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“We can just use the real one.”
Phil pauses. “Really?”
“Yeah, why not? I don’t wanna buy a whole new box just for the vid. Unless you don’t want them to see it,” which would be fair, Dan doesn’t say. The engagement is new, and special, and something Dan from any other year would keep entirely private, ring box included.
“I don’t mind. They might be able to tell, though.”
Dan laughs, the thought of— “A thousand phannies frantically googling ugly bright green ring box price.”
“Hey! You got that for me,” Phil pouts, chin finding his chest as he looks up at Dan, who’s half a mind to slap his arm. They’re a few years in, if Dan may say it—he knows Phil’s tricks. To what end, he isn’t sure. He’s already got a ring on his finger.
“Yeh, and that’s part of it. If it was some fancy, sexy red—”
“Did you see that ring box somebody made out of chocolate?”
“Wot?”
“There was like, this chocolate maker guy who made a ring box out of chocolate. It was this dark sexy red like you were saying, sorry.”
“Migraine ring.”
“Migraine marriage,” Phil exclaims, like a business pitch.
“Pretty sure that’s most heterosexual marriages.”
“Mig-rriage. You should really play it up, like we’re an annoying heterosexual couple.”
Dan chews on it, scooching a little closer to Phil on the couch and throwing a leg over his lap. “We did that last year. What if, like, we still act like us but you’re really uninterested?”
Phil squeezes Dan’s ankle. “I can be uninterested in you.”
“Oi?”
Phil giggles. “I’ll eat the ring.”
“The…”
“The Haribo ring. That’s what we’re using, right?”
“Depends if you already ate the whole bag.”
“I didn’t! I left one."
Dan rolls his eyes. “One.”
“What, like you’re gonna propose with two?”
Propose. Yes, that’s what they’re doing. For April Fools’ day. It’s strange—in a sort of floaty, funny way, how casually they can talk about it, when just a few months ago if he’d heard the word from Phil it would send him into a spiral.
Is this okay? Does he actually want to, is the ring okay or too fancy? Is the shade of blue secretly Phil’s least favourite colour in the world?
He’d been conspiring with Kath, half because the panic was eating him alive and he was too young and too close to being engaged to die, and half because—
“Is he not going to get a notification or like, a call or something if the purchase is too large?”
“Well, you called your bank, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“And you bought it on your account, didn’t you, child?”
“...Yes.”
“So he shouldn’t be getting any sort of notification for it, love.” she pauses, breath half caught in her words. “I know you’re nervous, Daniel. But you’ve talked about it quite a bit, haven’t you? You know he wants to marry you. And I wouldn’t let just anybody put a ring on that boy.”
“Kath,” Dan laughs, breaking the tension in his chest.
“I’m serious! I love you, dear. And Phil loves you more than anything in this world. Don’t forget that. The ring is beautiful, anyway. The only thing that’ll give it away is your nerves. He knows you well, doesn’t he?”
Dan nods, then croaks out a, “yes,” so she can actually hear him.
Kath hums. “Try to breathe, child. I love you both, and I’m proud of you. My goodness, you’ve grown up quickly.”
Phil never got an email. Their bank hadn’t betrayed him. He’d screamed, and Dan almost wishes he’d really recorded it, but the photos are enough. He’d be making fun of himself with this video if he really set up a damn camera in front of his own real life proposal.
Phil would have noticed, anyway.
Reasons Why Dan’s a Fail: Ruined my own Engagement
So, they sit legs bouncing on the big white couch, the word proposal thrown around like they haven’t been giddily calling each other fiancé like they're still lovestruck kids stuck in 2009.
“What if we need to refilm it?”
“Um, when do we ever do that? Just don’t fuck it up.”
“Oh, you want to talk about acting?”
Phil giggles. His fiancé giggles. “I’m a fantastic actor. How else would I be saying no to you?”
Oh. Well, that’s—that’s not fair.
“Shut up,” Dan grumbles, throwing his legs off Phil’s lap. He’s going to go…make a coffee, or something boring and unromantic until the blush on his face backs the fuck off.
“Dan,” Phil singsongs from the couch. “I love you.”
“...I love you, too.”
“Get me a Haribo? Not the ring.”
Bypassing the coffee machine, Dan reaches up to the shelf he’s hidden the bag on. It’s a little lighter than it was yesterday, but it isn’t the bag with the ring, so it’s fine. Phil can have more sweets than his dentist would like as long as their April Fools’ prank isn’t ruined.
“Cola or key?”
“Um, cherry.”
“Cherry? Are you crazy?”
“I want a change!”
“I’m divorcing you.”
“Marry me first?”
“...Yeah. Fancy that.”
“You like me,” Phil teases, but Dan can hear his pretty little smile through the hum. “So. Real box?”
Dan turns. There’s something a little hesitant, nervous maybe, in his tone. Dan can’t blame him, years of secrecy on his own part painting a necessity of absolute privacy over their relationship. But—well.
They’re, forgive him, engaged. And yes, it’s an April Fools’ joke, the video. The candy ring. The tuxedo they’ve stuffed away in storage. But a tiny, excitable part of him wishes, longs, to give them something, the kids. Even if they don’t know it.
Take it as an apology, an olive branch. It’s a reach up to the highest shelf, a cherry Haribo placed in their hands, filmed out in their garden.
Here, he’ll whisper. Take it and run.
Phil only just remembers to take off the real one before they start filming.