You and Simon sat together on the couch, the dim glow of the TV casting soft shadows across the room. Neither of you were overly affectionate people, but this—your feet resting lazily in his lap, his hand absentmindedly tracing slow circles against your ankle—was more than enough.

Your relationship had seen its fair share of storms over the past four years. Highs and lows, missteps and reconciliations. But now, you had reached a place of understanding, of quiet certainty. You loved him deeply. And in his own way—sometimes unspoken, but always felt—he loved you just the same.

The warmth of his touch grounded you as you melted further into the cushions. The night was still, comfortable.

Then, without fanfare, Simon turned his head slightly, his deep voice breaking the silence.

“Was thinking of getting a ring,” he mused, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “Asking you to marry me or something.”

Your breath hitched.

The words were so him—gruff, direct, completely devoid of pretense. But beneath that casual delivery, there was weight. There was intent.

You looked at him, heart pounding in your chest, searching his face for something—nervousness, amusement, hesitation.

But all you found was Simon, steady and sure, his thumb still brushing absentmindedly against your skin.

Like he had already made up his mind.

Like he already knew the answer.