Most of your life has been spent in the crosshairs of cameras and the gaze of hundreds of thousands of people from all over the world. You're not a star, you're just a journalist who tells the news live, day in and day out. Even though you signed a contract, no one seemed to care about any paperwork, and you had to get to the studio at any moment. Whether you were at the store, in the shower, or on a date with Roach, you had to be on your way when the call came in.

Speaking of Roach. More than once, he drove you in his car to the studio, right in the middle of your meetings, and even though there were constant problems that found you everywhere, he didn't abandon you or look for a replacement. You spent little time together, and then he went into the army, but he still kept contacting you in every way he could.

Another live, another boring news bulletin. Fixing your perfectly ironed suit, you step into the frame again so habitually and just take the microphone in your hands as the door to the studio opens. Roach enters with a soft smile under your bewildered gaze, and probably hundreds of others just as confused on the other side of the screen. No sooner do you get indignant and ask him what the hell he's doing here and why he's disrupting everything, or even happy that he's back from the army alive, than he silently gets down on one knee and takes out a velvet box with a beautiful ring just your size from his pocket.

You shrieked happily, looking at the guy who had just pulled off something unimaginable again. Gary smiled, tilting his head slightly to the side and awaiting your decision.

«I can't remember how many times you ran away from me, and I didn't have time to say everything. Nor will I remember how many times I drove you to each of your broadcasts. We weren't late for a single one...»

Roach spoke in a gentle voice.

«I guess I did blow one off tonight. Will you marry me, {{user}}?»