Everything was more or less perfect. An elegant white cloth decorated a two-person window table; a gentle tune hummed soothingly throughout the restaurant; rays of faint sunshine streamed in the polished window, helping to establish the tender air around; and, most importantly, Marco sat before him, delicately sipping on wine, careful not to drink too quickly or too much—he had always been unbelievably light-weight, and even the tiniest bit over his limit was enough to send him into a humorously drunken stupor. The thought elicited a quiet snicker from Jean's lips. He looked into his own glass—which he had, with a small twinge of shame, already emptied multiple times—and swirled the remaining contents. His stomach twisted into knots as his elbow brushed lightly a heaviness in his jacket pocket. A nervous sweat dampened his forehead.

"What's so funny, Jean?" Marco's gentle voice jolted Jean out of his thoughts, drawing his eyes up to rest upon the other.

Jean shrugged. "Just thinkin'."

"About what?" prodded Marco, dark eyebrows raising in question.

For a moment, Jean drew a blank. In that momentary lapse of mind, all he could seem to do was stare at Marco dumbly while his brain desperately dug for an excuse. He said the first thing that came to mind: "Oh, nothing. I was just thinkin' that if you drank anymore we'd have a pretty wild night ahead of us." Jean grinned wickedly at Marco's quick forfeit of the drink.

"A-ah…I see," those freckled cheeks darkened with a deep blush. Marco's eyes shifted to the table timidly, the embarrassment etched clearly on his face.

Cute, Jean thought, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together tightly. Setting his chin on his interlocked hands, he admired his lover. For once Jean was aware of how blatantly he was staring, but he didn't care. Marco was a beautiful sight—with neatly parted brown hair that was incredibly soft to the touch; loving chocolate eyes that held nothing but sincere kindness; and a light sprinkling of freckles that dusted those adorable cheeks. Even the burn scars on the right side of Marco's face held some attraction for Jean; they were just an asset to his uniqueness. As much as Jean wanted to reach over and stroke those intriguing patches, he did not wish to bring anymore embarrassment to Marco. Instead he followed with his eyes the course of that delicious, caramel skin downward, pleased to catch tiny glimpses of revealed skin. When they had had their fill of his lover's body, his eyes slowly travelled back up to Marco's face.

"You're fuckin' beautiful, Marco. You know that, right?" Jean blurted without thinking, heat rising to his cheeks at the outburst.

Marco's lifted his eyes in surprise, obviously taken aback by the compliment. His surprised look, however, soon melted away with a warm, sheepish smile. "With you telling me every day, I suppose I do by now."

"R-right," Jean couldn't help but return the smile.

The two fell back into a comfortable silence. They had finished their entrees some time ago and were now waiting on their dessert. Nervousness once more attacked Jean's insides. He didn't have a lot of time left once the dessert was served, so he knew he had to get rid of the heaviness weighing down his pocket. But the question was how would he do it? When would the right time be? Jean did not want to mess this up. It had to be absolutely perfect and special. There was no room for error.

Threading his fingers through his hair, Jean turned his attention out the window, multiple scenarios racing through his frantic mind. He was the master of screwing things up. How in the world was he going to pull this off? With a heavy sigh, he began to shift his eyes back to Marco. However, something caught his attention before his gaze could finish the trip. A triumphant grin stretched across Jean's visage, heart pounding a mile a minute. He had his answer. The solution to his overbearing problem.

Sweethearts.

Ignoring Marco's questioning look, Jean excitedly thrust his hand towards a small bowl and picked up the first candy heart he saw. He quickly read over the endearing inscription on it and then held the candy with his teeth, flashing a smile and the sweetheart at Marco.

Marco released a soft giggle at Jean's silliness and leaned forward, curious to read the words on the candy. "I love you?" Both parties blushed. "I love you too, dear."

Jean swallowed the candy and this time took his time in picking out another one.

Be Mine.

