’t need his help. When she turns the lights off, Battler takes the box out of his pocket and opens it.
He runs his thumb over the ring and swears he hears Erika mumble, “better luck next time.”
5
The fifth time is the charm. It should’ve been the third, but it’s fine. Battler had time to figure out what he shouldn’t do. Maybe the solution is to just do it without overthinking it.
That’s why he decides to propose on a random day. After their chores and dinner, sitting on the couch wrapped in each other. Nothing could go wrong. There’s nothing to prepare.
The day goes like this:
Battler wakes up to the sweet smell of tea coming from around him. He opens his eyes and sees Beatrice sitting beside him, her back to the headboard, reading a book and sipping her tea. There’s another cup on the nightstand for him.
They spend the morning lazing around, only getting out of bed to shower and cook something. Battler offers to help in the kitchen, but Beatrice shoos him away to avoid another disaster. (He helps anyway. He doesn’t even make a mess, thank you very much).
The laundry is up next. Battler runs around the apartment looking for the clothes he knows he scattered everywhere throughout the week. His clothes from the day before are still on the floor of their room, while Beatrice’s are in the basket where they belong. He finds a pair of pants on a chair in the kitchen, a sweater under a pillow in the living room, and a few shirts hanging from the back of the couch. It’s like he’s still a teenage boy. Ange would roast him so hard if she knew.
He throws everything into the washing machine without thinking twice and turns it on.
They finish the rest of their chores even while getting distracted left and right by one thing or another.
Battler wraps his arms around Beatrice’s waist and hangs off her as she makes dinner. He gets elbowed in the stomach too much for it to be a mere coincidence.
After dinner, lying on the couch with half their clothes on the floor, Battler decides it’s finally the right time. He’s running his hand through Beatrice’s hair, and she’s talking about something she saw on the internet. All his brain can conjure is: she’s going to be my wife.
In hindsight, maybe he should’ve thought twice before closing the washing machine.
He forgot to take the ring box out of his pocket. It’s currently being washed with the rest of their clothes.
Battler’s plan wasn’t as foolproof as he thought. Or he’s just too big of a fool.
+1
The next day, Beatrice brings Battler breakfast in bed. It’s a plate of perfectly cooked pancakes.
They have lunch under their tree in the park and dinner at a fancy restaurant. When they get home, Battler sees a cake in the fridge. There’s nothing written on it, but he knows. His ring isn’t in the pocket of his pants anymore.
They’re in bed when it happens.
Battler is half-sitting with his neck craned, Beatrice sitting between his legs. He’s holding a book in front of both of them, reading out loud. It’s a confession scene.
“I will marry you,” Beatrice says.
Battler abruptly sits up, hitting his chin on the top of Beatrice’s head. His hand flies to cover it.
“What?”
“I said I will marry you.”
“Wh—but I never asked!”
Beatrice turns around, and she shrugs. “I guess this ring isn’t yours then.” She holds up Battler’s ring and waves it around in front of his eyes. He snatches it from her hand.
“How long have you known?” Battler asks.
“The first attempt. You left the box on the counter while you were in the shower.”
Battler’s jaw falls open. He kept making a fool of himself for this long when he could’ve been engaged to this woman right from the first day.
“And you never said anything?”
“I’m saying it now.” Beatrice sneaks a hand under her pillow and takes out a box of her own. She opens it. “Let’s get married.”