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Sunday, 12:14 PM

"Shit."

Ling's thumb raps against the black velvet of the tiny box, his eyes fixated on the ring inside of it. With a heavy sigh, he snaps it shut. "I have the worst luck."

Ed's mouth turns to a fine line, and he nods in solidarity. "It sure as hell looks like it."

They enter the stadium in tandem, showing their ticket stubs to a worker and getting pointed in the direction of their seats.

"It's impossible—every time I think I have it right," Ling continues as they shimmy pass screaming fans and crying children. "But something keeps going wrong."

"How long have you been trying?" Ed says as he takes a seat.

Ling grimaces, "A month."

"A month?" Ed repeats, his voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of the arena. "Dude, what the hell are you even waiting for?"

"I want it to be perfect," he shouts. "After everything she's done for me, been through with me—" a couple shuffles past, momentarily interrupting, "—its what she deserves."

Ed's face scrunches. "Just do it when you get home."

Ling's shoulders drop as he stares blankly. "Did you not hear a thing I said?"

"No, I did," Ed replies. "And what I hear is you're stalling. Just do it already."

"Just do it, huh? Hey, how are things going with Winry?" Ling quickly snaps.

Ed glares as the referee heads out to the middle of the ice rink. "Lanfan isn't gonna care how you do it—"

The face-off begins. The crowd cheers and screams, but Ling watches for the first few minutes in silence.

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Monday, 12:23 PM

Lanfan's thumb raps against the blue cap of the test, her eyes fixated on the two lines on the screen.

With a shaky breath, she brings her free hand to her mouth and chokes back a sob. "Shit."

She tosses the test in the trash and grabs her phone, trying to calm her breathing as it rings.

"Hello?" a voice answers.

"Garfiel?" she whispers, her voice raw.

There is a pause. "Lanfan, are you okay?"

She freezes. "Sorry, wrong number." And hangs up.

The phone drops to the floor as Lanfan's hands grip the sides of her head, her cheeks red and wet as she begins to weep on the bathroom floor.

"I have the worst luck."

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Monday, 12:45 PM

Ling sits in the driver's seat of his car, fiddling with the box in his suit pocket as he stares at his phone.

L'Orfeo is playing at the Knox Theatre soon. She's not a huge theatre fan, but Lanfan loves that opera. It never comes to Central. He could book good seats, at intermission, he can make his move.

He envisions how it will feel to slip the ring on her finger, and he smiles.

This is it. This is the right one. He picks his date and makes his choice.

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Monday, 12: 58 PM

Lanfan sits on the edge of her couch, fiddling with a mug of hot tea as she stares blankly at Garfiel's feet.

"Do you want me to take you?" they ask, their voice soft but solid and reassuring.

But is now the right time?

She thinks about it, picturing how the whole scenario could go. She could go to the clinic, talk out her options.

She takes a sip of her drink and makes her choice.

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Monday, 5:52 PM

Ling walks through the front door to see Lanfan curled up with a blanket on the couch. The skin of her cheeks are puffy and the bags under her eyes are heavy. Her gaze turns to him and she smiles.

"Hey."

In that moment, Ling swears she's never looked more beautiful.

He drops everything in his hands and walks over to her.

"Lanfan isn't gonna care HOW you do it—"

He bends down on one knee and pulls the ring from his pocket.

"—All that's gonna matter is that YOU'RE doing it."

"Marry me."

Lanfan stares at the ring in shock, and swallows.

"I'm pregnant," she says.

Ling's expression doesn't change. "Okay."

Tears start to build in her eyes.

"I don't want to keep it," she adds.

He offers her a small smile and reaches for her hand. "Okay."

Her cheeks grow wet as she grins, and she melts into him. He kisses the tear-stained skin and holds her, whispering "I love you"s and reassuring her that whatever she chooses, he will support her no matter what.

Whatever path she chooses, he chooses it too.

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Monday, 6:05 PM

The ring fits perfectly on her finger, just like he imagined it would.

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A/N: Sorry this is so short. Trying to get back into writing again. Who knew it was so hard, huh?