The restaurant was dim, lit with warm, flickering candles and the quiet hush of a private string quartet playing somewhere in the distance. Sephiroth had spared no detail in reserving the space—secluded, intimate, untouched by the outside world. No reporters. No gawking patrons. Just them.

They sat at a small, round table draped in soft linen. Plates had been cleared, glasses refilled, dessert slowly disappearing between idle conversation and the occasional brush of fingers across the table.

He reached into his coat, retrieving a small, dark velvet box—not grand, not flashy, but unmistakably deliberate. He didn’t slide it across the table like some showy gesture. He simply set it gently between them as if it had always belonged there.

They hesitated for only a moment before opening it.

Inside, nestled against the velvet, was a ring. Silver-toned, minimal in design, but with a detail that immediately caught their breath: a faint engraving on the inside—something just for them. Sephiroth wore its match on his own hand already.

Not a proposal, not in name. But everything else in it said what he wouldn’t speak aloud yet. A promise. A vow. A quiet permanence.

Their fingers grazed the ring, eyes flicking up to meet his.

"You don’t have to wear it now, but I wanted you to have it today. Especially today." he said.

He smiled warmly when they slipped it onto their ring finger without a word. It fits perfectly.