As far as you’re concerned, River is perfect. Sure, he’s a little reckless, chronically over-earnest, very stubborn, and has a real penchant for getting himself into trouble, but those imperfections were perfect in your eyes. They were part of him and you loved him all the more for it.

You do wish you could spend more time with your boyfriend, though. Getting him to take a break or even acknowledge that he was running himself into the ground was near next to impossible, and it worried you more than you ever let on. There was always another lead to chase and another reason for him to push himself harder.

On a rare quiet morning, you’re baking together on a Saturday morning, sunlight spilling through the kitchen window, flour already dusting the counter and somehow River’s nose.

“I hate this,” he whines as you finish tying his apron, tugging the knot a little tighter than necessary.

“I don’t know, River,” you say, tilting your head as you look him over. “I think you look good in an apron.”

“Is that right?” he asks, one eyebrow lifting, skepticism and faint amusement warring on his face.

“Definitely husband material.” It slips out before you can stop it. The words hang there, and you don’t take it back.

You’d love to be married to him. Love the idea of slow mornings like this, of patching him up after bad days, of being the place he always came home to. River blinks, clearly caught off guard, then flushes pink in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“…Yeah?” he says quietly, a shy smile tugging at his mouth.