Friends: Surprise

Part 1

“I’m gonna ask her to marry me.”
The entire band pauses, and slowly, they turn to look at Chris where he stands by the studio couch, his eyes bright but a nervous look on his face.
“What?” Ricky manages..
“(Y/N). I’m….” Chris takes a deep breathe. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“Oh. Well, congrats, dude,” Balz says after a moment, breaking the silence as his entire band stares at Chris like he’s grown a third head.
This they hadn’t expected.
“You’ve only been dating her a year and a half,” Devin says cautiously after a moment, gazing at his friend. “And… you’re going to propose?”
“Look, I know it’s pretty fast,” Chris sighs, shaking his head. “But we’ve been friends for twenty years! If I didn’t think I could spend the next fifty with her, we wouldn’t be so close. And we’re already living together, so —.”
“Chris, you’re partially living together,” Ryan corrects, frowning. “Like, she stays most of the time at your place, but she still has her own, remember? She still goes back to it.”
“Well, yeah, but —.”
“Have you even told her you loved her?” Devin asks, crossing his arms dubiously. “Or is that just an accepted fact in your relationship?”
Chris rolls his eyes.
This again.
He’d told the band that you’d admitted to him how much you’d cared, how he had responded with just a “I know,” but had never said the words back to you; hell, he still hadn’t. But you didn’t say them either, so it wasn’t like he could just bring it up.
You’d told him once, and that had apparently been the end of it.
He was disappointed you’d found your own place and had decided not to move in with him, but he also understood; besides, he felt like this was the step in the right direction, making your relationship more concrete, more permanent.
Hell, he wants to marry you.
Surely that showed he cared?
“I haven’t said it yet, but I’m planning too,” Chris informs him, sighing. “I just… want to make it special. I haven’t bought a ring or anything yet —.”
“Have you thought this through?” Balz asks after a moment, lifting himself up onto one of the studio tables with a frown. “Like, I mean, really thought this through?”
“Of course —.”
“Chris, no, listen,” Balz sighs. “You say that, but have you? You’re not living together, not really, not if she has her own place to go back to when you have  a fight or something. You haven’t told her that you love her yet, and you haven’t even bought a ring — when did you get this idea in your head, anyway?”
“I’ve had the idea,” Chris scowls at him, a little defensive. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, now, actually. Since we decided to stay home for Christmas this year, and she actually stayed with me the entire time. I loved having her around. I mean, we’re not perfect together, but we’re not bad.”
“But do you love her?” Ryan asks, shaking his head. “Dude, can you ask yourself that and mean it?”
“Guys, come on, I —.”
“Chris, (Y/N) is a precious cinnamon roll,” Devin huffs, scowling. “She needs to be taken care of and treasured, her heart is delicate. If you’re serious about this, then we’ll support you, no question. But I wanna support her too, she’s one of my best friends.”
“You really need to stay off Tumblr, Devin,” Chris grumbles. “You —.”
“Did you listen to anything I just said!?”
“Yes, I heard you, Devin.” Chris sighs. “I understand what you’re saying. And I am serious, I want to marry her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, hopefully have some kids if she ever makes up her mind.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Ryan chuckles. “She hates kids worst then all of us combined.”
Chris is very aware of that.
When you’d seen your sisters baby, you’d look disgusted and called it a wrinkled prune.
You had yet to actually meet your niece, considering you hadn’t gone home for Christmas; your mother and stepfather were still living in the same house, which Chris, admittedly, now owns. You’d harped at him for months not to buy it, giving a long spill about the two of you buying a new home together, not worrying about the past or old memories.
But he’d still bought it.
And your parents could live there for as long as they want, he really doesn’t care; when they were ready to retire or move, then he’d decide what to do with the house, whether to just give it to you or pressure you into moving into with him so the two of you could raise your own family.
If you say yes when he proposes.
And don’t dump him.
Because you wouldn’t do that, right?
His face turns troubled.
You and your ex had broken up over that, but that had been because he was an asshole.
You love Chris.
So why wouldn’t you want to marry him?
But he’d also wondered why you hadn’t wanted to move in with him.
He still can’t figure that out, considering you’d been dating close to two years now.
Close.
Close enough, anyway.
He wants to make the proposal special too, somehow. He wants to make it a big ordeal that you’ll remember forever, hopefully in a good way, too. Maybe have some kind of get together at his apartment, invite all your mutual friends, give a long speech about how much he cares about you and then pop the question?
Or should he make it more private?
A dinner?
A date?
Propose in a restaurant?
Or at home?
Did you want the traditional, down on one knee thing?
Or did you not care?
