Your confession is soft and warm against him like an angel’s breath, and that only makes him want to further solidify his position, to hold down his fort.

Without even opening his eyes, he just petulantly hums against you in protest, almost like a whine as he tightens his grip and more forcefully presses his cheek to your chest.

You wriggle beneath him, the motion providing you with an inkling of relief so that you’re able to settle again, allowing Satoru to continue his reign unchallenged. You simply sigh as you both go lax again, falling into the same quiet rhythm as before.

This time you pay more attention to the familiar slope of his nose, the gentle white sweep of his eyelashes, the pink tint of cheeks heated by contentment and fatigue. What a beautiful form, not just for being cut in ways that are pleasing to the eye, but for being completely and unapologetically him. And for waiting on you to love him like you do now.

There’s a sensation in your chest and it isn’t from the weight of Satoru’s skull on it. It isn’t sudden either—it’s more so like it has been there for some time, and you’ve just now taken the notion to realize it. There is no fright or ambiguity. Only peace and acceptance.

“Satoru,” you call in a gentle yet determined breath as you gaze down upon him. He is unaware.

“Hm,” he replies. It’s a half-conscious staccato grunt of acknowledgement. Your fingers still their motions in his hair.

“Do you wanna marry me?”

You speak as casually as you might when asking him what he wants for dinner.

It takes a moment for it to register, but when it does, he’s sleepily opening his eyes and resting his chin on your chest to look up at you with genuine inquiry. “Huh?” His hair is mussed, blue eyes squinted, brain layered with fog.

You repeat yourself, expression neutral. “Do you wanna marry me?”

The second utterance from your lips rouses him further from his tired state, body shifting somewhat from the fresh anticipation, his eyes still glued to your face.

“Yeah… yeah, of course I do.” It’s the truth. He’s made it rather clear on several occasions, whether it be through somewhat teasing tongue-in-cheek remarks or more serious speculations about how he always pictures you in his future. But what you don’t know is that he’s had a ring picked out for you for quite some time now, waiting until the moment it seemed like you loved him enough to not say ‘no.’

Satoru’s bleary eyes now sparkle with hope as he watches you, wondering what this is all supposed to mean.

Valentine’s Day is in a mere few days but that matters little to you. What really does matter is that feeling in your chest, that realization that came from being willing to let him smother you beneath his weight if only to allow him a few more moments of peace. The realization that you would gladly run short on oxygen for him because you know he would do the same for you in return. The realization that you gladly linger on the beauty of his existence and his willingness to offer you his vulnerability on a silver platter. The realization that you aren’t afraid to love him anymore.

This wasn’t planned. It wasn’t overthought. It simply blossomed following a period of growth.

Finally, after a few more moments of letting that feeling settle, you speak. “Well… will you?”

His gaze never falters, but he’s propping himself up more properly now, jaw going slack as he searches your face for any signs of humor or dishonesty.

“Will I…?” he trails off, dumbstruck, brain working to become fully alert as his heart thumps.

“Will you marry me?”

Satoru is still unsure of whether or not you’re joking, but if you were, he’d say you’re the greatest actor on the face of the planet. Your expression is serious, determined, and unwavering, and it causes every inch of him to flutter. Surely he’s dreaming. Surely this isn’t truly happening.

“Don’t mess around with me,” he says defensively yet with a hint of hope still coloring his tone. He’s expecting you to grin and laugh, to say that it was all in good fun. But your aura remains sincere.

Your hands move up to cup his cheeks, thumbs stroking over the rosy hue as you speak. “Do I look like I’m messing around?”

Several beats of silence pass and your eyes are locked, and Satoru gently shakes his head after discerning that you are in fact not playing a practical joke. Looking closely enough, you swear you see the subtle mist of tears adorning his lower lashes.

“…So?” you question in a half-whisper, urging him to give you an answer despite the suddenness of it all.

Satoru blinks and stares, absorbing it, accepting it as reality and internally rejoicing.

Finally.

He had bought the ring but you had asked the question. You’d met each other in the middle without even knowing it, without him having to roundabout beg for it anymore. It’s all he ever could’ve hoped for.

“Yes.”