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 Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 6:36 am
The curtain closed on a standing ovation, cheering and applause that soon transitioned into the chattering and ‘thump-thump-thump’ of dozens upon dozens of pairs of feet traipsing down the ailes to make their way out of the auditorium and into the cold night.
Three days before Christmas and Paris should have been at home enjoying his temporary break from school—could have been, but wasn’t. Though he couldn’t even say for sure if he would have preferred it that way, given how great a part of his life the stage and the spotlight and the ballet had become. Exams might be over, classes might have dismissed for the last few weeks of the year, but practice never ceased. In ballet there was no rest, no breaks, no time to waste on idle things when there were skills to perfect, when there was always the possibility of someone else surpassing you, replacing you in time that might have been used for liesure otherwise.
Paris left the stage in high spirits, exchanging small talk and congratulations with the rest of the cast. Competitive as it was, demanding as it had always been, exhausting as the days and nights tended to be, there wasn’t any greater feeling than a successful performance, even one put on for charity. The applause might fade, the crowds might dwindle, the auditorium might empty, but Paris carried those feelings of elation and accomplishment with him days afterward. It propelled him forward, kept his hopes and dreams at the forefront of his mind, encouraged him to work harder, perform better, and never, ever give up.
Just like his father had wanted.
He wiped sweat from his brow once he was backstage, retrieved a bottle of water and swallowed a few large gulps to soothe his parched throat, mingling here and there but always keeping any eye out for a flash of color, a familiar figure, a warm smile.
It had been a year now. An entire year since this day last December—a tense car ride, a night in a cheap motel room, and all of it had been preceded by moments like this, and a particular flower handed to him with a particular note.
‘Here’s to creating something beautiful.’
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 7:00 am
A year might have passed, but not a day went by that he questioned his feelings again, or regretted the decision to give Paris a second chance. Love worked in mysterious ways, or so they said... and Chris figured he and Paris were living proof of that.
He knew it would be difficult getting backstage with everyone trying to get out at once, but he hadn’t wanted to miss the end of Paris’s performance. That was why he’d been there, and why he would always be there — to show his support, at the very least. He might not understand much of anything about ballet, but Paris’s beauty and grace shone through in the dance despite that. Chris knew that Paris was good at what he did, saw more than anyone else how hard he worked, and even in his lesser moments, when Paris might not get as far or climb as high as he wanted, Chris would still be there to support him.
“Paris,” he called over the crowd of ballet dancers as they went about their business, collecting their things or taking off their shoes, glad that he was taller than a lot of them, otherwise he might not have been able to get his boyfriend’s attention.
With him, he didn't have that particular flower with that particular note attached to it. Instead, a dozen blue roses waited in his hands, fingers clasped tightly around the collection of stems — an anchor when he needed it most. He felt strange and awkward and out of place amidst ballerinas and dancers. It was common knowledge that beyond a waltz or foxtrott, he had two left feet, and his only saving grace was that he had the balance to throw a fastball... but that was nothing like this.
“You were amazing,” he said once he had Paris’s attention, not yet shoving the roses into his hands. He was dressed a little nicer than his typical khakis and polo, but even with the slacks, light blue shirt and striped tie (which... what else would one wear to a ballet?), he felt like he was the odd one out — blue in a sea of festive red — but he hoped Paris wouldn’t mind.
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 7:13 am
Paris heard the familiar voice calling his name before he saw him, but it was more than enough to catch his attention, and he looked up and around to see Chris meandering his way through the crowd. Setting aside his water bottle, Paris weaved through to meet him as a bright smile split across his face.
He didn’t expect Chris to be at all of his performances. There would, of course, be occasions in which circumstances wouldn’t allow it. They both had busy schedules, so many responsibilities, more than normal college students—classes, work, volunteer opportunities, baseball, ballet, senshi and knight-hood—but he would be lying if he tried to pretend as if the nights when Chris could make it, when he passed a rose backstage for someone to hand off to him, or managed to get back there himself, weren’t better than the nights without him.
Everything was always better with Chris there.
They met half-way. Having yet to change out of his tights and outfit of shimmering silver-blue, Paris gracefully rose onto the toe-boxes of his pointe shoes to put himself in position for a kiss, leaving only enough distance between them to keep the roses from being crushed.
“This is new,” Paris commented when the kiss had broken, still somewhat out of breath but quickly coming down from the post-performance high now that Chris was there.
