Lance’s alarm goes before dawn. He quickly silences it, but Robbie is awake, anyway.

Before Robbie can sit up, Lance presses him back down.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, leaving a warm kiss on Robbie’s mouth in the dark. “It’s too fucking early for anybody to be out of bed voluntarily.”

It’s always too fucking early when Lance leaves to catch a flight. A few times, Robbie has suggested that he drive to the city the night before he travels. Lance always insists he prefers the pre-dawn drives to spending an extra night apart.

Robbie settles back against his pillow, picking up his side of this familiar exchange where Lance tells him not to get out of bed, and he ultimately does it anyway. “It’s definitely too early,” he agrees.

Lance, still leaning over him with one hand braced on the mattress beside Robbie’s shoulder, lowers himself enough that their chests pressed together. “I don’t want to go,” he groans, burying his face in Robbie’s neck.

“I know.” Robbie runs a hand down his back. “I wish I could come with you.”

Lance’s chuckle is a silent vibration Robbie feels against his heart. He kisses Robbie again before he pushes himself up. “I know.”

On ordinary mornings, it’s Robbie getting out of bed and encouraging Lance to go back to sleep. Lance is easy to convince. But when Lance’s alarm wakes them, Robbie never stays in bed. Instead, he goes downstairs, makes coffee, double-checks that Lance packed both of his cameras, then carries the luggage to the car.

Now, though, he doesn’t move as Lance pads to the bathroom and the door closes behind him.

Robbie’s heart is making a racket. He’s nervous. Which is silly, really.

The question he’s about to ask isn’t the problem. He knows the answer. What’s making him anxious is the desire to make this moment one that resonates with Lance, that lingers in his memory, that might make him smile for the rest of their lives whenever he thinks of it.

In a life full of responsibilities that he’s been honored to shoulder, Lance’s happiness is the one that Robbie takes most seriously of all. He wants to make Lance happy, now and always. 

So, his heart pounds as Lance turns on the bathroom light, visible at the bottom of the closed door as a tiny strip of gold. His breath hitches when the door opens again a few long seconds later.

The sudden wash of light makes Robbie blink a few times. When his eyes adjust, Lance is in clear focus, his gold-streaked brown curls rumpled and his face incredulous as he holds up a ring.

“Is this an engagement ring?” Lance demands, grinning as he stalks back to the bed. He’s gloriously naked and glazed with gold by the bathroom light he left on behind him.

Robbie very deliberately left the ring in the clay bowl on the bathroom counter. He pushes himself up on his elbows and smiles tentatively, studying Lance’s face, anxious for his reaction. “Yes. Do you like it?”

Lance laughs and leans forward to cup Robbie’s jaw and kiss him again. “Of course I like it. I love it.” He slings his leg over Robbie’s body so he straddles Robbie’s thighs, facing him. Robbie sits up, and they both peer at the ring held between Lance’s thumb and forefinger.

Robbie has already memorized the way the ring looks. A result of how he obsessed over the choice—fortunately, with help from Lance’s best friend. The ring is unusual, with a white-gold filigree band, striking in its delicate beauty but too geometric to feel feminine, and studded here and there with tiny diamonds.

When he saw it, he thought of Lance. Apparently his instincts were right, because Lance’s smile is unreserved, his eyes bright even in the dimness as he studies the band and brushes a fingertip over one of the diamonds.

Robbie takes the ring from Lance with one hand and takes Lance’s left hand with the other. Their eyes meet. Maybe Robbie should have planned this part of the proposal as carefully as he chose the ring. There are words he should say, aren’t there?

But in this moment, he realizes words aren’t necessary. While he gazes at Lance, Lance’s wide smile grows even wider until he seems to glow. Lance dips his chin in a single, certain nod.

Never more sure of anything in his life, Robbie slides the ring he chose onto Lance’s finger then kisses his hand, Lance’s skin and the cool edge of the band beneath his lips.

“You left it in the bowl,” Lance says softly, almost whispering.

