"You know, I've dreamed about having this kind of life with you since the day I met you."
Your words carry a simple message yet they strike Dante directly in his heart just the same.
Standing in your little apartment kitchen, leaning against the edge of the Formica countertops you've always hated, he gazes down at you with nothing short of adoration in his eyes while sipping from a steaming mug of coffee you just poured for him.
How the conversation led to such an admission is beyond him, you two were playing your usual slow morning game of naming the things you wish you could do instead of going to work. Flying to Italy for a shot of espresso, perusing the vintage store you're such a fan of, reading, seeing a movie, spending all day in bed together with your limbs so tangled they're inseparable.
No matter what, all paths led back to this honesty that's as bare as your pretty little face in these early morning hours.
This is your version of vulnerability and he knows it, opting to place his coffee down on the counter and lean in toward you, wrapping his mug-warmed hands around your cheeks to hold them while he stares at you.
Everything that matters to him is right here, in your eyes and the smile you try to hide behind the lip of your own coffee mug. It's in the way you subtly lean toward him, always inching closer and closer.
"The kind where we pretend we're the sort of people with time and money?" He asks playfully, heart pounding and gut turning as it always does when he's faced with the reality that he can never give you what you truly deserve.
You're too kind to ever make a demand of him beyond "get home safely, if you don't mind" or "hey, pass me the remote". You don't ask for riches or accolade or success or anything but him, exactly as he is.
He is more than simply good enough for you, he's everything your wild imagination could've ever conjured up made muscle and bone and flesh.
Shaking your head and wrinkling your nose, he fights the urge to kiss you, opting to let you speak first.
"No, silly. The kind where we do this every morning," you clarify, looking up at him through your lashes, nose now wrinkled in sweet mirth rather than disagreement.
Never in his wildest fantasies or dreams or wishes could he have imagined this would be how things ended up.
Even back when he was a foul mouthed, ill behaved kid, you believed in the man that is he. One could argue he's still both of those things, just a little broader, slightly more relaxed, and far more domestic all thanks to years and years of your warmth and patience and acceptance.
He's your Dante, no matter how he is.
