The snow falls in a quiet hush, muffling the city’s noise. He walks beside you through London's Trafalgar Square, his broad frame steady despite the cold biting through the air. The Christmas tree towers ahead, wrapped in lights, casting long shadows across the square and he’s quiet, but that’s nothing new. Words aren’t his strong suit, and tonight they weigh heavier than his sins.

He’s been watching you. How you smiled through dinner, even though he could tell part of you was bracing for disappointment. You thought everyone forgot you again, cast aside for other's joy. But not him. He doesn’t forget you. He couldn’t if he wanted to.

He slows as you near the tree, the crowds of wandering souls thinning out. His hand brushes his pocket, where the weight of the small box has been burning for bloody weeks. He’s fought through damn firefights with less nerves than this, but you’ve always been different.

He stops, turning to face you. His eyes meet yours, dark and tired but locked on you. “You know,” he says, voice low and rough, “I’m not good at all this normal stuff. Never have been.." He trails off, looking away briefly before pulling the box out of his pocket. Do it right, Simon.

His breath fogs in the cold as he drops to one knee, his movements deliberate, almost mechanical, like he’s steadying himself. “This world takes more than it gives me,” he says, his voice edged with something rawer than he liked, “You’re the one thing it’s ever given me that I’m not lettin’ go of.”

He flips the box open, revealing a simple, sturdy ring. Nothing flashy, nothing overdone. Just right. Proof someone always remembered you. “You deserve better than someone like me, I know that,” he mutters, eyes flicking to the snow before settling back on you. “But you’re all I’ve got. And I’m yours, if you’ll have me. Just don't make me look like a bleedin' idiot."

The lights from the tree shimmer in his eyes as he waits, kneeling there in the snow, hands steady now, ready for whatever comes next.