You sit cross-legged on the living room floor, the plush rug soft beneath you, your back warmed by the glow of the fireplace. The room feels impossibly still, just the quiet pop of the fire and the faint clink of wine glasses when you raise yours. Simon sits across from you, long legs stretched out, one knee bent casually. The shadows from the firelight dance across his face, softening his sharp edges, making him look almost boyish.

“You’re quiet,” he says, voice low and amused, the corners of his mouth pulling into the smallest, knowing smile.

You shrug, swirling the last bit of wine in your glass. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About what?”

You glance at him, at the man you’re going to marry tomorrow, and you can’t help but grin. “About how this is the last night I get to call you my fiancé.”

He huffs a little laugh, setting his own glass down beside him. “That what’s got you all serious?”

“Yes,” you say, fighting a smile. “It feels big.”

Simon leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his eyes on you. “It is big. But it’s good, yeah?”