Robbie smiles.

Sometimes, Robbie goes with Lance on his ventures away from the ranch. But usually, Lance goes alone. Alone, but for whatever little objects make their way into his pockets. The bowl has become Robbie’s way of giving Lance the little tokens that he likes to collect.

It started with the cufflinks. They were a gift from Lance, along with a bespoke suit for special occasions—dinners with buyers and gallery openings. Robbie knew the gift deserved a place of honor in their home, but until he figured out where that was, he decided to put them in the blue bowl on the bathroom counter.

The bowl was one of Danny’s elementary art class projects, a clumsy little piece formed from coiled clay, with “for Robbie” and a heart carved into the bottom. Robbie considered it a prized possession even before the house fire a few years before, but it meant even more to him afterward, as one of the few things that survived the disaster.

The next time Lance had gone away for the weekend, the cufflinks went missing from the bowl.

For a moment, Robbie panicked, wondering how he’d misplaced them. But he quickly formed a suspicion of where they might be, a suspicion proven correct when Lance returned a few days later and the cufflinks reappeared.

He’d long known that Lance had the urge to take things he hadn’t asked for. The cufflinks incident was a reminder. So, Robbie began purposefully leaving things for Lance in the bowl. A few strands of Poco’s mane, braided together. The brass button from his favorite old duster coat that he kept meaning to sew back on but could do without. A bad carving of a cow that looked more like a dog.

Lance accepted Robbie’s offerings without saying a word, the same way Robbie imagined divine beings accepted their tithes.

Now, Robbie slips his arms around Lance’s back and holds him closer, releasing a shaky sigh.

Lance chuckles again and smooths Robbie’s hair. “Aw, baby, come on. Did you think I’d say no?”

“No, I didn’t,” Robbie says, his throat tight. “I just love you so much.”

All the laughter is gone from Lance’s voice when he responds. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Robbie lets out another deep breath and relaxes fully into Lance’s arms. Because Lance does know. Robbie is sure he does, not because of his simple declaration, but because Robbie can feel it in their embrace.

When it comes to Lance, Robbie’s body and soul have always outpaced his head. Maybe that’s why it’s easier for Robbie to show Lance what he means to Robbie than to find the words to explain it.

So, holding Lance by the waist to roll him over, Robbie goes about showing him.

When the sun rises, they’re tangled together, still breathing hard but the sweat on their skin cool. Lance laces their left hands together and holds them up so that the glow of sunrise through the window over the bed sparks off both of their rings.

Robbie had worried that he should have given Lance a ring sooner. It’s been several months since Lance gave one to Robbie. But lying here now, the timing feels perfect.

So perfect, he can’t help another question. “Let’s get married.”

Lance turns his head, one eyebrow raised, bemused. “Obviously. You said yes, I said yes. We sealed it with amazing sex. I think the matter is settled.”

Robbie fights a smile and tries again. “I mean, let’s choose a date.”

Lance’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Yes.” Robbie squeezes his hand. “And let’s make it soon.”

Lance bites his lip around a broad smile. “I’d love that. Maybe—I don’t know, at the beginning of winter? I know that’s really soon, but…” His lashes sweep down as he trails off, a rare moments where Robbie’s bold, beautiful man is shy. “I’d like to marry you in the snow.”

Robbie’s breath catches, and Lance murmurs, “Baby,” and kisses the corner of his eye where a single tear has formed. Then Robbie jerks upright, and Lance rolls out of the way with a soft exclamation. “What—?”

“Your flight,” Robbie explains, reaching for his phone on the nightstand to check the time.

“Oh, yeah, I missed it. They’re probably boarding…” He trails off to squint at the phone screen as Robbie wakes it up, then finishes, “Right about now, actually.”

Robbie forgets his apologies when Lance flops back onto the bed, a nymph made of early morning sunshine and good dreams. Lance grins and winks. “I can’t leave, anyway—I’ve got a wedding to plan.”