warning: nonspecific mention(s) of alcohol, marriage.
“Then what do you suppose we do?”
You shrug, resting your head atop your arms as you slouch against the counter, “I’m not sure,”
“We could always get married,” Aran suggests, and he smiles, pearly whites on display as he leans in real close, “We could even have a June wedding.”
And you snort in response, glancing toward the wild display of your friends, watching them as they go about their merry lives in your lovely home. The rooms are suddenly bright; full of laughter and a little bit of what one could call magic, leaving a flutter settling into your heart, its warmth traveling through you with complete certainty as you revel in their joy.
“Think they’d survive without us during the honeymoon?” You ask, and you shuffle in your seat while carefully eyeing the twins as they drunkenly help each other sit down, Osamu’s arm slung lazily across his brother’s shoulder, his arm narrowly avoiding the splash of Atsumu’s drink.
“Not a chance,” he huffs, titling his head ever so slowly, “Does that mean you’ll say yes?”
“Hm, maybe. It would be better for taxes.”
He ducks his head low, breath fanning over your face as you catch the twinkle in his eye, gleaming and bright and nothing less than spontaneity, “Since when have we ever cared about taxes except the dreaded time to do them?”
“Where would you even get the ring? We’re in our twenties, broke, and currently in college debt — the earliest we could buy one would be when we’re, like, seventy, and taxes are only the tip of the iceberg!”
Aran laughs, all belly and no fear as his shoulders shake and you watch as he gently tilts his cup back and forth, the dark liquid inside sloshing around endlessly, “Then I guess I need to start saving,”
You deadpan, and then an idea pops into your head, lips twitching into the beginning of a smile, “It should be ugly.”
“The ring… should be ugly?”
And you huff, listening as your friends’ hollers and Bokuto’s surprised gasp echoing throughout your home as Kenma and Kuroo bicker quietly under the sporadic thudding of feet, “Oh yeah, so ugly they’ll think it’s a joke and we can secretly get married and go on our honeymoon under the guise of a business trip and we’ll be chaos free for at least two days before they destroy the world. It’s a win-win,”
Aran scrunches his brows, mouth twisting into a soft frown while his finger pokes at your forehead, “Except we both work different jobs and they’re still nosy.”
“Yeah, well, so are we—,” you roll your eyes, batting his hand away as you swirl your chair around, feeling the cold from the floor seep into you as you look back at him, “—and the odds haven’t beaten us yet, have they?”
It takes him a while to register your words before he’s grinning — a much different one than before; less only joy and more full of ideas and plans and all things fairy tales connecting themselves in his brain, but his smiles are all the same to you; they are big dreams and fulfilled promises and as you watch this one crawl across his face, you are sure that all you can see is a life you want nothing more than to lead.
He’s in front of you in seconds, hand gripping yours as he takes you striding across the room in a slow waltz to no music. In truth, to dance forever with him, you have never needed it anyway, and you imagine that is why you two never lose rhythm. So you let your fingers intertwine with his, feeling the love of his body find its way to yours like it always has, because there is no other way to love him than truthfully, and wholly, and of countless wishes like the ones you spend giving to each other.
“So... does that mean you’ll say yes?” Aran asks hopefully, and you can feel his heart thump against yours as you press together, almost skin to skin, “I’ll even let you pick out the ugly ring and our rendezvous point,”
You bite your lip, resisting the chuckle that aches to escape you, feeling the edge of history play upon your breath, and for a moment, you envision yourself a bird on the wings of the breeze; in love with their freedom and the earth and all wonders with it — falling, falling, dropping to begin to fly and feel it all over again, and then, like the bird, you do.
Your lips brush against his, “It means ask me again.”
navi / masterlist
author’s note: take this while i debate whether or not i have the emotional stability to finish my piece for the writing contest bc that shit is pulling out all of my previous heartbreak fr / also here is the aran content i promised you bby <3 @shinomiis / thank you to @sunkeiji and @jupitersmiles for being my betas for this <33 love for forever! / trying out a different format to actually let y’all know who i’m writing ab instead of y’all guessing fjdjc
tag list: @togeverse @crapimahuman @tejxswini @sprytesukii @simpfortetsu @tesoromia @miyarins​ @http-worm @lmaowif3swapbinge​ @cloudscda (thought you’d enjoy this too) please click here to join the tag list (and fully read the form.)
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