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“This— Is this okay?” Sayori adjusts her collar, fingers pressing hard into the stiff material to get it as flat as possible. She’d only ironed it twice. Twisting her neck, she tries to see behind her to make sure that she looks okay from the back as well. She should check the mirror in the bathroom, in case the bedroom one is wrong. What if she accidentally forgot her shoes? Or her pants? What if she—
“Sayori.” Natsuki, who had watched Sayori prepare and knows that she is in fact wearing all of her clothes, is sitting on the edge of Sayori’s bed with an expression of pure exasperation. It’s the type of expression you only make when you’re really, really, really sick of telling someone they are wearing pants. “You look fine. You look amazing! Jesus Christ, you know she’s going to think so anyway.”
“But what if—”
“For the last goddamn time, you are not naked, Sayori, you’re just stressed!”
“What I was going to say,” Sayori says, an eyebrow cocked, “was… what if she says no?”
At this, Natsuki actually bursts into hysterical laughter. She wipes a fake tear, giggling in the face of Sayori’s most sincere, concerned question. This is serious business! How is she laughing!? Natsuki continues to try and fail to pull herself together, only succeeding when Sayori gives her a look and she clears her throat quickly.
“Ahem. Excuse me. That was unprofessional.” Natsuki stands up, placing her hands on Sayori’s shoulders. She turns her around to face the mirror hanging on the back of her door and smiles at their reflections. “Look at you!” Natsuki tugs gently on the bottom of Sayori’s crisp suit jacket, removing any missed creases. “It looks like you’re literally already at your wedding, and you’re worried she’ll say no? She loves you so much, dude, you’ve been disgustingly into each other for so long it actually makes me sick. In a good way. But really, I get nauseous sometimes if I think about it too long.”
Sayori’s eyebrows furrow as she takes in her appearance. She’d put in so much effort; almost every part of her outfit was ironed, including her socks and tie. (Natsuki had forbidden her from ironing her bra.) But… still, she feels the anxiety well up again, hot and swirly in the pit of her stomach. Uncontrollable and all-consuming.
“But it’s Monika,” Sayori says simply. She takes the bouquet of wildflowers from her dresser, clutching it to her chest. She can practically see Monika now: long, auburn hair flowing, freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose, and those eyes that just—
“And you’re Sayori, damnit!” Natsuki pulls open the bedroom door, giving Sayori a gentle push and following her past the kitchen and then out into the main hall. They walk together up the stairs to the top floor of the apartment building, Natsuki ensuring that Sayori doesn’t suddenly make a run for it and lock herself in a broom closet or something. (Or worse, in someone else’s apartment.)
Tapping one thumb against her index finger and squeezing the bundle of flower stems with the other, Sayori steels herself and takes a long, slow breath. It’s just Monika, and she’s just Sayori. Natsuki is right, they have been together for a really long time. Jeez, this is their house, their apartment! Just… Sayori bites her lip. Monika is Monika. Wonderful, caring, gorgeous Monika. How will she ever find the right words to say? How will she make this as perfect as it needs to be, as Monika deserves?
“I’m gonna bounce, ‘kay?” Natsuki says, giving Sayori a final pat on the back. It isn’t as reassuring as it should be, and neither are the finger guns she promptly fires in Sayori’s direction. “Don’t wanna crash your proposal. Plus, I have a job to do.”
Proposal. The word makes it feel so real. Sayori’s stomach continues doing backflips as she waves Natsuki off with a wobbly smile, watching her walk down the steps and disappear from sight. She turns, looking toward the door at the end of the hallway. It leads up to the roof of the building. Where she’ll… Sayori swallows, marching right up to the door and forcing her legs to carry her up the short staircase. It’s where she’ll propose to Monika.
“Would you… Can you…?” Sayori mutters to herself, still holding the poor bouquet in a vice grip. She paces the length of the roof, illuminated by the string of warm fairy lights she’d strung up with Yuri earlier. Nat couldn’t have reached. “Will you? Aah, what do I even—”
“Sayo?” Monika’s voice carries through the stairway. “Natsuki said you needed help with the…” She steps through the door, looking toward the small planter box on the opposite side of the roof. Turning, her gaze shifts toward Sayori, and her head tilts. “...garden?”