Would you prefer he just casually ask the question, not make it a big deal?
What kind of wedding would you want?
Would you want it big?
Small?
Knowing you, small.
But he’d have to invite his family, and his band, and his producers and all of the bands he was friends with — it couldn’t be too small.
Or, well, the two of you could just elope and not have one at all, right?
Maybe a Vegas wedding.
Or just go to a courthouse and get it done.
It didn’t have to be special.
But he wants it to kind of be special.
He wants to have the wedding photos he can hang up on the walls, keep in his wallet — shit like that.
Hell, he wants your wedding ring to be big enough where every man within a fifty foot radius can tell you’re married and off the market.
He scratches the back of his head.
Was that too much?
“Do you think she’ll say yes?” he asks suddenly, his band turning back to look at him again. “Or do you think she’ll dump me like she did her ex?”
There’s a collective sigh.
“Chris, are you serious?”
“Uh… yes.”
Now he was worrying.
What if he asks you and it starts a fight?
What if it blows up in his face and you leave him?
What if —?
“She waited years for you to even notice her romantically, I think she’ll be pretty overjoyed that you want to spend the rest of your life with her,” Balz says, watching as Chris starts to pace nervously, Devin shaking his head as he sits down in one of the chairs.
“And she didn’t love her ex, that’s why she didn’t want to marry him,” Ryan reminds, sitting on the arm of the couch. “So, I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t say yes.”
“But what if she freaks out?” Chris mutters, his face furrowing as he really thinks about it. “What if she thinks it’s too early, and doesn’t want to, and —.”
“Then, dude, you wait,” Balz rolls his eyes. “You wait until she’s ready. One step at a time, man. You can’t pressure her into doing something, we all know how that turns out. It might take her a few years, but she’ll be ready eventually. You gotta remember, you’ve barely gotten out of the honeymoon phase of your relationship. It’s not been that long.”
“It’s been two years!”
“It’s not been two years, stop rounding up,” Devin huffs. “You gotta look at all angles for this.”
“This is getting too complicated,” Ricky glances between everyone. “Just ask her and get it over with. You two overthink shit way too much, that was your problem in the beginning and why it took you two so long to get together. Jeez.”
“When are you going to start looking for a ring?” Ryan asks curiously.
“Um, soon as possible. I’m gonna start hitting up all the jewelry stores.” Chris rubs his jaw thoughtfully. “See what I can find. I want one that… really… fuck, I want one that she’ll like, but I —.”
“Want one that fits her?” Devin chuckles, and Chris nods. “You want one that’ll fit her personality. Go big or go home, right?”
“Exactly. And big.”
“Why big?”
“So everyone knows she’s married.”
“Chris,” his band groans.
“I seriously doubt you have to worry about her cheating on you.” Ricky snorts.
“I’m not worried about that, I —.”
“Are worried about dudes hitting on her? A wedding ring the size of Italy isn’t going to help that, some dudes even hit specifically on married women. You’re not gonna win that, man. Might as well give up on that idea.”
“Well, I just —.”
“Why not get wedding rings tattooed?” Devin suggests, his chin propped in his hand. “I always thought that was cool.”
“Eh, (Y/N) doesn’t want any tattoos,” Chris shakes his head. “Not her thing.”
“You guys are so weird,” Ryan sighs. “She’s… so picky.”
“I think she’s actually pretty chill, considering our lifestyle,” Ricky responds, shrugging his shoulders. “Like, we’ve already gone on tour once and I never heard her bitch about it.”
“Because she didn’t,” Chris shrugs his shoulders. “She talked to me constantly, but she never complained that I was gone; she was pretty good about it.”
“Considering we went to Canada and back, it is impressive. Gotta give her props for being an awesome girlfriend.”
“And maybe wife,” Chris adds, a lilt of excitement to his tone. “(Y/N) Cerulli. It has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”
“Well, it’s certainly something,” Devin sighs.
He hopes his friend isn’t jumping the gun on this.
~~~~~
You hum as you lean down, lifting dinner out of the oven. You set it on the stove, nudging the oven door shut with your hip as you turn, effortlessly, grabbing the pan boiling on the stove and taking it off the burner at the same time.
Ah.
Dinner!
You glance at the front door as it opens, hearing Chris sigh as he steps inside.
“Hey,” you call, and after a moment he appears in the kitchen door, giving you a tired smile.
“Hey. You cook dinner?”
He doesn’t have to sound so surprised.
“Yeah,” you respond, the testing spoon in your mouth. “I thought I’d be nice.”
Chris chuckles, and he steps around his kitchen counters, his arms winding around your waist.