“A dozen?” he wondered. His eyes dropped from Chris’s face to the bouquet in Chris’s arms, his smile turning fond and nostalgic as he teased, “What’s the special occasion?” when he thought he already knew fairly well.
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 7:27 am
Chris leaned down to meet him for the kiss, doing his best to ignore the rest of the people around them. Some of the dancers giggled, though most of them chose to ignore them. Maybe some of them were even offended — doubtful? Either way, he didn’t really care. As long as they didn’t distract Paris and try to pull him away, they could do and think and act how they wanted. All he wanted right now, in this moment, was Paris’s undivided attention.
“It’s our one year,” he said with a small grin, half teasing in return as he looked his boyfriend over.
Paris was even more beautiful up close, more so than when he was under the stage lights that seemed to wash out the coloring in his face even with the stage make-up he wore. But up close Chris could see the shimmer of sweat along his brow and the pink of exertion in his cheeks beneath the blush he’d brushed on prior to the performance.
He seemed so full of joy, such thrill for the moment, so much love for the ballet. Chris knew he wouldn’t be able to catch him at a better moment, when his spirits were so high it seemed unimaginable that they could ever falter.
But of course they would — somehow, some way; this city would make sure of it. So while he had Paris here like this, with the light of life still in his eyes and excitement still in his voice, Chris would determinedly make the most of it.
“Okay, so I’m not sure if this would officially be one year,” he admitted, his grin turning sheepish. “But I figured this was a good enough point in our relationship to count.”
It had certainly been a turning point for him and how he thought and how he viewed Paris. There had been forgiveness a year ago, acceptance, and (though he didn’t know it then) the beginnings of love, incomparable to anything else in his life.
“I figure you guys usually get a dozen roses after performances, but... I’ve been cheap,” he joked, obviously referring to the single rose he would send, as opposed to more. He handed the roses over then, placing them carefully into Paris’s arms.
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 7:35 am
Equally as careful, Paris took the dyed roses as they were handed to him, momentarily bringing them up to his face to inhale deeply of their scent.
“One year, seven months, and twenty-three days,” Paris gently countered, glancing back up at Chris.
Even that wasn’t right. Not really. But it was a moment in his life he looked back on with so many different feelings—that night they’d first met, tentative as their attraction had been to one another then. Some days he looked back with wonder and thought, in such a cliche but honest way, how he could have been so lucky, when everything else in his life at that point had seemed the opposite. Other days he looked back with a nagging sense of fear, a sickening regret when he realized how easily things could have been different, when he’d almost let Chris walk right out of his life before he'd even really had the chance to be a part of it.
He might never have run into Chris again. That night, that party, that brief encounter, could have been the first and last time they’d ever seen one another. Or, at the very least, it would have taken them much longer to get to know one another, to learn so much about each other, and to develop such a meaningful relationship. Certainly they would have met eventually, wouldn’t they, given their alternate lives?
But how different would things have been? Would they even mean as much to one another now?
“Or one year, five months, and twenty-nine days,” he amended, feeling somewhat foolish as he did so. “We were at camp, remember? By the lake?”
If he’d known then what he knew now, he wondered how he would have answered, whether he would have run away from it all, knowing what would occur, or if the fear would have been as inconsequential as it sometimes seemed to him now.
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 7:44 am
”Oh,” Chris said after a small hesitation, staring at Paris and straightening up to his full height of six feet and three inches, only to shift awkwardly on his feet and rub his palms nervously against the side of his legs. With nothing else to keep himself from fidgeting, he did his best to keep his hands at his sides and eventually shoved them into his pants pockets... only to quickly withdraw them as though something in his pocket had burned them.
“Wow, that’s... oddly specific... ********.”
How the hell was he supposed to remember all these dates?? Paris was lucky enough that he’d remembered this date... although it helped that he’d looked at the date multiple times last year when he’d made the reservations at that crappy motel.
What the hell had he been thinking??
Had he really been that afraid back then? Back when he’d given into his attraction towards Paris despite the fact that Paris was, well... not exactly what Chris had been used to before that? Obviously there was more to what made people who they were than their sex, but... would he have really taken the time to accept that had there not been something that sparked his interest in Paris? What if Paris hadn’t persisted in trying to talk to him, trying to get him to see reason after their falling out. Yes, he’d been angry that he’d been lied to, but that was where it ended... and it was the fact that he hadn’t been upset or confused or discomforted by anything else that pushed him to try again.
Or try for the first time, really.
