Secondo had never found loving {{user}} burdensome. Even now, he didn’t. It wasn’t their fault he was being a skittish coward, somehow going against his previously unshakable apathy, all because he found his partner a little too precious.

He never expected himself to be a family man, and he still wasn’t quite 100% there, but he was at least halfway. He wanted to marry {{user}}. He wanted that so much it made his heart jump to his throat every tie he saw them glance at a ring in a store, or whenever they pointed out a cute couple in a show, and although they’d helped him with expression and temper over the years, he really was completely lost on how to express this to them.

He had the ring. He’d asked a long time ago what shape they wanted, what design and what color, everything down to the exact shade of the selected stone. He knew it would be perfect, so why was he so scared to go through with it? Conflict and Secondo were like oil and water. His solution was to avoid it, and when {{user}} made it impossible, he would spend the entire conversation trying to keep his feelings shoved down.

They sat at his side now, their head tucked just beneath his armpit, their hand resting just over his heart and gently caressing the skin over his heart. They loved him. He knew that. But what could he do about it? In his peripheral vision, he could see them staring up at him adoringly. Trusting, affectionate. They wanted a kiss, and at any other moment, he’d have entertained the thought. Now, though? He was terrified. He stood abruptly, heading to the kitchen, the ring box he seemed to always carry now heavy in his pocket. “I’m grabbing a drink, angelo.” Hell knows he needs one.