He wanted to marry her.
She knew it. She didn't know how, but something about his face and eyes changed between breakfast and lunch, and Felicity just knew.
She sighed as she stared blankly at the cars speeding around the streets 40 stories below her, her legs drawn in so tightly to her body that her knuckles were turning white.
She was hiding – fucking hiding – from Oliver, and for what? Just because he had looked at her differently that afternoon?
Oliver stood behind her by the door from the roof to the building, watching her silently, because while she had never voiced any reason of being upset with him, her quiet behavior from earlier in the afternoon seemed to send of warning bells in his head. A quiet Felicity is never a happy Felicity.
She can almost hear those bells chiming in his head, even over the sound of the wind, and she silently berates herself for not choosing to go hide out in Star City's public library like she normally does when angry with him.
"I'm not right for you, you know." Her voice is small, but it's firm, and she hates that the only time she is able to be confident in herself is when she is doubting everything else.
Oliver's head snaps up, but Felicity stays stone still with her back still facing him. She knows he heard her, and he knows that too, but he can't help but stumble out a startled "what" before composing himself.
"I'm not right for you."
Felicity struggles to put it into words – to tell Oliver that there was no reasonable explanation that someone like him – someone so beautiful and powerful and gentle and sweet – should be stuck with someone like her. She tries to tell him that there's a hole in her chest – a gaping hole much larger than the chasm that's eating her from the inside out because she's scared that one day Oliver is going to wake up and "smell the fucking roses" and realize that the Felicity he fell in love with was nothing more than a silly little fling.
Oliver is angry with her – offended even – and doesn't even say anything to her for what seems like hours, his arms folded tightly across his broad chest and his gaze fastened hard and fast on the falling sun ahead.
Felicity takes this silence as agreement, though, because while the two of them both know, deep down, just how stupid she was being, Felicity was also still occasionally swirling around in the mindset of insecurity and inability to see that in the moment.
She tries a different approach – one with metaphors and similes – because she knows that Oliver actually really loves literature (she found a small case of worn out books in the corner of Oliver's childhood bedroom and had smiled at every dog eared page), but she also knows that she's shit at these things so it comes out incredibly so odd and funky that it snaps Oliver out of his stare.
"You make me feel yellow."
"I make you feel yellow?"
"Yeah."
"Is that a good thing, or? – ,"
"Of course it's a good thing. You make me feel yellow. You make me feel all full and happy, like, you know, sunshine and daisies - ,"
Oliver slowly lowers himself down next to Felicity, making sure that his left arm brushes right up against her right. Felicity may have felt emotionally distressed at the moment, but Oliver's physical reminder of who they are to each other almost makes her snap out of her haze – almost.
"Look, what I'm trying to say is that you make me feel all these things – these incredibly, amazing things that I can't explain." Felicity voice trembles a little, because she doesn't exactly know why she's trying to push Oliver away, but she continues on anyway, stubborn and persistent as always.
"You're just so – so passionate about what you do, and you're strong and handsome and you're voice is very - ," Felicity clears her throat as a blush spreads down her neck, "you know, sexy. And you're powerful and confident but gentle and sweet and I know you've had a pretty fucked up life – an extremely fucked up life – and mine isn't even comparable to yours, but I'm seeing a therapist - ,"
Oliver's eyes widen slightly because that was news to him. Felicity loved to talk, but feelings were something that the both of them often kept squashed in the dark, so therapy was yet another facet to the diamond that was Felicity.
"And she seems to think that I'm emotionally unavailable which, personally, I don't think I am. I mean, if I'm emotionally unavailable, then you must be, like, a rock or something – but, that's not the point."
Felicity takes a deep breath in, and Oliver feels like he needs to too, because the speed at which Felicity is talking is making his head spin in circles.
"The point is you're like this whole package wrapped up with a shiny bow and I'm – I'm like a lump of coal that only the naughty kids get at Christmas. And I'm Jewish, so technically, I'm just a piece of rock that people toss into the fire. I'm not even the present the bad kids get." Felicity's eyes widen in disgust.
"And you don't deserve that – you don't deserve a lump of coal, Oliver. You deserve candy and presents and the whole fucking cookie jar. You need someone who makes you feel how you make me feel – who makes you feel happy and full and yellow, not some mucky orange or - ," Felicity's face twists in disgust, "or beige."
"You need someone to make you feel like you make me feel," Felicity repeats firmly, her eyes fixed on the stones in front of her, "and I don't know if I can do that for you because I'm not a yellow person – I'm a-a beige person – a boring, dull, beige person and - ,"
"Felicity."
Oliver wants to pat himself on the back, because where he wanted to take a staple and snap Felicity's mouth shut, he instead gently places his hands across her frowning lips.
"Felicity, please just – just shut up okay?"
Felicity's eyes widen a little – not because of the brashness of his words - Oliver had always had a tendency to say whatever the hell came to his mind while drunk or agitated (or while fucking ) – but because of the way his eyes seemed to say so much more than just "listen."
"I want to marry you."
A small whimper of protest slips past Felicity's lips and Oliver swipes his thumb firmly over her mouth as he leans in closer.
"I want to marry you – I want to put a ring on your finger and make you mine. I want to stand at the alter and kiss you under an arch and promise to love you forever in front of everyone we know."
The wind around them seems to quiet as Oliver's words pick up in intensity, and while Oliver didn't like talking emotion either, he needed Felicity to hear this.
