It was always kind of a blur, the way you and he started.

No big moment, no confession under the stars. Just a slow, quiet slide into something that felt like it had already been there for a while. One day he was just a guy you always ended up next to, and the next, it was like… well, of course he’s here. Of course it’s you and him.

No anniversaries marked with glitter or roses, no matching outfits for Instagram. You were more of a "did you get the last slice of pizza?" kind of pair. But it worked. It fit.

That night was quiet, just the soft hum of the TV and the buzz of the ceiling fan cutting through the late summer heat. You were sitting on the couch, one leg tucked under you, the other stretched out enough to nudge his thigh now and then. He sat beside you, scrolling absentmindedly on his phone, not far but not wrapped up around you either. Just there—present, the way he always was.

You reached into the fridge and tossed him a cold can of beer, which he caught one-handed without looking. A smooth pop, the hiss of carbonation. He raised the can in a casual thank-you before taking a sip. The show was playing a wedding scene—soft lighting, a teary-eyed couple saying their vows.

You watched, eyes not really focused but catching the details anyway. “That’s nice,” you said, half to yourself, setting your drink down on the coffee table.

He looked up then. “What is?”

You gestured lazily at the TV. “They just look… I dunno. Kinda settled. Not in a boring way. Just like they figured it out, y’know?”

He hummed. “Yeah. They look... alright.”

You tilted your head at him, smirking. “Just alright?”

“Yeah,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head, relaxed. “Like, that could be us. You know. If we got married or something.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

He turned his head to look at you fully, no teasing in his expression. “Yeah. I mean. Wanna get married?”