“Well... maybe we should pick one...?” he asked, a little cautious. He didn’t want to say or do anything to immediately make Paris freak out, but he wanted to give Paris the confidence that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere for a long, long time — if ever. “Or should we celebrate all three every year they come around...?”
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 7:51 am
“Three anniversaries in a year would probably be a bit much,” Paris conceded, his smile turning a little sheepish as well.
He likely seemed rather obsessive again, knowing these dates by heart, memorizing the times in between so completely that he could recite them with ease on demand on any given day. He couldn’t always help it, not when he often needed to remind himself of how fortunate he was that things had turned out like this, when it all could have just as easily slipped away—and almost had so many times. That April, or last summer, or this summer, all those occasions when nothing had seemed like a sure thing and everything had seemed so ambiguous.
He was more confident about it now, probably more confident than he’d ever been during the entire year, seven months, and twenty-three days of their knowing one another. Things were different this time, and not simply because there was that added layer of “I love you.” Everything about their relationship felt more solid, fit to last, when before it had been dependent on so many different circumstances turning out the right way.
They were in control now—or as in control as they could possibly be of something as dubious as love often was.
“I should change,” he said, though he made no move to head off to the dressing rooms.
Holding his bouquet close to his chest, Paris effected another teasing smile as he looked down at his roses and asked, “Is there no note this time?”
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 11:08 am
Chris just shook his head in disbelief, admiring as ever of Paris’s dedication. But then that was who Paris was. Chris couldn’t help the smile that crept back onto his face. It was quirks like that that made Paris, well... Paris, and Chris wanted him no other way.
“Don’t change,” he teased softly and lamely, “I like you the way you are.”
He was stalling and he knew it. His heart was pounding away in his chest, thudding loudly in his ears, and his palms were sweaty, prompting him to rub them on his pants again. He wanted to make sure Paris wouldn’t miss this... he was standing right in front of him, after all. Chris wondered if he should take one of Paris’s hands into his own, but Paris was already holding so tightly to the flowers. He looked so lovely and sweet, and Chris didn’t want to break that image, wanted to remember how Paris looked right now for the rest of his life, no matter how he answered, or how things turned out from this moment on.
Would he stay? Would he run? Chris could only hope that he hadn’t misjudged, that Paris was ready — as ready as he was.
But then Paris had always been one step ahead of him in that regard, hadn’t he?
“No,” Chris confirmed, giving Paris a small, sincere smile as his lovely face gazed up at him. “No note...” he said softly.
It was then that he slowly lowered himself to the ground on his right knee, keeping gold forever locked with blue-green.
He didn’t know where to put his hands, so he placed them over his knee and did his best not to clutch nervously at the fabric of his pants. Should it be this difficult, this daunting? Should he be this nervous? In the back of his mind was the fear that he was doing it all wrong, but he was down there now, and he didn’t think he’d be able to fake an untied shoelace a second time.
Chris drew a great breath to steady himself, and finally, after so much second-guessing, so many chances gone unrealized, he finally just went for it and did what Paris probably would have done and took the direct approach — like he knew he should have done all along.
“I meant it when I said I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you,” he said, expression soft and smile warm, feeling a strange surge of confidence now that he’d actually begun. “You mean more to me than anyone I’ve ever known. Before, I never thought I could love someone the way I love you. I didn't even know it was possible. I probably didn't really know what love was before you came along. And I know that all that’s easy to say, and some other guy’s probably said it to some other person, and maybe they even said it better, but I mean every word. I can’t imagine... I don’t want to imagine... my life without you in it. It wouldn’t be much of a life anymore.”
Had he even really known what it meant to be alive until now?
“You’re my ‘something beautiful,’” he said, “and I don’t ever want to lose you. We could do so much, see so much, be so much. We can take this, what we have, and turn it into something even better. If there is any better, I know it's with you. You mean everything to me. You... You could be my silver spring~...”
Those last six words he said with the lilt of a song in his voice, harking back to the one year, seven months, and twenty-three days Paris had kept track of so lovingly.
Then he paused and swallowed thickly, but when he spoke again his voice was strong and clear and true.
“Will you marry me, Paris?”
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 11:20 am
“Oh my God, what are you doing?!” Paris squealed, half panicked, half... something else.