She can see the tiny dots that are people moving around in the city below where she sits, and it's then she realizes that she has been looking around at everything but Oliver.
Her eyes snap back to him, and Oliver's eyes darken as he tugs on Felicity's lower lip, his voice lowering to a husky whisper.
"I want to fuck you every day and every night until you can't speak – I want everyone to smell me on you so that they know that you are mine. I want to make you come over and over and over again so that the only thing you'll know how to say is my name."
Felicity's breath is coming quickly now, and she knows that he knows that she's thinking of this morning, when Oliver had her pressed up against the bathroom countertop shaking and trembling around him far past the time they were supposed to be in the office. She thinks he's about to lean in for a kiss, but he pulls away at the last second, his hand straying away from her mouth to tenderly caress her face.
"I want to wake up next to you," his voice is soft now, almost scared, like a child confessing his darkest fear, and Felicity thinks she's about to get whiplash from how quickly Oliver went from dominating to domestic. "I want to watch you brush your hair and nerd out over your computer systems and spend three hours deciding between light pink or dark pink shades of lipsticksonly go with the same shade you've been buying for years. You're not perfect Felicity," – Oliver lets out a small laugh as Felicity narrows her eyes at him, "God you're not perfect by any standards. You leave the bathroom light on, and you hate cleaning, and you never seem to understand that alarms are supposed to wake you up and aren't meant to be thrown across rooms."
Felicity lets out a small huff, but she can't help the small tears forming in her eyes because when she had sat Oliver down ready to give him her little speech about her being so incredibly wrong for him, a small part of herself had convinced her brain that Oliver would actually agree with her, and that scared the hell out of her. But this – Oliver's firm grip on her face and his eyes already darkening to that black that Felicity only ever sees when Oliver is serious – this insistence of his love scares her far more in all the right ways.
"And don't even get me started on your obsession with only eating those sugar filled death sentences," Oliver chuckles, referring to the small stash of twinkies he had found under the sink in the kitchen, duct taped to the cupboard wall.
"You're not perfect, Felicity, but you're so fucking imperfectly perfect that somewhere that all seems cancel out and I'm left with you. I don't fucking just want yellow, Felicity – I don't want sunshine and daisies and birds chirping which frankly, is everything that you are - ," Oliver shakes his head, "but that's not the point either. I want you, Felicity. I want your stubborn, mouthy, quirky, imperfect, smartass. I want you to punch me in your sleep and mutter whatever the fuck you mutter when you're thinking. I want to watch you paint your toenails and trip over your pairs of shoes and listen to you spew out weird facts about kangaroos and Roman archeology - ,"
Oliver knows she gets the point by now, but it feels like a dam has broken inside his chest and he wants – needs – to let her know that he finally, finally has found something in this world that makes him feel fucking yellow, and while he knows good things never seem to last for him, this is one moment he'll make damn sure he won't fuck up.
His thumb brushes away the small tear that has strayed down Felicity's face, and he gives her a small smile as his voice softens.
"I want to make love to you, and tell you you're beautiful, and cherish you every day. I want to have babies with you and start a family, and be a father – a good father - ," Oliver swallows hard, and now it's Felicity's turn to wipe away the tear falling down Oliver's face. Oliver's casts his gaze down as he continues, his voice growing raspy with emotion and Felicity takes his hands in hers.
"I want to hold your hair back when you have morning sickness and I want feel 'em kick for the first time. I want to argue over baby names and what color to paint the walls, and go the store at some ungodly hour to get you some ungodly craving. I want you to curse and scream at me when they're born -,"
Felicity smiles at the word "they're." At least they both agreed that a big family was something they wanted.
"I want a son with your smile, and a little girl with your eyes. I want to watch them grow and teach them how to walk and read and I want to build a family with you, Felicity. I want to build a life and grow old with you and I want to love you every single day of forever if you let me.
I want so much, Felicity, so fucking much – but only if it's with you. Because being you – loving you – that's what makes me feel yellow.
"Okay."
"So please, Felicity, just – just marry me."
"Okay."
"Marry me and I – , wait, what?"
"I said okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay."
"Okay as in yes you'll marry me or Okay as in - ,"
Felicity takes her turn to slap her hand over Oliver's mouth, laughter reaching her eyes in full. Nothing can keep Oliver's mouth shut though, because his smile is far too bright for any dimming.
"So," Felicity begins, her eyes flashing down briefly before snapping back to his own, "What was this about fucking me every day and night - ,"
Oliver can't help it now, and he lets out the bubble of laughter in his chest that had been swirling with ecstasy and love and happiness for the woman with the lopsided grin in front of him. He pulls Felicity flush against him – his Felicity - as her lips find his, and for a second they are both teenagers sharing their first kiss against the red stained sky without the weight of the city on their shoulders.
They pause to take a breath as they rest their foreheads against each other, Felicity's thumb pulling softly at Oliver's lower lip, and Oliver only gets a glimpse at her eyes before she pulls him in for another kiss – a less innocent one, this time.
Oliver pulls her into his lap and leans back against the stone of the small ledge they sit propped on, both staring out at the setting sun with smiles bright enough to light up the world. He presses his lips to her hair as his arms wrap tightly around her body, grinning quietly when her lips start trailing along his jaw, and he can't help but think about how fucking incredible the color yellow suddenly seemed to be.