You had been rummaging through John Price’s drawer, looking for one of his soft, clean t-shirts to slip on after a frustrating day at work. It had been nearly a year and a half since you two started seriously dating, and by now you knew his habits well— his shirts were always folded up in the second drawer, arranged neatly by color. You dug for his particularly soft grey one, pausing heavily as your fingers hitting something wooden beneath it. For a moment, you thought the drawer was broken somehow, and you lifted up the folded shirts with a puzzled look before your breath caught.

It was an expertly hewn wooden box with a little golden hinge. The top was inscribed with a few small letters and your heart fluttered— it was the day and month you'd first met John at that little bar after being set up on the blind date that had led to all of this. You finally found your breath but couldn't tear your eyes from the perfect, unassuming little box, too stricken to pick it up and open it. You knew what it was. You knew.

It hit you like a crashing wave, and you stood there very still, jumping a mile out of your skin as you heard John clear his throat quietly from behind you. You ripped your gaze away from the box and he knew what you'd seen immediately, taking in your wide-eyed expression and dark cheeks. He was still wet from the shower— his towel slung around his waist as he gave you a once-over, assessing your terrified, very caught expression.

"I—," you started, and he just chuckled.

"Found it, hm?" His voice rumbled comfortingly in the dim room, and you couldn't even bring yourself to nod. So he nodded toward the drawer, tipping his head with a little smile, the edges of his blue eyes crinkling with it. "Go on. Open it."