He knew what was happening the moment Chris’s knee hit the ground, when there wasn’t any loose shoelace to blame for the descent. Paris felt his heart lurch and his stomach flip over on itself, tangling up and making him feel a bit queasy. He stood very still, unable to tear his eyes away. His throat was dry, his mind was reeling, because Chris was on one knee and it had to be one of the most ridiculous things he’d ever seen in his entire life. Not because Chris looked ridiculous. He didn’t, he looked as sweet and handsome and as kind as ever, so earnestly loving it could have broken Paris’s heart.
It was ridiculous because it was so surreal, so unreal. It couldn’t be true. Part of Paris’s brain—the part that understood romantic gestures and traditional relationships—kept telling him it was, that he wasn’t imagining this. But the very idea of it... he couldn’t believe it, almost didn’t want to believe it, because if he was wrong and this was just a joke or if he was seeing and hearing things and making things up in his head, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to live with the embarrassment or... or the disappointment.
There wasn’t any indication that this was anything more or less than what it seemed, and yet...
And yet, things like this weren’t supposed to happen to him.
On instinct, his hands lifted up to clutch at his face, but he was still holding his flowers. Instead, Paris held the bouquet so they covered his mouth and nose, and left only his eyes peeking out over top. He could barely breathe. The breaths he could take were shallow with disbelief, with fear and excitement and the sudden urge to shout and cry and... maybe faint. He was afraid to breathe any differently, afraid to do anything differently—afraid to move, afraid to speak, afraid to even think—as if one false move or unintended word would disturb this strange reality he’d fallen into, and he’d wake up and find Chris still standing there with the bouquet in his hands, congratulating him on his performance and planning an evening out to celebrate.
The fact that he didn’t want it to be a ruse or some figment of his imagination surprised Paris, because he shouldn’t want this as much as he did.
And he didn’t know what to say.
Paris swallowed and, despite himself, managed to croak out another, “What are you doing?”
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 11:30 am
Although he’d admit that a “what are you doing?” wasn’t exactly the answer he was looking for, Chris had already anticipated a certain level of difficulty in coaxing a real answer out of Paris. It just wasn’t something his boyfriend had probably really thought about — marriage and all that. Not when his family had broken apart when he was still young and hadn’t really known that kind of stability in his life...
But that didn’t mean they couldn’t make this work, that they’d have it just as hard. Paris was much too precious to him, and he wanted to protect that forever.
“I’m asking you to marry me, Paris,” he said softly, his smile quirking a little at the corner in a sheepish kind of way. He could hear a few of the other dancers around them mumbling to one another, and he thought he might have seen the flash of a camera out of the corner of his eye, but none of it held his attention the way Paris did. “I... I know I’m not the best at this sort of thing, and it’s all kind of lame and cliche, but... I meant everything I said. I don’t want to know what it’s like to live without you.”
Paris looked so sweet. It took all of Chris’s willpower to keep from standing and scooping him up into his arms and letting him take however long he needed to answer, or to not answer at all if that was what he decided. Chris thought he’d managed to prepare himself for any outcome, and while he felt the mood and atmosphere was right for a positive reply, he’d also taken into account that he could have easily misjudged. Paris could always say “no,” could be vague and unsure. However it ended, Chris felt that he’d be okay.
He was, of course, hoping for a “yes,” but if this really wasn’t what Paris wanted, well... it wouldn’t be the end of the world, and he hoped Paris knew he was okay with that. They could still be together either way.
“I know you haven’t really thought about this all that much,” he admitted, still somehow sounding confident despite the fact that there were suddenly many eyes on them. He continued to ignore the others and focused only on Paris, eyes still locked on his. “I know you never wanted to believe that this was what you wanted, but I think... I hope... if you look deeply enough... you’ll find out you have more faith in yourself, and in me, and in this, and in what we could be, than you might have thought you did.”
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 11:44 am
Paris could think of plenty of reasons why he should say “no.”
His parents, of course, were the first thing to come to mind. He’d seen too many of their arguments, witnessed too much of their heartache, to think that marriage was such a good thing for everyone. They’d tried, perhaps not as hard as they could have, but they’d tried all the same, and their relationship hadn’t lasted. Very clearly, he could see his mother walking out the door, and his father wasting away from the loss until he was nothing left but a cold, pale body, then ash in a grave.
He didn’t want to end up like that. He didn’t want Chris to end up like that. He didn’t want to be miserable. He didn’t want to be trapped. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life wishing for an escape. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life thinking he was doing everything wrong, and he didn’t want Chris to suffer for it. He didn’t want to hurt Chris the way his mother had hurt his father.