"Of course, Jean," Marco's bashful smile made Jean's heart skip a beat and gave him hope. This stupid, cheesy display was working on Marco. It wasn't surprising—Marco was a sucker for cheesy acts.

Jean took another sweetheart.

Only You.

"How sweet…" Marco exhaled softly and rested his elbows on the table, regarding Jean dreamily. Jean cursed mentally. Why did Marco have to be so damn cute? It took all he had to fight the urge to lean across the table and kiss Marco like there was no tomorrow.

The action was repeated multiple times. Each time the sentiments no doubt melted Marco's gentle heart, making him a flustered mess. This was wonderful. Jean had succeeded in setting up the stage for the big moment without any screw ups. Now for the finale. With a shaking hand, Jean reached into the tiny sweetheart bowl and nervously fished around. He could feel his lover's eyes on him, and that only proved to heighten his anxiety. This was it. This was the moment he'd been so unsettled about. Jean found the desired candy and discreetly reached into his jacket pocket, ready to go through with the act.

"I apologize for the wait, sirs. We were a bit backed up in the kitchen," their waiter carefully set the elegant dessert in front of them.

Marco shifted his attention to the waiter and immediately began polite conversation with him. Though Jean did not like that his boyfriend was talking to another man, he had to admit he was relieved that Marco was no longer watching him like a hawk. In the moment Marco was distracted, he thankfully somehow managed to regain his composure. Jean whipped a box out of his pocket, opened it, and on a whim gently placed its contents on the dessert. Heart drumming in his ears, he placed the sweetheart candy between his teeth and waited for Marco's attention to return. Jean prayed that this would not go over horribly.

Once the waiter departed, Marco turned back to Jean. Time seemed to slam to a halt as Marco stared at the scene before him in shock. A deep blush crept up his neck and flooded his cheeks as his gorgeous, brown eyes passed slowly over the beautiful diamond ring set daintily on the dessert. Eyes glistening, Marco swiftly looked to Jean and could not hold back a gasp.

Marry Me.

"Oh…oh, Jean…," he cupped a hand over his quivering lips and glanced back at the ring hopefully, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Jean flicked the sweetheart back onto his tongue, nervously rolling it around in his mouth. "S-so…yeah…there it is…it's out there…right there…on the dessert," he rambled pointlessly, his gut wrenching with every painful moment that passed. Desperate for something else to look at, Jean forced his gaze out the window, beginning to feel sick at his stomach. Had he done this too soon? Too cheesy? How was this going to turn out…?
Suddenly a pair of arms were around him and a face was buried in his shoulder—this did nothing to help the tangled mess of his insides.

"Do…do you really mean it, Jean…?" Marco mumbled into his shoulder, causing Jean to turn his head quickly and give his lover a disbelieving look.

All previous nervousness was abandoned. "Fuck. No, you got me. April Fools, Marco." He sighed and pressed a kiss on top of Marco's head. "Of course I mean it…I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Marco laughed and lifted his head, brushing his lips affectionately against Jean's cheek. His eyes were still glazed over with unshed tears and his expression held nothing but radiance and love. Though the answer was blatantly inscribed on Marco's face, Jean had to hear it for himself.

"So is that a yes or what? Don't get fuckin' shy on me now,"

"Yes, you dork. It's a yes,"

"There we go! That's what I wanted to hear," Relief washed over Jean and a cocky, victorious grin overtook his features. He leaned over and carefully picked the ring off the dessert, licking the tiny bit of icing that stained it—he simply couldn't resist—and polishing the silver on his jacket. "Let me see that beautiful hand, dear."

Marco offered of his left hand and blushed furiously as Jean slipped the gorgeous ring onto the appropriate finger—well, truthfully Jean had fumbled a bit and put it on his middle finger at first, but there was no need to fuss over that. In all honesty, Marco found his boyfriend's—no, fiancé's—nervous behavior adorable.

"Jean…I love you,"

"…yeah, yeah… I love you too, you sap,"