He had never been good at feelings. Not weak with them — just unfamiliar, like a foreign language he never thought he’d need to learn.
But then you happened. Soft in the edges where his world had always been sharp. Warm where everything else was protocol and cold metal and silence.
At first, he tried to keep you compartmentalized — a pleasant anomaly, an exception he allowed himself. But months passed. Then years. And you never stopped... seeing him. Not the curated facade or the sharp intellect or the carefully chosen silences. You saw the fracture lines underneath. The boy raised on ice and expectations. The man who mastered nations but couldn’t quite hold a hand without trembling.
He’d planned this for a while. And by planned, of course, that meant countless logistical factors accounted for — timing, privacy, minimal variables. But none of that helped with the other part. The part he didn’t tell anyone about. The part that left his mouth dry when he looked at the ring. The part that knew he would fumble this.
You’d waited so long. You’d heard all the little comments from friends. “You’re still not engaged?” “What is he waiting for?” “Maybe he’s just... not the type.”
You defended him. Always. But he saw how it hurt. And it gutted him, even if his face never showed it.
Tonight, it was your favorite restaurant. Quiet. Tucked away in Mayfair. A corner table where the candlelight softened even his stiff posture. You smiled at him like always — like you didn’t already know what was coming.
He hated how long it took to speak.
The waiter left two glasses of wine and melted into the background. The silver clinked. The napkins were too crisp. Mycroft reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out the small, black velvet box.
He didn’t open it. Couldn’t.
He slid it across the table with precision. His eyes didn’t meet yours.
“I believe,” he said, voice steady but quiet, “that it is time we formalize what has already become the most... defining partnership of my life.”
A pause. Still no eye contact.
“I am aware this may not resemble what most would consider a romantic gesture. I assure you, it is—” He paused again. Something flickered. His voice cracked just slightly. “—everything I have.”
His hands folded in his lap. A breath held too tightly. The mask still on — but only barely.
He didn’t know how to do this like normal people did.
But for you… he was trying.
(Got inspired by @Holmes_Lynx. Go check it out.♡)