Chapter 79

Requested – St26Victor

The morning light came through your curtains soft and golden, the kind of light that made everything feel possible. You woke before Dani, as you often did, her body curled against yours like she’d been moulded to fit there. Her hair was everywhere, dark curls spilling across the pillow and onto your shoulder, tickling your jaw. She smelled like sleep and the coconut shampoo she’d used the night before, and you lay there for a moment, just breathing her in, feeling the weight of the ring box hidden in your sock drawer like a secret heartbeat.

For years. Today was four years.

You’d met her at a showcase, back when Katsye was still new and you were still figuring out who you were without the structure of school and family expectations. She’d been loud and sharp and completely overwhelming, and you’d watched her from across the room thinking, I want to know what that feels like. Now you knew. Now you woke up to it every morning.

Dani stirred. A small sound, something between a hum and a sigh, and she pressed back into you, seeking warmth. You smiled against her hair, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Mm,” she mumbled, not awake, not quite. “Stop moving.”

“I’m not moving,” you whispered.

“You’re thinking.” Her voice was thick, gravelly, the sound she only made in the first minutes of waking. “I can feel you thinking. It’s loud.”

You laughed, soft, the vibration travelling between your bodies. “How do you feel someone thinking?”

“Practice.” She rolled over, finally, blinking at you with eyes still heavy-lidded and unfocused. Her face was puffy with sleep, her hair a disaster, and she was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

“Happy anniversary,” you said, quiet.

Her eyes lit up, suddenly awake, suddenly present. “Four years.”

“Four years.”

“Of putting up with me.”

“Of loving you.”

She surged forward, kissing you messy and morning-breath and perfect. Her hands framed your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones, and you felt the ring box in your mind like a phantom weight, the secret burning in your chest.

“I have a day planned,” you said when she pulled back, breathless.

“Oh?” She arched a brow, propping herself on one elbow. “Do tell.”

“Nope. Secret.”

“Y/N.” She pouted, dramatic, bottom lip jutting out. “You know I hate surprises.”

“You love surprises.”

“I love knowing surprises. There’s a difference.”

“Not today.” You sat up, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, heart hammering. “Today you just have to trust me.”

She watched you for a moment, something curious in her eyes, then shrugged, grinning. “Fine. But if this involves something like skydiving, I’m leaving you.”

“No skydiving.”

“Good. Because I lied. I would do it. Because I’m brave like that.”

You laughed, pulling on a hoodie, and glanced at the sock drawer. The box was still there, still hidden, still waiting. Later, you told yourself. Evening. Lanterns. The right moment.

*

The pancakes were a disaster.

You’d tried to make them from scratch – Dani’s favourite, the fluffy kind her abuela used to make – but you’d burned the first batch, under-cooked the second, and the third looked vaguely geometric in a way that suggested modern art rather than breakfast.

Dani wandered in mid-crisis, hair still wild, wearing your stolen t-shirt and nothing else. She leaned against the counter, watching you flip something that was more charcoal than pancake.

“Is that… intentional?” she asked.

“Absolutely.”

“It looks like a hockey puck.”

“It’s rustic.”

“It’s deceased.” She pushed off the counter, coming up behind you, arms sliding around your waist, chin on your shoulder. “Let me help.”

“You don’t cook.”

“I can flip things. I’m very good at flipping things.” She demonstrated by flipping the pancake in the pan, catching it one-handed. It landed perfectly golden. She grinned back at you, wicked. “See? Natural talent.”

“Show-off.”

“Oh you love it.”

She said it into your neck, breath warm, and you leaned back into her, feeling her heartbeat against your spine, the casual intimacy of four years made solid. The ring box flickered in your mind again, but you pushed it down. Not yet. Not yet.

You both ate at the small table by the window, Dani demolishing the salvageable pancakes while you picked at yours, stomach too nervous to cooperate. She noticed, of course. She always noticed.

“You’re quiet,” she said, mouth full of syrup and flour.

“Just thinking.”

“Again with the thinking.” She reached across the table, lacing her fingers with yours. “Stop thinking. Eat pancakes. Kiss me. That’s the schedule.”

You smiled, squeezed her hand, and leaned across the table to kiss her, syrup-sweet and soft. “Better?”

“Getting there.”

*

The walk through the park near your apartment, the one with the lake that reflected the sky like a mirror. Autumn leaves were turning, leaves drifting gold and red across the path, and Dani kicked through them like a child, laughing when one caught in her hair.

“You look ridiculous.” you told her.

“I look festive.” She plucked the leaf free, twirled it between her fingers. “You look nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You’re doing that thing with your hands.” She nodded at your fingers, which were indeed twisting together, knuckles white. “The thing you do before I go on stage. Before hard conversations. Before-” She stopped, eyes narrowing slightly. “Before something.”

You forced your hands still. “It’s our anniversary. I’m allowed to be… anticipatory.”

“Anticipatory.” She rolled the word around, tasting it. “That’s a very big word for ‘nervous.'”

“I’m a very big girl.”

She laughed, loud and sudden, and grabbed your hand, pulling you along the path. “Come on then, anticipatory girl. Show me what else you’ve got planned.”

