Evie
I'm growing up, but I'm not growing old
She jolts slightly when his hand touches hers, if only because she was anticipating being told to open her eyes first. Then the box is set in her palm, and her fingertips slightly curl around the soft edges, not wanting to drop it. Micah suddenly abandons her lap, which prompts Evie to open her eyes just as much as Deimos’ silence - and immediately sees the ring.
Her breath catches hard in her throat, eager smile dashed into something starstruck, run through by Cupid’s arrow which pins her frozen beneath the stars and the fairy lights he crafted that still shine overhead. Her eyes can’t linger long on how beautiful it is, how lovingly intricate and perfectly crafted to represent her, because they turn to Deimos as if magnetized. “Deimos?” she whispers, lips already beginning to tremble.
They’ve talked about this before. It shouldn’t stun her so thoroughly, shouldn’t crack her open like a fissure through the night sky overhead that spills out love in the shape of stardust. It does anyway. How can it not, when it’s him? When it’s the man she loves on one knee, with a ring, and an expression on his face she’s never seen before that she never wants to forget.
Evie has never minded going slow. Waiting for the right moments, letting the both of them grow and heal in ways nobody had ever given them before. She would have waited forever for him if he needed it, never needing symbolism or public declarations to know she was his and he was hers. But she’s a romantic all the same, and her eyes fill with tears as her trembling lips begin to curl in a lovesick smile as his quiet, rumbling voice reminds her once again of his love. Love she has never doubted, even on days he couldn’t find the words.
Already her head has begun to nod before he can even truly finish, and a wet, jubilant laugh escapes her the moment that he does. “Yes, yes of course!” Now understanding why Micah had departed she rises swiftly onto her own knees to kiss him, happy tears spilling over as she cups his face with her only free hand as she pours each ounce of love through their connecting. Only parting to tilt their heads together and cling to him so she might still speak. “Of course I’ll marry you,” she whispers, voice shaking as she presses another quick kiss to his lips.
Her breath catches hard in her throat, eager smile dashed into something starstruck, run through by Cupid’s arrow which pins her frozen beneath the stars and the fairy lights he crafted that still shine overhead. Her eyes can’t linger long on how beautiful it is, how lovingly intricate and perfectly crafted to represent her, because they turn to Deimos as if magnetized. “Deimos?” she whispers, lips already beginning to tremble.
They’ve talked about this before. It shouldn’t stun her so thoroughly, shouldn’t crack her open like a fissure through the night sky overhead that spills out love in the shape of stardust. It does anyway. How can it not, when it’s him? When it’s the man she loves on one knee, with a ring, and an expression on his face she’s never seen before that she never wants to forget.
Evie has never minded going slow. Waiting for the right moments, letting the both of them grow and heal in ways nobody had ever given them before. She would have waited forever for him if he needed it, never needing symbolism or public declarations to know she was his and he was hers. But she’s a romantic all the same, and her eyes fill with tears as her trembling lips begin to curl in a lovesick smile as his quiet, rumbling voice reminds her once again of his love. Love she has never doubted, even on days he couldn’t find the words.
Already her head has begun to nod before he can even truly finish, and a wet, jubilant laugh escapes her the moment that he does. “Yes, yes of course!” Now understanding why Micah had departed she rises swiftly onto her own knees to kiss him, happy tears spilling over as she cups his face with her only free hand as she pours each ounce of love through their connecting. Only parting to tilt their heads together and cling to him so she might still speak. “Of course I’ll marry you,” she whispers, voice shaking as she presses another quick kiss to his lips.
And I hate to do anything that I've been told