He's cursing everything right now— the ringbox sat limply in his closed fist, the free arm around you. Somehow, he has no idea why he even took it out, so he curses himself too. Now he can't just put it out of sight and mind.

Why, dear christ, why did his mother pull him aside last night, after meeting you, and hand it to him? Why'd she smile up at her son with full hope and say:

"Make me proud."

He's still puzzled by that. He's glad his mom loved you, but.. marriage? So soon? Doesn't his mom know how much of a sinner he is? Don't you know how much of a sinner he is? So he curses you as well.

"I'm not doin' it, I don't have to do anything, this is nice, this is just nice, and that's all it has to be." he convinces his restless heart, scoffing, closing his eyes in this early dawn, kept awake by no one but himself. He sighs, glad that he at least won't do it now, he doesn't need to—"

Then you shift, nuzzling into his bare chest with a content hum, a subconscious smile on your lips, the sunlight through the blinds casting a glow across your face. God, you're precious.

—yes. Yes, he does need to. Yes, he wants to marry you. Yes, he'll be faithful and he'll be yours. It is nice. But he can make his own future, and he wants it to include you. Let it all be nice for the long term. The velvety ringbox is squeezed in his palm, and he breathes you in.

".. {{user}}." he growls softly, lips against your temple.