Work Text:
Today isn’t different to any other day. Not really. Sure, your work commitments kept you both busy but you always made an effort to be home, like this, as often as you could. It’s gone dark outside already and it’s only half 8, a testament to the fact that summer is drawing to a close again. But neither of you mind. No summer could ever top the first anyway.
You smile to yourself, continuing to chop the peppers for the dinner you’re making. It’s been over two years now since you and Bobby met on love island, of all places. Even though the villa is a distant memory now, you always catch yourself thinking of it in quiet moments like these. Bobby had gone upstairs to change into pyjama’s, he’d wanted to be the one to cook dinner but you’d insisted because he’d been in meetings all day while you’d been lounging around looking at winter log cabins to get away to.
“I’m being serious darling, let me do it,” He says, the soft Scottish lilt in the doorway alerting you to the fact he’s re-entered the room.
“Nope,” You reply, shaking your head, “You woke me up with fresh croissants so I feel the least I can do for you is a stir fry.”
“Stir fry?” He asks, “You’re not doing the jerk haggis special?”
You roll your eyes, “Nobody in the world is using that recipe.”
“I’ll have you know I get tweets quite often from people telling me they’ve made it.”
“Do they send pictures?”
He frowns, his lips threatening to purse into a pout, “Don’t ruin it for me,” He says, crossing the kitchen to embrace you from behind, keeping his hips from touching your back, “But seriously babe, go and sit down.”
“You’ve had a long day,” You say, raising an eyebrow.
“And so have you,” He smiles, his hands moving down to rest firmly on your waist, “Don’t make me move you.”
The boy was persistent, you’d give him that much. You sigh, kissing him on the cheek as you move out of the way so that he can take over the chopping.
“Don’t use the really spicy sauce,” You tell him as you take a seat at the dining table.
“The one that’s spicier than sriracha?”
You can’t help but smile at the quip, another call-back to the villa days when he’d gotten so flustered around you that the only compliment he’d been able to give you for the first three days you were coupled up was that you were spicier than sriracha. At first you’d thought he was doing it to wind you up but it was only a few months later, when you were rewatching the episodes, that he told you with a shy smile that it was all he could blurt out in his nerves.
Your phone pings then, a text from Chelsea. It’s a picture of her and her pug sprawled across the rug, her fingers splayed to make a peace sign.
Babes I’m already like so drunk and Henrik’s parents don’t get in until 10! It’s 5 o’clock somewhere though right?
***
Bobby puts the knife down, lest he chop one of his magnificent hand’s fingers off, peeking over his shoulder at you. There you are, sitting illuminated in the not-quite-bright-enough light of the kitchen – he's going to change the light fitting, he swears, just maybe on a day when one of your work trips coincides with a visit from Gary – smiling at your phone. He’d never really understood any of it before you.
Sure, he’d been in a relationship or two but none of them were like this. None of them were you. Once, after his last ex had cheated on him, Big Jonno had clapped him on the back and told him that everything happened for a reason.
He remembered sighing, gulping a little more of his pint, and wondering when on earth it’d be that he finally started to feel like all of this had a reason.
And then he met you. He’d been unsure at first, well, not unsure, because he’d been in awe of you from the moment you walked out those double doors. Just he was hesitant. He’d been hurt so badly before that his heart had sort of been stapled shut. And then you came along, spicier than sriracha, and melted away all of the defences he’d put up to protect himself. So many people had been so wrong about you and gotten you wrong. So many people had underestimated the pair of you, old ‘friends’ selling stories to tabloids about how it’d all last six months, news stories with ‘Y/N’s secret past exposed!’ as if anyone could tell him anything about you that he didn’t already know.
Except now somebody was. The shitty kitchen light of all things.
Before he even has a chance to think about what he’s doing he’s crossed the room to you, his heart thumping in his chest and his hand falling to cover the box in the pocket of his grey joggers.
You look up, stunned to see him so close to you, “I think if you’re going to sneak up on me you should try doing it out of my direct line of sight,” You laugh.
He can only smile, his mouth suddenly drying up as he opens it to try and speak.
“Are you okay?” You ask, a look of genuine concern flickering across your face as you move to rise out of your chair.
“No! Yes, yes I’m okay, just stay sat down okay?” He says, regaining his composure somewhat when you nod in response to his request, “Okay.”
You stare up at him, watching as his hazel eyes disappear into his blown pupils. The last time you saw him this nervous was when he told you he’d broken the bed by letting the villa boys try and catapult each other onto it. You reach for his hand, and he lets you, gratefully squeezing your fingers.
“Do you remember the conversation we had on the first day in the villa? Me, you, and the rest of the boys? When we were talking about what we think love is?” He asks.
You nod, “How could I ever forget the first time Noah ever spoke a full sentence?”
He chuckles, “That’s not the part I’m talking about. I mean the part where I said that I thought love was checking to see if someone laughed at your jokes. All funny and playful and that. And Rocco thought it was about poetry and Gary thought it was about toast and you said you thought it was all of those things.”
“I did.”
He smiles, “Well that’s the thing babe. I’d been in love before I met you but it was never...it was never like this. I’d never felt like this about somebody before, it’s never been so easy for me. And I couldn’t imagine it ever being again, with anybody else. Because back then I’d only known you a day and I thought love was that. But I was wrong.”
You raise an eyebrow, wanting to open your mouth to speak but deciding against it at the last moment.
“I was wrong,” He continues, clearing his throat, “Because love isn’t any of those things, not really. At least not to me anymore. To me, love is you. Love is holding your hair back when you and Chelsea have had too much prosecco. Love is wanting to make my own pastry so I can name it after you instead of me. Love is knowing that I can break the bed and you’ll just laugh and tell me I'm paying for a hotel tonight,” He smiles, “And well, all the stuff after that too,” He smirks.
You can feel yourself starting to well up a little, staring into the face of such a loving man, a man who struggled so much with being vulnerable for so long.
“The thing is, Y/N, I couldn’t imagine being without you. I couldn’t imagine ever loving anybody else, I couldn’t, because my idea of love is you. Sat here, right now, like this, in my t-shirt, hands stinking of onions,” He chuckles, and shakes his head when you open your mouth to object, “The thing is I wanted to do this somewhere nice, make a big thing of it, but there’s no moment that doesn’t feel right with you. Because whether it’s our kitchen or a log cabin, the only thing that matters to me is your answer,” He squeezes your hand gently before extracting his from yours, reaching down to his pocket and pulling out a box, “So, will you marry me?”
With a flick of his finger he pops open the box, exposing a ring that promptly gets knocked straight out of his hands.
“Yes!” You exclaim, throwing yourself into his arms and burying your face in the crook of his neck to hide the tears that are now flowing down your cheeks, “I can’t believe you...I mean...” You trail off, “I’m so lucky to have you Bobs.”
“I know, forever as well,” He chuckles, “No going back on that when you hear my ideas for the wedding cake.”
You wipe your eyes on the back of your hand, tilting his chin down so you can kiss him softly, “If we’re not both jumping out of cakes then I'm not interested.”
“If I hadn’t already asked you to marry me I would again for that gem of an idea alone.”