There was no way he was ready. There was no way either of them were ready. His mother had been too young. He was young. He was eighteen. Chris was barely twenty. They were both in college. They both had responsibilities. They both had dreams. They were both involved in something so much bigger…
Something dangerous…
Something that could very easily see them both dead before they even knew it was happening.
And then, as quickly as Paris’s thoughts began, they started to turn in the opposite direction.
He wasn’t his mother. He thought he was more mature than she had been at this age. He had been through so much more. He understood things better. He might be selfish and needy, and maybe he wanted too many things—maybe he always would—but for one year, seven months, and twenty-three days, for nearly as long as they’d known one another, all of those things required Chris to be there with him. Without him, everything would be meaningless. All of his dreams involved Chris, and he couldn’t imagine—now or years down the road—anyone else ever taking his place.
There was no one else. There never had been and there never would be.
Maybe they were young, but since when was youth such a bad thing? Why should it mean that their decisions couldn’t be trusted? They hadn’t rushed into anything. They’d spent their time getting to know one another, learning to rely on one another, supporting each other, working together for a common goal, and he thought they’d done so well despite the lies and the breaks and the doubts from before. They’d faired better, even, than he would have expected.
Maybe they were involved in something dangerous, but wasn’t that all the more reason to enjoy their time together while they could? Who was to say the day wouldn’t come when they didn’t have this anymore? When they no longer had each other?
And who was to say he wouldn’t want to be with Chris any less if they were still alive by the end of it?
Paris knew what he wanted. He knew what he needed. He knew what would make him happy. In all of his thoughts and visions of the future—houses and gardens and dancing and laughter and happiness—Chris had always been there with him.
It didn’t have to be easy. Somehow he didn't think it should be. What had been in the last two years?
But it could still be worth it, he thought, as long as they were together.
From behind his bouquet of blue roses, while his eyes glistened wetly, came a softly murmured, “Yes...”
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 11:54 am
Paris’s hesitation was starting to make him nervous, and Chris shifted just slightly as he continued to kneel in front of him. Whether or not he was ready for either response, waiting for whatever that may be was still close to torture. He didn’t yet know whether he should feel relieved or disappointed, and so the two feelings ended up mingling around together until one finally won out over the other.
He opened his mouth again, trying to think of something else that would calm Paris down or make Paris believe him, to make Paris realize that he could trust him, and hopefully encourage him to come to the right decision — whatever that may be for him. Since when had he ever gone back on his word? Alright, so maybe he wasn’t as careful about his own safety as he was when it came to the safety of others, and maybe he’d broken a couple of promises here and there in that regard, but that didn’t mean couldn’t be depended on, right?
Paris should know how sincere he was, that he wouldn’t do this unless he was absolutely, positively sure.
Right when he was about to start talking again, he thought he heard something and stopped. Chris stared up at Paris from his place on the ground, the look on his face as though he wasn’t sure whether he should allow himself to be happy or not.
“Did you just...?” he nearly sputtered, staring at Paris as though he wasn’t sure if he heard him right of if he was just imagining things. He didn’t want to assume that he’d heard him only to find out that he was jumping to conclusions or someone else had jumped in to be a d**k instead of letting them resolve this on their own.
But he could have sworn...
“You said...you said ‘yes,’” Chris observed.
Suddenly it was his turn to look in disbelief.
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 12:04 pm
Oh God, he had.
Paris had no idea what he was supposed to say after that. What did people usually say after accepting a proposal? What did people even do? He’d never witnessed one before, or even bothered to pay much attention when people talked about it. None of this had ever interested him when he was younger, not even months ago. It was a situation for other people to worry about whenever it happened to them. He’d never wanted any part of it. He had bigger concerns—much bigger—and besides, this wasn’t the sort of thing he’d ever thought would happen to him.
Only that was something of a lie. He’d suspected, weeks ago, that Chris was planning something, that Chris meant to do this. Of course, when it hadn’t happened all those times he’d come to expect it, he’d let himself believe he was just jumping to conclusions, seeing signs that weren’t really there. Maybe Chris’s shoe really had been loose. Maybe he was more grabby and touchy-feely than usual because of that whole scare over his identity potentially being revealed. There could have been plenty of other explanations, reasons Paris might have never known.
The truth was, the idea of marriage had been in his head ever since the day they’d gotten his promise ring. Paris didn’t know how he was supposed to have walked out of that jewelry store without considering it, without wondering what it would be like, and whether he and Chris were ready, or if they’d never be ready and should leave things as they were instead. There’d probably even been a part of him, Paris could hesitantly admit, that might have wanted it, that might have known and seen then what he knew and saw now—that there wasn’t anything to be afraid of.
