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The final time Sylvain proposes to Dorothea isn't the way he planned. Whenever Sylvain imagined proposing to Dorothea, he pictured some grandiose date, with their names illuminated in the night sky when he takes her to a gigantic sign that says "Will you marry me?" Then she'll cry, and he'll cry, and she will say yes and they can finally live happily ever after.
Well, he tried that, and she said no. And there was a lot of crying done after that.
So he tries again, this time at their first date, with the entire park cleared out just for them. The sunset casts the sky a reddish hue as he looks up at her from one knee.
And she says no, again.
But Sylvain is not a quitter. So he tries again. And again. And again. Until he runs out of proposal ideas and he is left frustrated and hurt. He loves Dorothea so much and he knows that she feels the same way. So why on earth does she keep refusing him?
His last proposal comes in the form of an argument.
"Why won't you marry me?" The question is unprompted; it is late at night on a random Thursday and Sylvain is lying on Dorothea's lap while she strokes his hair. Her hand stops and hovers slightly above his head.
"Because I don't want to," she replies. Sylvain frowns and gets up from Dorothea's lap to face her.
"But you love me, right?"
"Of course I do," she said. Dorothea takes her hand into his own, "I'm still here, right? I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be."
This would have satisfied Sylvain before; he was honestly lucky to have her. But now, her reassurance was another wound to his heart. So he pushes her, again.
"So is it marriage that you're afraid of? Or marriage with me."
Dorothea shifts uncomfortably and fails to meet his gaze. "I want to be with you, Sylvain. Isn't that enough?"
"No. It isn't."
A tense moment passes between them. Finally, Dorothea is the one that breaks the silence.
"Do you want to break up then?"
Sylvain's contorts in several variations of confusion.
"Did you think that I've proposed to you over ten times because I wanted to break up?" he asks. "Do you seriously think that, after all this time, after everything I've done, I would want to leave you?"
"No, no, no, not at all," Dorothea waves her hands frantically, as if she was physically shooing away the thought, "But if just being with me isn't enough, then..." her voice trails off and she looks away, with the beginning of tears forming around her eyes. Sylvain presses his lips together and gently brushes away the tears.
"Thea, it's not about that at all. If you don't want to get married, ever, and you're dead set on that, it's okay. I'll live with that. But," Sylvain takes Dorothea's chin and gently turns her face so he can look at her directly, "Every time I ask you, I can see it in your eyes. There's something holding you back and you won't talk to me about it. I know it's not just about marrying me. There's something else and if we can work through it, I want to do that with you. It doesn't matter if this takes a week, a month, or ten years. We can work through it, together." Sylvain uses his other hand to take hers. "So let's talk about it."
At this, Dorothea's eyes well over and the tears begin to flow freely from her face. Sylvain instinctively takes her into a hug while she cries into his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she says, her voice muffled through his shirt.
"It's okay babe," he replies, "I'm here for you." Eventually, the tears stop and she releases herself from him.
"I'm just scared," Dorothea says, "I've always been set up with the expectation that I was to marry rich and settle down, but I honestly didn't believe it. I thought I would spend my days hustling from gig to gig, living paycheque to paycheque until I turn into dust. But then I met you and you've been everything I've ever wanted and more. You're smart, funny, understanding and you have a big dick--"
"Hey, hey, lay it easy on the compliments there. All of that might inflate my already huge head," Sylvain jests.
Dorothea cracks a smile briefly before continuing, "And you're wealthy enough that I don't need to worry about money ever again. Marrying you is a no brainer. But now that it's here, with a ring right in front of me? I don't know Sylvain. And it's not you--" she puts a finger over his mouth to stop him from protesting, "It's more like, this doesn't feel real. Like what if one day you wake up and you don't love me anymore? You'll see me hoarsed throated, old and shrivelled and decide that you don't want me anymore. And then what do I do? What can I do?"
Sylvain looks at her, disheveled, sniffling and red, and kisses her. He kisses her lips, her eyes, her cheeks, her nose and her forehead. He would kiss every part of her, if he could, but he holds back and returns back to sitting.
"What was that about?" she asks, mildly flustered.
"That won't happen," Sylvain says, "No matter what. Listen, I love you Dorothea. I love you for your kindness, your intellect, your ability to put me in my place when I'm acting like too big of an asshole," Dorothea smiles, and Sylvain takes this as a cue to keep going, "I have loved you since the day that we've met and that will never change, Dorothea. I will love you until we're both old and grey and as shrivelled as you fear and I will be with you no matter how badly you feel about yourself. So please, marry me, Dorothea. I will never stop loving you, no matter what."
Another silence settles between them, making Sylvain panic. Did he fuck up? Was it too soon to ask her again? Sylvain's mind exploded into a million pieces, trying to think of a way to recover--
"Okay," Dorothea says, "Okay."
Sylvain blinks once. Twice. Three times.
"Okay?" he repeats, confused.
"Yes, okay. I'll marry you."
A rush of emotions hits Sylvain all at once; he simultaneously wanted to scream, laugh, and cry at the same time. But instead, he takes Dorothea's face into his hands and kisses her, again and again and again, until he has to release her to breathe.
"You're not joking through, right?" He has to make sure. Maybe he misheard her, or something.
"No. You win, Sylvain. I trust you," she kisses him again. "We can get married." Sylvain sprints into their bedroom and pulls out the ring he had been saving for this moment. He returns back to his soon-to-be bride and takes her hand to get on one knee.
"Let's do this right," he says, "Dorothea Arnault, will you marry me?"
"Yes."
He slides the ring on her and they kiss again, basking in the glow of their love. It was far from the proposal that Sylvain had planned, but he wouldn't trade her for the world.