Terrible Things

We'd barely been together a year when I mustered up the courage to ask him. By 'ask him', I don't mean something simple such as, "did you lock the door when you went to work this morning?", something that can be answered on the spot, without putting any great amount of thought into it. I mean the question. The big question. You know the one.

The winter had mellowed out nicely, the ice thawing out earlier than expected, and completely vanishing before spring had even had a chance to make a proper appearance. All the usual signs of the season's sudden change of character manifested themselves shortly. The offspring of the creatures that had mated in the autumn before were born, each tiny and fragile, and it was funny to think that someday there would be no difference between them and their elders. The fields were full of lambs, leaping and prancing and frolicking through their new surroundings, a portrait of perfect innocence.

The flowers, too, sprung up, as if overnight, and it soon became that you couldn't so much as take a quick stroll in the forest - or the park, whichever takes your fancy - without finding yourself overcome by the sweet smelling fragrance of the newly grown buds, and seeing nothing but a beautiful array of various different colours, bursting out from under a patch of green.

The weather hadn't entirely completed the transition from winter into summer yet, so although there were occasional bursts of sunshine - the kind that heats you from head to toe, almost as if you were sat in front of a furnace in the middle of July, rather than stood outside in an empty street at the beginning of March - they were rare, and more than often accompanied by a gust of wind, reversing the sun's warming effect. The rain fell often, battering the ground and leaving the damp to seep into everything.

This particular morning, the rain was pouring down again, hammering off the roof, and battering on door. If I wasn't used to it already, I'd have mistaken it for someone knocking on the front door, but as it was, I was used to it, so I payed it no attention, despite its constant efforts to pester me.

I was due to leave for work in an hour, but I wasn't planning on showing up at all. There were enough people to cover for me, for a few hours at least, if not the full day. I had a much more important matter to attend to, and it didn't involve leaving the house for any length of time. I'd already called into the office Sean worked in and informed them that he had a migraine, and not to expect him in later. It was quite clearly made up on the spot, but they were willing to let him stay at home. He was the perfect employee any other day, always turning up on time and never taking any sick days, so I daresay that may have been a factor in their decision.

It was seven a.m. when Sean stumbled down the stairs, cursing and muttering under his breath about how he was going to be late and 'where was his damn tie'. I tittered, standing in the kitchen with my back against the counter, the edge poking into me slightly, but not enough for me to move. He didn't know I was awake, nor had he any knowledge of my presence. I watched him as he continued to huff, bustling about in the bathroom, trying to fix his hair.

I wanted to be prepared for this, and I knew that I could only have one chance, and the first thing I did for my 'preparation' was pop a couple of slices of bread in the toaster and switch on the kettle. I'd always heard that breakfast was the most important meal of the day.

Sean traipsed into the kitchen not long after, still rubbing his eyes, and in his dazed state, he never noticed me standing there. I preferred it that way. I lifted one of the mugs from the counter, the steaming liquid inside burning my hand ever so slightly, but not enough to provoke much of a reaction, and handed it to Sean. He whirled round, startled, almost spilling the tea all round himself in the process.

"What are you doing up?" he yelped, the pitch of his voice automatically raising.

I smiled at him. "Wanted to surprise you."

He shook his head and returned the smile, still rather tired looking. He didn't say much, but a distraction arrived in the form of the fluffy head of Loki, our much loved and extremely mischievous little devil of a cat. After all, a cat's what makes a home, right? He mewled softly as Sean turned around and knelt down to pet him, ruffling his fur. It was exactly what I needed.

I fished around in my pocket quickly before producing a small black box, whose contents were quite obvious. I got down on one knee, staying true to tradition, and waited for him to stand up again. He turned to face me again, and I saw his eyes fill with tears as he clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Sean Smith... I don't know a whole lot about these sorts of things, so don't be expecting a whole speech, but I do know that I love you. Very much. So, what do you say? Will you do me the honour of making me the happiest man alive? - pardon the cheesiness."

His eyes were still glistening with the tears that hadn't yet fallen, and I took his shocked silence as an opportunity to finish it.

"Will you marry me?"

He just stood there, motionless, incapable of speech, but I felt my heart fill with joy when I saw him, just once, nod slowly. He, probably unknowingly, just made my life.