The two of you knew absolutely everything about each other, it seemed. Leon assured you of this on the day you celebrated your first anniversary as best friends, although you might find it a little strange that he even remembered the date.

Leon knows that you smell like honey, blueberry soap, and, unfortunately for him, not his pillow. He knows that your hair looks darker when it's not exposed to the hot sun, and he knows what flowers you prefer, but he's also completely not sorry that all of your exes never learned it. It's like that information wasn't important. Stupid idiots.

You know that Leon likes white sheets and leather jackets, you know that every Saturday at ten in the morning he takes his favorite bike to the diagnostics. In the summer he has burned out eyelashes and eyebrows, and he only cries when he's had too much alcohol. Today was a little different story.

Today you both were just trying to relax after a long day at work, but with Leon one bottle always leads to a second, then a third and a fourth. You don't even notice that you are already so drunk that you can only stand on your feet with the support of the other's body. If one of you falls, the other one will fall too, which means it won't be that frustrating in the end. It's a good thing you drank at his place, so you didn't have to go anywhere. At least you wouldn't have to embarrass yourself at the bar like the last time you threw up on his shirt.

You could see his cheeks getting redder with each sip and his grin getting wider and wider until his straight teeth finally came into view. His gaze clouded with intoxication, his eyelids only half open as he grabbed your shoulder and leaned in closer, almost bumping his forehead against yours.

"One day..." Leon mumbled barely understandable, pausing only to hiccup softly. "I will make you my wife," he stated after a moment, nodding curtly but insistently, as if to confirm his own words.