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It didn't matter that he and Arthur were being paid by Carolyn (a pittance split in two), or that Arthur still acted as an impromptu delivery boy on some off days, or that Arthur's illustrations paid well. None of that meant a thing to Martin Crieff, who still ran Icarus Removals from the back of his dad's van. He could become the wealthiest man in England, he'd still move strangers' things. It wasn't pride, or caution, or anything. It wasn't even familiarity.
He was going to move things until that van died for good. He had to. It was one of his father's biggest kindnesses, and he wouldn't squander it.
Plus, it was nice to own his own business. One day, he might even hire someone and expand it. He had possibilities.
While that was usually a lovely, good thing, it wasn't (at all) during cold days like this. The wind was like a blade as it cut through his coat, hat, and gloves. He was positive that his nose would drop off. And by the time he started heading home, late in the afternoon, it had been snowing a bit. Ice crystals melted and dripped from his hair and down his neck. He was chattering when he pulled into the drive.
Arthur was in the yard, working on a snowman. He stopped the instant he saw Martin, though, and tugged him inside.
"Oh, Skip, love, you're all shivery!" Arthur tutted as he divested Martin of his sodden outerwear. He then pushed Martin into the bedroom where he proceeded to pull out his fluffiest pyjamas (a Christmas gift, yet to be worn), thickest socks, and comfiest dressing gown. Martin was left to his own devices for a few moments, just long enough to change and ruffle his own hair with a towel. He had to admit, he was feeling much better by the time he wandered into the kitchen, where Arthur was busy doing things.
"Would you like big marshmallows or little marshmallows in your cocoa?" Arthur asked without turning around, never missing a beat. Martin smiled and moved to stand at his side.
"Little ones, please."
Arthur complied, dropping in a whole handful to create a marshmallowy top layer. Bit of cinnamon on top and it was a perfect Arthur-rated cup of hot chocolate. Martin kissed Arthur on the cheek and took his mug, wrapping his hands around it gratefully.
"I notice you're looking awfully shivery too, love," Martin said, nudging Arthur with his elbow. He was still decked out for his snowy adventure, with the exception of his boots, which he'd toed off immediately. "Go put on your pyjamas and everything. I'll make the fire."
With a grin, Arthur pressed a kiss to the end of Martin's nose and complied.
When Arthur emerged in similarly fluffy pyjamas (that Christmas gift had been from Arthur), socks, and a dressing gown, Martin smiled from his perch on the sofa and patted the cushion. Arthur pulled the quilt from the back before sitting and grabbed his mug of cocoa.
"Was it a good job, at least?" Arthur asked after a while, as they sat there watching the fire. It was very nearly hypnotic, and infinitely relaxing. The wall of warmth from the fire, the point of heat from the mug, and the quiet heat like hands from Arthur all worked together to lull Martin into peace. It was blissful, like that point just before falling asleep. Martin rested his head on Arthur and smiled.
"Yes, it was just a few musical instruments being donated. She tipped well, too."
He could feel Arthur grin, could feel it move against his hair. This moment was the very image of happiness. He could feel it stretching against his skin, filling him completely. He hadn't felt this since childhood, but from the second Arthur first kissed him so long ago, it was nearly constant. Arthur was Martin's happiness personified, his most perfect thing, his forever and a day.
"Arthur?" Martin asked softly a while later. His cocoa was nearly gone and the room was tinted blue where the fire's glow didn't touch.
"Mm?" Arthur hummed. It reverberated through Martin, from scalp to soles, and it was lovely.
"Will you marry me?"
There was a quiet moment, stretched out. At first, it felt as easy as asking if he could have some of Arthur's marshmallows. It was just the happiness pouring out like firelight, and he couldn't stop it. Now, he was beginning to wish that he could take the words back, eat them, swallow them, be rid of the moment. Oh, God, what if he said no? What if he broke up with him? He couldn't bear that, it would kill him, crush him, ruin him, devour him, oh, no, nononononono—
Arthur moved so that Martin had to accommodate him. There was distance. Arthur turned to face Martin head on, a smile like a sickle of light. He set the cocoa down on the table, put his hands on either side of Martin's face, and leaned in close. Foreheads touching. Breaths tangling. Light flooding.
"Yes."
And that was that. The most important question, four words. The most important answer, one word. It was bloody perfect, and that happiness like light stretched even more, filling him to bursting, and he grinned like a fool and had to take a moment to put his cocoa down before throwing his arms around Arthur, transferring the joy like electricity. They kissed like they were coming back to life, and it was perfect.