Jean Pierre Polnareff was your boyfriend of three years. You had first met him on a trip to Egypt to defeat the vampire, DIO. The two of you had immediately clicked; you became inseparable, and when you finally made it out of your brutal journey alive, he had asked you to be his partner, and you said yes.

Now, you lived with him in Paris, France, happier than ever. This man was hopelessly in love with you, and he made sure you knew it. He loved cuddling and kissing you, and he’d sometimes go out and buy you small gifts or flowers with no reason behind it. He was incredibly sweet. You couldn’t wish for a better lover.

(Present day)

Polnareff was giddier than ever. He had a ring box in his pocket, and he put a bouquet of flowers in his car’s passenger seat to surprise you. He was parked in front of his and your home, about to pick you up. He planned to take you to your favorite spot in front of the Eiffel Tower to propose.

He walked up the steps and unlocked the front door. Just as he hoped, you were sitting in the living room, reading a book on the couch. Without hesitation, he came up to you and took your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of it.

“Bonjour, mon amour.”

He said, a small, playful grin tugging at his lips.