Sayori’s eyes widen. She’s seen Monika before, easily thousands of times, but something about this moment is different. The golden glow of the lights casts a halo above Monika’s face, drawing out the highlights in her gently flowing hair and the pink of her cheeks. She must be from somewhere else, Sayori decides. Because there is nothing the world could’ve possibly done to deserve Monika.
“Is everything okay?” Monika asks softly, approaching Sayori. Her eyes drag across Sayori’s body, beginning at her shined shoes and tracing up the leg of her perfectly ironed dress pants, then lingering for just a second on her tie before arriving at her face. “You’re all— Gosh, you’re all dressed-up, Sayo, you look… beyond words.” Monika steps just a bit closer, searching Sayori’s expression for answers as she gingerly touches the back of her hand to Sayori’s burning cheek. “What is this for, love?”
It’s like all of the panic and doubts in Sayori’s mind have disappeared at once. The single touch was a warm bath, a soothing hot pack, a cure-all to every worry Sayori had previously had. She doesn’t know quite what to say still, but she knows… she knows that this is the right thing. She knows that Monika is hers, for now and forever.
“Moni, you’re…” Sayori trails off, faltering as her words refuse to come out. She hands Monika the flowers, picked freshly from their garden, and tries with everything in her to convey the emotions unspooling in her aching heart.
“I’m?” Monika echoes. Though she’s holding the bouquet, her eyes never leave Sayori’s. She’s enthralled.
Sayori reaches into her pocket, securing the object tucked into the deepest corner. With every ounce of affection she has, she cups Monika’s cheek in her palm. Can you feel it? Her fingertips press into the small loop of metal held between them. Can you feel how much I love you?
“You’re beautiful,” Sayori breathes. “My Moni.”
In the beat of a heart—or maybe the skip of one—Sayori bends to one knee, feeling the tension as the stiff material of her pants resist the movement. But she doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t question her clothing or her position or her words. Realization floods Monika’s features. Her mouth drops open and she blinks quickly, immediately verging on tears that cling to the corners of her eyes and tug dangerously her eyelashes.
“I love you with all of my heart, and— and…” Holding the ring out, Sayori finds herself unable to properly express every thought and emotion coursing through her body. Instead, all she does is look at Monika. And the right words just… find her. “Monika, my beloved president,” she says, caught between laughter and tears, “My… My girl. If you would let me, could I… have you for the rest of my life?”
Monika, with tears flowing freely down her face and trickling down the hand by her mouth, nods through her hiccupping sobs. She holds the flowers tightly to her chest, eyes closed tightly and lower lip wavering uncontrollably.
“Yes,” Monika replies finally in a choked voice, shaking where she stands. “Yes.”
As Sayori slides the ring onto Monika’s trembling finger, the tears only pour faster and stronger. The sight triggers something in Sayori and she pulls her into a hug without thinking, holding her tightly as she bawls into her shoulder.
Now Sayori’s pants are creased, and her collar is drenched, and her shoes are probably scuffed from kneeling. Her tie is crooked, and even her socks, hidden as they are beneath her creased pants, have rolled down from mid-calf to ankle. She’s a mess.
The two stand there for a while, crying into each other's arms and letting the rest of the world, for once, sit still. The stars twinkle in harmony with the lights, a visual symphony as the full moon steadily begins to make her appearance in the sky. And Sayori and Monika hold one another, each wondering how on earth they’d gotten this lucky.
“Are you sure?” Monika murmurs, head on Sayori’s chest. She tilts to properly look at her, a terrified look in her shining eyes, like she thinks she’s in a dream that’s too good to be true and might wake up soon. “Are you really sure?”
Sayori rakes her fingers slowly through Monika’s hair, hoping to soothe her in the same way that she’d done earlier for Sayori herself. Working out any tangles with the utmost care, she nods. She can do nothing but nod. “It can’t be anyone but you, Moni. You know that.”
And she does, because they both know that. Everyone does. There has never been anyone else. Not since the day Sayori walked in on Monika sleeping through her club meeting, or the first poems they’d read to one another, or those shy kisses shared in empty hallways and whispered ‘I love you’s. Whispering became speaking, which became shouting from the rooftops: I love you, I love you, I love you.
I love you, look, I ironed my shirt. I’m wearing pants. I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you so much that it hurts.
“I’m… I’m ruining your shirt,” Monika whispers at last.
Sayori brushes away a stray hair, which had stuck to Monika’s tear-stained cheek, and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Ruin it.”