This was Chris. He loved Chris. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Chris.
What other reason did he need than that?
“Yes,” Paris said, a little louder and a little more confidently the second time, though he kept his flowers up by his face, still in shock.
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 12:15 pm
Chris heard it this time, and let out a burst of victorious laughter that might have sounded more like a cheer. He rose up then and pulled Paris into his arms, cinching them around Paris's waist and lifting him clear off of his feet. He leaned in to kiss him, gently pushing the bouquet aside in one swift movement. He held Paris tightly, never wanting to let him go.
If he’d actually been paying more attention to anyone other than Paris, Chris likely would have felt like he was overdoing it, like he was acting a bit exaggerated in his excitement when he rarely showed the emotion to such an extent. But he didn’t really care about anyone else at the moment, though he could sense them all around still, giggling and whispering and taking their pictures. Even now — especially now — all he could focus on was Paris.
His fiancé.
Paris had said ‘yes.’ He’d said ‘yes’ and it was such a huge relief. The weight rolled right off of Chris’s shoulders and left him feeling light and elated — happier than he’d ever known.
Just knowing that Paris wanted to be with him too, to be able to agree on committing to this next step in their relationship, to make it concrete like this... Chris still wasn’t even sure why he’d waited so long to do this, when the mere thought of being married filled him with so much joy. He felt silly and cheesy and not quite cool enough to pull all this off the way he thought he should have, but now that it was done and he’d got his answer nothing else really mattered.
Their small audience clapped and whistled and cheered, but Chris couldn’t hear them. The only thing that existed in his world in that moment was Paris, and all the dreams of the life they had together, lying right in front of them. They could build from that moment, keep moving forward; Chris would be fine without turning back. He was prepared for it — or as prepared as he was likely to ever be. Once he’d made up his mind, changing it was nearly impossible. Morality and love were unbending for him.
“I wasn’t sure when I should do this,” he admitted, finally breaking the kiss and lowering Paris back to his feet. “I almost did, that day we went to the museum. I thought ‘this is the perfect moment’. It made so much sense, but... I wanted to be sure you’d be ready. I kept thinking Mom was going to give it away, too... She kept making those damned comments about rings and how we should spend more time together over Thanksgiving,” he rambled, no longer pent up with nervousness, feeling as though too much had been bottled up over the months of planning on to finally be released in one long ramble. “Nana kept pushing me to do it, and everyone kept asking about it, and I knew I didn’t want to do it around my family because I didn’t want you to have to feel that pressure to answer, so I... I thought now would be better. I thought this would be what you’d want if you’d had a choice.”
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Posted: Sat Dec 22, 2012 12:25 pm
Half the time Paris didn’t even know what he wanted until he had it.
He locked his arms tight around Chris’s neck, hanging there as Chris lifted him, one hand still clutching tight to his bouquet behind Chris’s head. Paris kissed him back firmly, hardly aware of the people around them, his teachers and classmates who’d all stood by to witness it. He didn’t hear them, didn’t see them, didn’t notice the camera lights that kept flashing, which surely meant this scene would end up plastered all over Facebook or some other social media venue he hardly paid much attention to; he wouldn’t even be surprised if it somehow found its way into the school paper—which he paid attention to only slightly more.
He didn’t notice any of them until the kiss had ended and Chris set him back down onto his feet, and Paris felt tears in his eyes when he opened them again—when had they even closed? He couldn’t hide behind his bouquet this time, not now that his hands were shaking as the shock rushed out and his brain fully processed what had just occurred.
Chris had asked him to marry him and he’d said “yes.”
Oh God, they were going to get married.
Sweet Jesus ******** wasn’t his boyfriend anymore, but his fiancé.
And wasn’t that a funny thought?
Paris’s mouth curved into a smile. He had to swallow again before he was able to speak clearly, though his voice still shook with emotion. “I thought I was going crazy,” he admitted. “I kept thinking you were going to ask, but then you never did, and then I thought maybe I was just making things up and reading things wrong, and I...”
He paused, looked around, clutched his bouquet close and stood only inches away from Chris, wanting to lean in all the way but wishing they could be alone while the reality of it continued to sink in.
A backstage proposal might have been right up his alley, but now that it was done he wished the others would disperse and go away.
“Too many people,” he mumbled.
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