I can't believe I'm doing this. Francois thought to himself as he stared down at the little velvet box he held in the palm of his hand, running his thumb over the top of it as he resisted the urge to take another peek inside.
It was strange, really, how such a small, seeming unimpressive object could make or break a person's life.
Francois really didn't believe in all of that lovey-dovey romance bullshit, but even he knew he had fallen hard for the perky Brit known as Oliver.
Oliver. Francois had to struggle to keep a smile from his face at even the mere thought of his lover.
They were complete opposites, and yet they seemed to fit together perfectly, an interesting paradox.
Oliver was always sweet, and loving. He liked to spend his time in the kitchen, baking, or curled up on the couch next to Francois, slowly scooting closer as they watched a movie until he ended up half on the Frenchman's lap with his sleeping face buried in his chest. (No matter how many times Francois rolled his eyes and snorted at the behavior, he never really minded).
Francois couldn't understand how someone like that could love someone like him. Unlike Oliver, he disliked smiling, always had a cigarette hanging off his lip, and couldn't go more than a few sentences before adding a (usually unnecessary) curse word.
But it didn't matter why he had to Englishman's love, it only mattered that he did, and Francois was never giving Oliver up.
That's why I have to do this. He reminded himself, once again nervously fingering the item in his hand.
He quickly shoved it back into his pocket as he heard excited footsteps running down the stairs.
He's like a child. Francois mused with a small smirk as he turned to see his lover's smiling face.
"I'm ready to go now, love!" Oliver called in his cheery voice as he moved to the back of the couch to drape his arms around Francois' shoulders from behind, placing a kiss at the top of his head.
Francois quickly forced a frown on his face, brushing the other's arms away before standing and putting his cigarette out on the ashtray.
"You took your time," he mumbled, discreetly patting his pocket to make sure he had the box before linking his arm with his lover's.
Oliver blushed faintly and gave him a small pout, "Well I wanted to make sure I looked nice...You hardly ever take me out on dates after all." he huffed softly before quickly smiling again as he lead Francois out the door.
You always look nice. The Frenchman almost said before stopping himself, because he is not romantic and he doesn't give compliments, even though he knew Oliver deserved them.
Oliver gave a small sigh as he picked at his food with his fork, glancing over at Francois and blushing when he locked on to those deep purple eyes. He looked away quickly and gave another sigh. Dates for them were always a bit awkward, but it had never been this bad before. It was almost as though Francois was nervous, and Francois never got nervous.
It was like he was avoiding a topic, Oliver realized, and his eyes widened a bit.
What if he's breaking up with me? Oliver held back a whimper by biting his lip, turning his eyes to the floor.
Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Francois had been acting strangely for the past few days, after he had come home late one night.
He must be cheating on me. Oliver squeezed his eyes shut to keep back the tears threatening to pour out of his eyes. He refused to make a scene, Francois always got angry when Oliver did something that embarrassed him.
Oliver sat alone with his thoughts for a few minutes, only being shaken back to reality when he heard Francois clear his throat.
Here it comes. Oliver slowly turned his gaze up to his soon to be ex-lover, forcing a smile that didn't match his dread filled eyes.
Oliver was a bit confused when Francois stood up and moved to the side of the table.
"Oliver, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."
Oliver gave a small nod before squeezing his eyes shut, preparing for the words that would break his heart.
He didn't see Francois slowly kneel down on one knee and reach into his pocket, pulling out a box and opening it with a sigh.
But he did hear the Frenchman's words.
"Oliver, you know I don't do all that romance crap but I've realised something. I really...love, you so...will you marry me?" It wasn't really what Francois had planned on saying, and he mentally punched himself before turning his eyes to watch Oliver closely.
What?
Oliver's eyes shot open and he looked down at Francois, his eyes quickly brimming with more tears, but this time they were the happy kind.
He quickly shot up out of his seat and wrapped his arms around his startled Frenchman's neck, nodding as he cried into his shoulder.
"Yes! Yes, of course I will! Love! I love you!" he yelled between his sobs, his voice muffled by his financé's shirt.
Francois stared down at him in shock for a moment before wrapping his arms around his shoulders, standing up and pulling the other to his feet.
He let the tiniest of smiles come onto his face as he pushed Oliver away from his shoulder and grabbed his hand, sliding the ring onto his finger before slowly pulling the brit into a slow, loving kiss.
They embraced for a moment, oblivious to the cheers, and few disapproving glares from the other people in the crowd.
Francois pulled away first, and leaned his forehead down to rest against Oliver's.
"Tu es à moi, toujours."
And Oliver was shocked, to see an actual, happy smile.