#m:kat

Cold day. It was a cold day -- misty, with soft grey clouds floating lightly over the buildings below, hovering precariously above them. Maybe even teasingly. It'd rain later, he just knew it. Gentle choruses of shivers raced their way up and down his spine as he adjusted his collar, taking in a deep breath to steady the racing beat of his heart to something less arrhythmic. He was having heart palpitations -- well, that was a fucking first. Nerves weren't something he often got the chance to feel, and as much as he could try and convince himself it was an interesting sensation that he should enjoy, if not only for the sake of being new and interesting, he eventually decided -- or rather, conceded -- that it was the concept of nerves that he liked much more than the actual thing. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone but himself, of course. He'd barely been able to let go of his ego enough to say it to himself. He was scared. No, not scared -- fucking terrified. And no, it wasn't thrilling, nor romantic, or heart-wrenchingly, soul-crushingly fulfilling a feeling. It was just plain fucking terrifying, and he didn't like it at all. It made him feel more goddamn vulnerable than he'd ever been in his life, which would only make what he was about to do later all the more meaningful. Not that anyone'd know it. 

It'd been years since they'd met. And it'd have been wrong to call it anything but a fucking rollercoaster. He could only hope that this was the bit before they went further up, and not the peak before they came crashing down to near-oblivion. Near. He reminded himself that that word was part of the equation. Inadvertently, he felt his hand slide into his pocket and toy with the velvety box that lay in it, hoping it'd act as less of an anchor, and more of one of those floaty orange things they tossed to kids who'd wandered too far into the ocean. Fitting analogy, kid. 

Eyes wandering across the crowded street, he tried not to let the hustle and bustle distract him from his motive -- Riley'd told Kat to meet him at the pier at 12:30. Checking the bright blue screen of his phone, it read 12:28. She wasn't late. Yet. Walking over to the ice-cream shop nearest to him, he stopped outside, allowing the cool ocean breeze to circle him momentarily before letting his mind drift away, carried by the gentle fingers of memory. This was where they'd shared an ice cream. That ice cream -- the first one after they'd had make-up sex on a Sunday morning when the weather was hot and they'd both wished they were a little bit less sober. Since then, this had been a place avoided. Not consciously, but it just felt wrong to infringe on the memory tied to that place with another, especially when the first was so fragile -- to Riley, at least. But it was all so fragile, wasn't it? Besides, the memory they were about to create would be worth so much more than half-melted bubblegum sorbet that tasted like someone had pumped it chock-full of additives. Or he hoped as much, anyway. 

He didn't sit. He couldn't. Instead, Riley stood next to the giant ice-cream cone that'd been erected outside the shop and waited. Waited, waited, waited. Waited till he was fucking tired of waiting and considered going home. Checking the time once more, a shallow breath escaped his lungs and his fingers itched to reach for a cigarette. 12:31. It'd only been three minutes, but they felt like three of the longest years of his life. 

But, soon the unmistakeable clicking of high heels across the wooden pier saved him from drowning in his own angst-filled anxiety, and a hint of a smile perked at his lips. She was here. His heart swelled. Maybe he should have thought about what he was going to say before the moment had arrived, and a small part of him hoped that she'd know what he was going to say before he even mentioned the words and she'd cry a jubilant 'Yes!' and he'd wake up and it'd all be a comforting dream in a nap after Sunday morning sex. But it wasn't, and she didn't. Instead, her face spoke confusion tinged with a little worry as her fiery blue eyes met his and he tried not to collapse there and then. It was a strange feeling for Riley -- to have given himself up so hopelessly and completely to someone he knew would never had expected it of him. Hell, he'd never had expected it of himself. But, alas, he loved like a cynic, and so the realisation which had come to him a few days prior -- and only a few days prior, which seemed almost terrible now that he reflected on the fact that they'd been 'together' for much longer -- had gradually warmed until he was boiling with the lava of words longing to leave his mouth like he'd never experienced before. The realisation, of course, was that he loved her. The grooves on her palms and the way she flicked her hair out of her eyes when the wind blew it in the wrong direction -- oh god, she'd just done it then -- and everything else. He wanted it all for himself. As soon as the small light bulb in his head had gone off Riley'd been off hunting for engagement rings, which he'd found in a matter of no time, and now... It was really happening. Riley wondered why he'd let it come this far. Obviously, he'd never been one for greys. He loved hard and he hated even harder, and he only took his coffee black, all of which totalled up to a boy in his mid-twenties standing before the woman he loved with not a fucking clue as to what to say. 

Another deep breath went in and out of his lungs. "Riley? Are you okay? Your text was kind of..." She trailed off. The sentence didn't need finishing. Granted, his text had been a little... zealous, you could say. Maybe he'd made it seem like much more of an emergency than it was. 

"No, I'm fine. But listen." He looked her in the eye, brushing a soft blonde strand of hair out of her face, his expression deathly serious. 

"Listening," she said, an eyebrow quirked ever-so-slightly at him. He really was acting strange. 

"I love you." The words were spoken with confidence. A genuine kind, not the cocky indifference he normally radiated. His eyes still didn't leave hers as she smiled, and he hoped she recognised just how hard it'd been for him to say those three words and mean it. 

"Riley, I know, but--" He cut her off, putting a finger to her lips and making a small shushing noise before he caressed her cheek with a finger and took another deep breath. Riley'd been taking a lot of those lately, it seemed. 

Getting down on one knee, he watched as her expression went from mildly confused to more than surprised. A few heads turned inside the shop, and Riley managed to find it within himself to smile. Smile properly, which he didn't do very often -- it was usually smarmy smirks and teasing grins. Pulling the blue velvet box out of his pocket, he leaned an elbow on his knee, and took her hand in his, kissing it, all the while never breaking eye contact with the pair that looked down into his. Opening the box with one hand, he looked from the ring to her, smirking now.