Summary: You discover a ring hidden in Leon’s drawer, bought months ago but never used.
At least, that is what you tell yourself.
You are just looking for batteries.
Leon’s office smells like leather and gun oil. Everything is organised. Too organised. Nothing is out of place.
Except for the top right drawer.
It sticks slightly when you pull it open.
Inside, underneath a folded document and an old watch, there is a small black box.
You stare at it for a long moment before picking it up. It is heavier than you expect. Your fingers shake just slightly as you open it.
The ring is simple. Elegant.
A clean band with a diamond that catches the light without screaming for attention.
It is exactly your taste.
You do not hear him at first.
You turn slowly, still holding the open box.
He freezes when he sees it.
For a second, neither of you speaks.
You do not smile. You do not cry. You just look at him.
“Were you going to tell me?” you ask softly.
He runs a hand through his hair. That nervous gesture he only does when he is cornered emotionally.
“I wasn’t sure,” he admits.
“Not sure you wanted to?” you tease lightly, though your heart is pounding.
He walks toward you slowly, like approaching something fragile.
“I bought it months ago, saw it. Thought of you. Didn’t think past that.”
Your fingers tighten around the box.
He exhales quietly. Not dramatic. Not theatrical. Just honest.
“Because I’m good at a lot of things. But promising someone forever?”
He shakes his head faintly.
“I don’t exactly have the best track record with people staying alive around me.”
His jaw is tight. Controlled. But his eyes betray him. There is something vulnerable there. Something raw.
“I didn’t want to put a ring on your finger and then…” He trails off. He does not finish that sentence.
You reach up and touch his cheek.
“Were you scared?” you ask gently.
That word feels bigger than any speech.
You close the box carefully and place it back in his hand.
Then you do something that makes his breath hitch.
You take the ring from the box.
And you slide it onto your own finger.
His eyes widen slightly. “Sweetheart.”
“I choose you, not because it’s safe. Not because it’s guaranteed. But because it’s you.”
For a moment, he just stares at your hand. At the ring resting there like it belongs.
Then he steps into you and cups your face with both hands.
He does not make a speech.
Slow. Certain. Deep enough to make your knees weak.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.
“I’m not good at this,” he murmurs.
“I can’t promise normal.”
His hands slide down to your waist, holding you steady.
“But I can promise, that I’ll come home. Every time I can. I’ll fight like hell to.”
He presses one more kiss to your lips.
Then, almost like it costs him something and means everything at the same time, he says it.
And you nod against his mouth, already knowing your answer.
theartofmadeline
pixelskylines
2087
