Chapter Text
A Proposal in the Dark
The world outside was moving, but inside the private dining space, time had stopped. The restaurant was dimly lit, with soft candlelight flickering against dark wooden walls. The untouched plates on the table had long gone cold.
The restaurant was quiet—too quiet for a place meant to be filled with warmth, conversation, and celebration. A single table, hidden in the farthest corner, was occupied by a man who had long stopped noticing his surroundings. War sat with his head bowed, his fingers clenched together on the white linen tablecloth. The soft glow of candlelight flickered over the untouched dinner plates, the remains of a night that had gone entirely wrong.
War sat there, his hands clasped together on the linen-covered table, his head bowed so low that his forehead nearly touched his fingers. The weight of rejection sat heavy on his chest, pressing down like an invisible force, making it hard to breathe.
He had planned everything—the perfect restaurant, the perfect moment, the perfect words. And yet, none of it mattered.
"I can't do this, War."
His breath was slow but heavy, his shoulders stiff as if they carried the weight of something unbearable. The velvet box lay open on the table, the ring inside catching the dim light. A symbol of a future that no longer existed. A proposal that had been met with hesitation, regret, and ultimately, rejection.
She had said no.
War had imagined many possible outcomes for this night, but never this one. He had thought about the warmth of her smile, the way her hand would tremble with surprise, the tears of happiness in her eyes. Instead, she had looked at him with sadness and guilt. And she had left, her absence like a hollow space in his chest.
Her voice still rang in his ears, clear as glass and just as cutting.
"I don't love you enough to marry you."
And just like that, the world he had built in his head—the future he had envisioned—shattered into pieces.
He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there, lost in silence. His hands were still cold from when she let go of them. The velvet box, containing the engagement ring, lay abandoned on the table. He hadn’t even bothered to put it away.
That was when he heard it.
A quiet, measured voice.
“Sir, are you okay?”
War barely looked up. The last thing he needed was sympathy.
“It’s late,” the voice continued, polite yet firm. “The restaurant will be closing soon.”
War lifted his head slightly, eyes unfocused, only to meet the face of a young waiter standing in front of him. He was too young, too serious, with an unreadable expression that contrasted with his warm, deep voice.
The waiter wasn’t pushing him to leave. He was just… there.
Yin.
That was what it said on his name tag.
War exhaled slowly, willing himself to speak. But what was there to say? That he had just been rejected? That he felt like a fool? That he had no idea what to do next?
He said nothing.
Across the room, Yin stood near the bar, quietly observing. He wasn’t supposed to care. He was just a waiter—a university student working extra shifts to afford tuition and to ease the burden on his older brother, who was about to become a father. He had no business getting involved in a stranger’s heartbreak.
And yet, something about War’s stillness—the way he stared at the ring as if it were mocking him—made Yin take a step forward.
Yin approached slowly, standing beside the table. War didn’t even glance up.
"Show me the ring," Yin said softly.
He wasn’t impulsive. He wasn’t reckless. He thought before he spoke, acted with purpose, and never interfered in things that didn’t concern him. But this man—this stranger—looked like he was on the verge of collapsing under the weight of his own sadness, and Yin had always been the kind of person who couldn’t walk away when someone needed help.
War finally moved, lifting his head just enough to look at the younger man. His dark eyes were clouded with confusion, exhaustion, and something raw he couldn’t name. He didn’t question why a waiter was speaking to him like this. He didn’t have the energy to care. Silently, he picked up the velvet box and held it out.
Inside was the silver band that was supposed to symbolize forever.
Yin looked at it for a long moment, then—before War could react—he reached forward, plucked the ring from the box, and slid it onto his own finger. The weight of it was foreign, cold against his skin, but he didn’t falter. He let out a small breath, then met War’s gaze with quiet certainty.
War stared.
And then Yin said, in the calmest voice imaginable…,
"Let’s get married."
Silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence that stretched so long that War wondered if he was dreaming.
Yin just sat there, patient, waiting. His expression didn’t change—neither pitying nor mocking. Just… steady.
Yin stand there, staring at the ring on his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like this moment wasn’t absurd. Like he wasn’t a complete stranger saying something completely insane.
War should have laughed. He should have said no, pushed him away, questioned his sanity. But instead—
He nodded.
And Yin smiled.
Not a bright, cheerful smile. Not a mocking one, either. Just… a small, knowing smile. A smile that said…,
"You don’t have to be alone tonight."
War didn’t question why he reached out. He didn’t question why Yin held his hand in return.
All he knew was that for the first time since the night began, his heart didn’t feel so unbearably heavy.
The words were absurd. Reckless. Completely insane.
And yet, War—who should have laughed, who should have refused, who should have asked what the hell was wrong with this stranger—did none of those things.
He just nodded.
His hand reached for Yin’s, hesitant but firm, and Yin let him. The warmth of War’s fingers against his own sent an unfamiliar sensation crawling up his spine, but he ignored it. He wasn’t doing this for himself. He was doing it for War—the man who looked like he had no one left to hold onto.
So Yin squeezed his hand in return.
War’s breath hitched. A quiet tremble ran through him, but he didn’t pull away. Yin could feel the tension in his grip, the way he was barely holding himself together. He understood that feeling. He had lived with it for years—the quiet weight of responsibility, the exhaustion of always having to be strong.
Yin hesitated only for a second before leaning forward, wrapping his arms around War in a firm, steady embrace. And when Yin pulled him into a quiet, firm embrace—he let him.
War stiffened at first, caught off guard. Then, slowly, his body gave in. His hands clutched at Yin’s back, his breath shuddering against the fabric of Yin’s uniform. He didn’t cry, but he didn’t have to. Yin could feel the grief in the way he held on.
Everything happened too fast. Too unreal. Too much.
But neither of them let go.
The world outside kept moving. The restaurant continued its quiet hum of life, unaware of the two men who had just made a decision that would change everything.
They weren’t in love. They barely knew each other. But for tonight, for this moment, none of that mattered.
Neither of them knew it then, but that night was the beginning of everything. Because sometimes, all a person needs is for someone to stay.