ao3// okey i have no explanation for this, chargestep, marriage proposal lmao bye
It hasn’t quite clocked over to four, but your eyes are heavy. Rub the corners, smudge the liner. Tomorrow you’ll clean it up and complain and worry about the mark lingering on your finger, but now. Hands caught, pulled away. The same sleepy smile mirrored, reflected and doubled.
Muted, by the sheets pulled up around your heads. Keeping you hidden away from the worries of the world, one whole moment.
“What are you thinking about?” you ask, as he kisses your knuckles, one at a time. All the way from left to right. Same pattern, different year, like nothing had come between.
And there’s a look, that lingers in the pinch of his eyebrow, as he. Chuckles. Lets go. Hands resting gently between, barely touching. Parts his lips, wets the skin, and there’s that smile you remember. That you,
“I have a kind of crazy request.”
Hushed words, cause for moving closer, leaning in. “Can’t be crazier than being in bed with a—”
“Will you marry me?”
Careful, practiced. Precise. Might’ve interrupted you, but Ricardo does not rush through them. A smile that instead suggests that this had been a long time coming, and. Did you know? Fingers find your shoulders, slide down your back. Rest in the middle, keeping you there in a way you knew you could break from.
But you say, “that’s crazy.” “Why.” “What.” No questions, just statements, that flit through and are whispered and it’s too warm. Cheeks flushed and skin burning for where he touched. “You’re crazy.”
“Crazy… for you?” The smile is cheeky, as you groan, push away. Throw back the covers and expose the both of you to the rest of the reality. Sun peeking in under the curtains and a colder press of air.
“We’re not the marrying types.”
Ricardo raises himself up, hovering over you. An expression that’s too gentle and honest and open. As you rationalise and hold out your hands and swallow the lump that had formed. “You’re serious, aren’t you? Isn’t this an occupational hazard? Aren’t there rules in place?”
A fight in you that you didn’t want, but needed. Keep the lines in place, seven year old habits that never died. Establish the rules, the necessities, and you will return to sitting on the railing in the park, tracing the little heart around your initials.
Bury it.
“I’m not the Marshal anymore.”
“I stopped being Sidestep a long time ago.”
Both admissions are soft and sorry. Clamouring over each other. Because the words are said and never really heard. You know this. You know this so damn well. Ricardo never really lost that little slip of rank for you, and it took this moment — this one, right here — to realise. For the world to click a little more into place.
When had you stopped seeing him as just that. Marshal Charge. The two of you chasing after each other when backs were turned. There was no moment, when you were able to strip the people apart. Put them back together.
To figure out all the little puzzle pieces. And his words take the wind right out of you, a whoosh when you admit. Admit that deep down. Ricardo was honest. That this wasn’t another jumping of the gun, that landed you in hiding chasing the Void. Or the kind that had you buried under debris, post Psychopathor. Or better yet, throwing caution to the wind, mid your own villainous rampage. Terror of the streets.
Mouth dry, no words. Pressure at the corner of your eyes, one you want to fight against, because that was all you had ever known. Hardwired deep into your code, stamped across your skin. Ricardo makes you want to fight, so you.
Kiss him. Kiss him like a sun exploding, technicolour true. Where you can taste the pinks and the oranges and you whisper, yes.
