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It’s in their fourth year that Emery’s hearing gets profoundly worse.

It hadn’t been fantastic to begin with, more of an occasional strain when she got tired or overwhelmed rather than an outright loss but now, now it was becoming a near-constant struggle in her left ear.

Samira found herself having entire conversations by herself if she washed the dishes on Emery’s left side, the sound of her voice having to loop around Emery’s head where only half the words seemed to catch and had to be repeated.

The first SRT appointment had recorded Emery’s hearing in her left ear to be between 21 and 40 db, a nifty little diagnosis that had scored her a tiny aid that slotted just behind her ear and was kept, somewhat lovingly, in a drawer in their bedside table.

That had been three years ago.

Since then, she’d done countless shifts in a blaring hospital, found herself trying to ID surgeries in the middle of a screaming ambulance bay and, much to Samira’s chagrin, gotten barrier at an many a rock concert, letting the bass speakers bleed into her ears until they hurt.

Her next SRT appointment records her left ear at 41-70. Moderate hearing loss.

Emery takes that and the resulting adjustment to her aid about as well as accidentally eating a sour candy. It gives her a headache most days if she wears it for too long, her brain working overtime to try and listen for her ear rather than her ear doing the work itself.

Most of the time, when she’s at home, she leaves it out.

Samira doesn’t mind the quiet.

Her and Emery’s relationship had never really been a noisy affair, their love sacred and soft between them, but she notices in the months after the adjustment that Emery’s gotten quieter and quieter, that she hears less and less.

She understands that conversation is harder for her now, that she needs to try and stay on Emery’s right side when she’s speaking to her, and she’s started to pick up some phrases in ASL, something they learn together, hunched over a laptop screen.

Some days, they test Emery’s hearing themselves, a game Emery seems to endlessly enjoy because for once, she’s not sat in some cramped booth trying to guess the words being read to her through a headset and getting angry when she can’t hear them.

They sit opposite each other on the bed, their legs criss-cross applesauce-d between them, with Samira’s hands gently cupping Emery’s face, her left hand pressed tight against Emery’s right ear and her mouth softly speaking into her left.

Emery keeps her hands on Samira’s knees, focusing both on the muffled sounds going into her ears and the warmth of Samira’s palms against her face.

When Samira tilts back and looks at her expectedly, Emery only blinks and smiles.

“Something about caterpillars?”

Samira’s scowl is all pout and frown. “No! Caterpillars? I was listing off all the bones you can find in your hands.”

“Oh, well.” Emery’s smile grows. “Potato, tomato. Capillaries, caterpillars.”

Samira shoves at her shoulder playfully. “You really didn’t hear any of it?”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s really muffled, like you’re trying to talk underwater or something. You’re all…bubbles.” She leans forward a little, offering herself. “Go ahead, try again. A little louder.”

Samira stares at her a moment, at the way she’s sat all patiently, waiting for Samira to hold her again and do an activity she would usually find unbelievably boring. Emery’s usually particularly vocal about things she doesn’t like – mushrooms, parking fines, cowboy surgeons – but with Samira, there’s never any word of complaint, never any shred of passive annoyance even when Samira knows she’s not enjoying herself.

She was always so constant in that aspect, always so there when Samira needed her to be, and when she didn’t.

Samira leaned in and resumed their original position, her hand against Emery’s good ear and speaking, just above a murmur, into her bad one.

“I love you.” She said softly, briefly drawing back to chance a look at Emery’s face to see if she’d heard.

She hadn’t, her eyes focused blankly forward on a spot behind Samira’s back, her brows drawn forward in concentration, her hand gently holding onto Samira’s knee. Samira probably could’ve shouted whatever she wanted to right now, told Emery anything that was in her head, and her girlfriend would be none the wiser.

Noting that, she leans back in.

“I want to marry you.” She said gently, a smile tinging her words. “I want to be your wife. I want you to take us out somewhere and ask me properly, on one knee with a ring and everything. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives and…I need you to hurry up and ask me.”

She glanced again. Still nothing. She spoke a little stronger.

“I mean, c’mon, Em. It’s been nearly five years and you still haven’t asked. I’m getting impatient here. I want to marry you and have kids and be a family. Soon. So, I need you to ask me, okay? I need you to hear me and ask me. Because I’ll say yes. The minute you ask I’ll say yes.”

Samira looked her girlfriend up and down before she pulled back, hoping the words sank in somewhere. Emery grinned at her when their eyes met, her sharp little canines flashing in the light.

“Okay, that had to be a sonnet or some case study or something because you were talking in my ear for ages.”

Samira regarded her carefully. “Did you get anything?”

Emery leaned forward and kissed her, chuckling warmly through it. “You’re still all bubbles, baby. Not a word.”

“Hm. You’re sure?”

“Mhm.” Emery kissed her again, sighing. “Can you grab my laptop? I think I need to make another adjustment appointment. I uh, think it’s in the living room somewhere.”

Samira nodded, uncrossed her legs and sat back, getting up and padding out of the room. Emery stretched until she was gone, still smiling.

She leaned over to the bedside drawer on her side, fishing out the small, palm-sized box and flipping the lid, smirk broadening at the silver inside.