“Mhm, well, most of the time you are nice,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. “How was your day?”
“Good, I got a lot wrote up for my article,” you respond, turning in his arms so you can kiss his cheek. “So my night is free, for once. Obviously, dinner. I figured you were getting tired of take out.”
“Anything’s better then my cooking,” Chris responds, shrugging his shoulders. “And it smells great.”
“Well, it better. I had to listen to Mom yammer in my ear for an hour while I was making this,” you roll your eyes, turning off the oven. “I had to get the recipe from her, I couldn’t remember how to make it.”
“Ah, the sacrifices you make for love,” Chris teases lightly, and your lips twitch as you glance over at him, reaching into the cabinets to get some plates down.
“You’re hilarious. Grab some glasses?”
“Sure, what do you —?”
“Wine would be great.”
Chris rolls his eyes.
He never kept alcohol in his apartment, but since you were practically living there, somehow some wine bottles had crept in with you; they even had their own little corner beneath the cabinets. He sighs as he squats, tossing out their names before you pick one.
“How hungry are you?” you ask, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your hair in a tight braid down your shoulder.
“Starving.”
“Good, because I made enough to feed the entire band.”
You fill his plate quickly, and then slide it down the counter for him to grab. He chuckles, his hand brushing your back habitually as he goes for his plate and drink, both of you wandering over to the couch.
He has a dining table, you just ever use it, both of you preferring to sit in front of the TV while you eat.
You’re pretty sure that’s basically everyone, though.
“So, what did you do today?” you ask, curling your legs beneath you as you sit, your knees pressing into his thighs as you face him on the couch. You sit like this a lot, it had become a habit for you, and Chris was always bad to prop his feet on the coffee table (which your legs couldn’t reach comfortably), and you hate craning your neck and getting a crick if you sit beside him normally.
“We just did a lot of shit in the studio,” he yawns behind his hand. “Worked some on our new album. We’re still having some trouble with the vocals and the riffs matching up, but I can’t figure out why. Usually we’re pretty good about getting it all lined up, and….”
You look at him, trying to be interested, but he was starting to go over your head a little when he got into talking about the intricacies of studio life.
You sip your wine.
“Sounds like a busy day then.”
“Yeah. I’m glad yours was pretty easy. When’s your article due?”
“Um… tomorrow morning,” you flush a little.
“Wow, you were cutting it close.” Chris chuckles, his hand patting your knee through your sweats.
“I know, but I just wasn’t feeling it; I had to force myself to write what I had. It probably sucks, so if I lose my job because I can’t write for shit anymore, I hope you have intentions of keeping me up,” you sigh playfully, and Chris smiles slightly.
“You can stay in the kitchen, if you want. We can build you a cot, and —-.” He laughs as you swat at him.
“Don’t be a jerk!” you huff, threatening him with your fork. “Or someone can wash all the dishes tonight!”
“Perks of having a dishwasher.” he smirks, and you roll your eyes.
“You have to rinse them before you put them in!”
“God, okay, no, that’s the entire point of having one! So you don’t have to do any washing.” Chris rolls his eyes, a bad habit he’d picked up from being around you so much.
“If you don’t wash them off first, then there’s still food particles left on them.”
“No, there’s not. I buy that expensive cleaning liquid stuff, the one from the commercials? Yeah, it’s supposed —.”
“Yeah, supposed, but that doesn’t mean it does.”
Chris rolls his eyes at you, and reaches behind him into his back pocket as his phone starts to ring, blaring Morrissey into the air. He glances at his caller ID before answering, lifting the phone to his ear.
“What?”
“Well, I missed you too,” Ryans voice is annoyed in his ear. “I was thinking about what you were talking about earlier, and —-.”
“Er, hold on, Ry,” Chris says quickly, flushing as he glances at you. You raise your brows at him as he shuffles, getting to his feet and setting his plate on the coffee table. “Babe, I’ll be right back. Ryan wants to talk studio stuff.”
“Oh, um, okay… Your food will get cold.”
“I’ll only be a minute,” he calls over his shoulder, quickly hurrying towards his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.
“Alright, now I can talk.”
“Jeez,” Ryan sighs. “Well, okay. So, I was thinking about earlier, and how you were worried about how she would react. Why don’t you just start dropping some hints here and there, so how she comments.”
“What kind of hints?”
“Oh, you know…. hints. Like, hey, if we ever got married, what kind of wedding would you like?”
“That’s kind of obvious, Ryan.” Chris frowns. “Not very subtle.”
“Ugh, fine. But you get my drift. Just drop some here and there. See what she wants to do.”