You walked, fingers threaded with hers, and tried to memorise everything. The way her thumb stroked your palm. The way she hummed off-key to a song only she could hear. The way she stopped to pet every dog that passed, crouching down to baby-talk them while their owners smiled, charmed.

“I want a dog,” she announced, standing, brushing leaned from her knees.

“We travel too much.”

“When we stop travelling.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

You looked at her, at the hope in her eyes, at the future she was sketching out without even knowing it. “Promise.”

She grinned, satisfied, and you pulled onward.

*

Later that evening, you pulled up to the restaurant. The Cuban restaurant. Her favourite, tucked into a corner of the city that smelled like roasted pork and plantains and the particular kind of nostalgia that made her voice go soft. You’d booked the rooftop terrace, string lights overhead, the city sprawling below like a constellation.

She emerged from the Uber in the dress you watched her zip – black, backless, slit up the thigh, the one that made her look like she belonged on a red carpet rather than a dinner date. You’d worn the emerald dress she’d picked out for you last year, the one she said made your eyes look dangerous.

“Fuck,” she breathed, taking you in.

“Right back at you.”

She crossed to you in three strides, heels clicking against the pavement, and kissed you hard, right there on the sidewalk. Her hands slid to your waist, thumbs pressing into your hipbones, and you felt the ring box in your jacket pocket like a brand, heavy and real and terrifying.

“You planned this,” she murmured against your mouth.

“Planned what?”

“Me. In this dress. You in that dress. Us looking like we own the world.” She pulled back, eyes dark, knowing. “You’re up to something, Y/N.”

“Maybe I’m just romantic.”

“We took an Uber.”

“Designated… walker.”

She laughed, head tipping back, throat exposed, and you watched the lights catch her collarbones, the silver earrings she’d worn, the way her hair fell loose and curled around her shoulders. Later, you told yourself. The lanterns. The right moment.

*

The lantern festival was outside the city, a field that sketched dark and open under a sky already prickling with stars. Hundreds of people milled about, holding paper lanterns, writing wishes on the sides in marker, waiting for the signal.

You’d arranged everything – the tickets, the private spot near the back, the lantern with her name written inside in your neatest handwriting. The ring box was in your pocket, burning, burning.

Dani gasped when she saw it, the field full of light and anticipation, the hush of the crowd waiting. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Y/N.” She turned to you, eyes wide, something catching in her throat. “This is-“

“Come on.” you grabbed her hand, pulling her through the crowd, finding your spot. The organisers were calling out now, counting down, and around you people were lifting their lanterns, the paper catching flame, rising slow and golden into the dark.

Dani took yours – the one you’d prepared – and held it with both hands, the fire flickering inside, illuminating her face from below, making her look ethereal, otherworldly, completely yours.

“Make a wish,” you whispered.

She closed her eyes, lips moving, something private and sacred. Then she released the lantern, and it rose, joining the others, a river of light climbing towards the stars.

You took a deep breath and dropped to one knee.

The world narrowed. The crowd faded. Dani turned, saw you, and her hands flew to her mouth, eyes already wet, already knowing.

“Y/N-“

“Four years ago”, you said, voice shaking, “you crashed into my life like a meteor. Loud and impossible and completely overwhelming. You made me laugh until I cried. You made me want things I didn’t have words for. You made me home.”

You pulled out the ring box, flipped it open. The diamond caught the lantern-light, scattering it.

“I’ve planned this day for months,” you continued, throat tight. “The pancakes I burned. The walk with the leaves. This dress, this field full of light. All of it was leading here. To you. To us. To the rest of our lives.”

You looked up at her, at the tears streaming down her face, at the smile breaking through like a sunrise.

“Daniela Avanzini,” you said. “Will you please marry me?”

She didn’t answer. Not with words. She dropped to her knees in the grass, arms around your neck, kissing you messily, desperately, laughing and crying against your mouth. The crowd around you cheered, distant, irrelevant. There was only her, only this, only the yes you felt in every line of her body.

“Yes,” she finally gasped, pulling back, forehead to yours. “Yes, you idiot, of course yes. I would’ve said yes four years ago. I’ll say yes every day for the rest of my life.”

You laughed, breathless, and slid the ring onto her finger – slightly wrong at first, then right, then perfect. She held it up, watching it catch the light, the lanterns still rising above you, a sky full of wishes.

“I can’t believe you planned this,” she whispered.

“I can’t believe you said yes.”

“I always say yes to you.” She kissed you again, softer this time, deep and deliberate, her hands framing your face. “Always.”

You stood, pulling her with you, and held her close, feeling her heartbeat against yours, the ring pressing into your back where her head rested. The lanterns kept rising, hundreds of them, carrying wishes into the dark, and you watched them go, knowing yours had already been answered.

“God I love you,” she whispered against your lips, smiling.

You just kissed her harder, the crowd cheering, the stars watching.

“So much.”

———-

AWWWWWWEEEEE

Anyways, thought I’d leave it off on a cute note 🙂

plus that’s like my dream proposal so if my future partner wants any ideas 😉

kesha later  <3 🤟