“Huh.” Chris rubs his jaw. “I actually have a better idea.”
“What kind of idea?” Ryan sounds wary.
“You drop some hints. Like, take her shopping or something,” Chris says, nodding his head as he thought of more and more. “Run by a jewelry store, skip inside and say you want to look at some, see what she likes. What colors, what stones — talk about getting married, see when she’d like too, or if she’s ready to, or —.”
“Okay, Chris, I did not volunteer to sacrifice my soul,” Ryan huffs, his voice crackling a little bit. “I was just offering some advice and I didn’t want to text it since I know she answers your phone half the time for you.”
“But, Ryan, I need you to do this,” Chris pleads quickly. “I want to do this right, and I want this to be special to her. I want it to mean something. I don’t wanna fuck this up.”
Ryan groans. “You’re going to guilt me over this, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea. Ry, this would mean a lot to me, man.”
“Yeah, I know it would. Ugh, fine, I’ll text her and see if she wants to hang out or some shit. You owe me, though.”
“It’s not like you don’t like spending time with my girlfriend, Ryan, I know you do. Don’t act like it’s some personal slight against your soul. You hit on her all the time.”
“You’ve never been shopping with her, have you? That woman is brutal. When we went Black Friday shopping, I shit you not she manhandled like five women out of the way when she was getting your birthday present for you.”
Heh.
Chris grins slightly, a little proud.
“She knows how to hold her own when she’s going for something she wants, is all.”
“Jesus, you say that like it’s a good thing.”
It was, in Chris’s opinion.
He likes that you can take care of yourself, that you’re independent.
Well, maybe a little too independent.
“Shit, I better go,” Chris mutters. “She made dinner tonight and —.”
“She made dinner!?” Ryan gasps. “Why didn’t you say so!? I would’ve come over! Was it the parmigiana?”
“Uh, yeah —-.”
“Noooo,” Ryan whines unhappily. “Fuck, I wish I’d known that earlier!”
Chris chuckles. “I’ll talk to you later. Text her, alright?”
“Fine…”
~~~~~~
“So, how’s your mother?” Chris asks, slouching down on the couch tiredly; he’d hurried back, finished his dinner, argued with you over the dishwasher, and now the two of you were sprawled out on the couch, your legs in his lap as you lay on your back, playing on your tablet.
“Eh, you know. Same as always.” You respond, frowning. “All she wants to talk about is Sabrina’s baby. Did I tell you what they named her?”
“Yeah, I think —.”
“Why would you do that to your child? It’s like they want her to grow up an old woman.”
“It’s not that bad of a name —.”
“I would never name my child that,” you grumble thoughtlessly, popping the colored bubbles that blow up across your tablets screen. “I would at least give it a decent name.”
Chris grins slightly. “Oh really? Like what?”
“Well, I don’t know. But something a lot nicer then Wilhelmina. This isn’t the eighteen hundreds, or Dracula, for that matter.”
Chris chuckles.
You weren’t fond of horror flicks, but Balz had been insistent that you watch the old Dracula movies, the old werewolf movies, the old-every-kind-of-horror-movie-possible movies when he’d had to stay over for  a week when he and his girlfriend were working some things out.
You’d hardly gotten any work done.
And you still didn’t like horror movies.
Which is why you’d made him watch Australia with you three different times.
You know he likes that movie.
He just won’t admit it.
“So, we have a concert coming up,” Chris says after a moment, letting his head rest against the back of the couch, tilted in your direction as he gauges your reaction; he wasn’t wearing any makeup today except his brows, so he looks tired, in your opinion.
You knew how hard he was working on his new album, trying to get all the tracks to perfection, syncing everything up, doing last minute shows to try to get the band back into the spotlight a little more.
“It’s tomorrow, right? It’s going to be a long drive,” you sigh, gazing at him from your propped position, a couple pillows behind you as you let your tablet rest against your stomach. “Like six hours just to get there. That’s going to be so boring. Especially with the guys.”
Heh.
“Yeah, I know. But I’m used to it. I was thinking, though, that you could come.”
You wrinkle your nose.
A concert?
With fans?
Where they could see you?
You weren’t so sure about that.
Everyone had known for a long time that Chris had a new girlfriend, but it hadn’t been until after Christmas when Chris had posted a picture of the two of you on Instagram and Twitter that your relationship had become “official” in their eyes.
They’d seen enough posts with you in it that they knew who you were, but your transition from just a friend to girlfriend had, well, gotten the expected results. You had to turn your notifications off on Twitter because of it, and you hardly use the app as it is.
That post with Devin before you and Chris had started dating had caused a ridiculous amount of people to want to follow you, and once you’d started dating Chris….
Well, it was a good thing you weren’t much of a social media person anyway.
And were thick skinned.
You’d think fans would want the best for their bands significant others, not want them to fall down a flight of steps or get hit by a train.
You hadn’t been to one of his concerts in a while, though, and the way he was looking at you, with those big puppy dog eyes, you knew he was pretty earnest that you come.
Which made you suspicious.
He’d casually hinted a few times that he wants you to be at a show, but you’d always shrugged it off and hoped he would let it go.
Apparently not.
“Why do you want me to come to a show so badly?” you ask suspiciously, propping yourself up a little more.
“Because you’ve not been to one in years, don’t you want to support your boyfriend?”
“How does coming to a performance and hear you sing songs I’ve heard thousands of times going to be supporting?” Your voice is dry, and Chris’s face scrunches at the tone.
“Because it’ll make me feel better?”
“Chris…”
“Why do you not want to come to one of my shows? You never had a problem before,” he frowns, his feelings becoming hurt. “What’s the big deal?”
And here it comes.
Great.
You’d been hoping to avoid this conversation, because you knew exactly how he would respond to you, all buttery and shit.
Ugh.
You give a huffy sigh, and then turn, letting your tablet rest on the coffee table as you pull your legs from his lap, squirming around until you’re sitting up completely and facing him.
Chris frowns.
You had serious face.
“Look, Chris,” you try to choose your words carefully, not wanting this conversation to turn into a thing. “You know I’m supportive, I always have been. It’s just now… now we’re dating, and your fans know it, and they know what I look like, and it would really make my night shitty if some of them jump me in the parking lot.” you sigh.
Chris grimaces. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding the conversation altogether?”
“Maybe.”
“(Y/N), you know that’s not going to happen; I wouldn’t let you be in a parking lot by yourself at all. Plus, the other guys girlfriends come to shows a lot and they never have any trouble, there’s going to be security there. Lots of security, this place is… well, you’ve been there, it’s a little bigger then —.”
“Chris, it’s an amphitheater, ‘little’ is a bit of an understatement.”
Chris smirks slightly, shrugging his shoulders as he reaches for your hand.
“Well, we need a big place to hold all our fans. But you get my gist.”
Yeah, you get it.
You just don’t like it.
You don’t want to go.
And you stand out, you always had. You don’t dress in all black with spiked jewelry, nor do you have a lot of piercings or any tattoos whatsoever. Your hair isn’t dyed the color of a black hole, your eyes are normal colored, you just —- you really stand out when you’re in his kind of crowd.
You were pretty sure most of the fan comments you’d read had been them wondering why the two of you were together, considering his previous girlfriend types, all tatted and hair-colored and badass looking.
You were just… you.
Rather plain, really.
And with a very sour attitude, according to your younger sister.
Speaking of which.
You should probably bring that up.
“Uh, since we’re… talking… I need to tell you something.” you shift a little.
Chris raises his brows, his head still lying back against the soft couch upholstery.
“What?”
“Well, you know how Sydney enrolled in college again since she got herself cleaned up?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, she’s enrolled in a writing class, one of my acquaintances is teaching it, and he was telling me she was actually doing pretty well,” you didn’t add that you had broke down and were paying for the class again.
You’d sort of resolved your issues with your sisters, and you were giving Sydney a second chance; she was trying really hard, for that matter, and her bitchy-ness toward you had been cut in half, so you appreciated it, at least. So when your mother had mentioned she was taking a writing class, the same one you’d taken in college with the same professor, you’d been interested.
And when the professor had told you that she was actually good, you’d become even more interested.
Sydney was good at something.
That wasn’t ruining her liver.
You could almost be proud of her if she actually finishes the course.
If she did, and passed, she would be graduating pretty soon, and, if all things go well, you had intentions of being there to support her, despite you know the rest of your family and the screaming, dribbling niece would be there as well.
“Well, that’s pretty good, then.” Chris says after a moment, wondering where the conversation was going. “She’s doing good for herself, as long as she doesn’t start drinking again.”
“Yeah, I know. But… in order to finish the course, she’s going to need to intern for a few weeks with someone.”
“Okay.” Chris looks at you blankly..
Well, you knew he was tired, but now he was being a little dense.
“So, she’s gonna have to find a company or someone independent who will let her intern with them, so she can learn the ropes of what they do. In real life, not just what they say in college. So she’ll have to stay in the city, she won’t be able to drive back and forth between there and Mom’s house all the time.”
“Okay…” he was still just looking at you.
Jesus.
“Chris, she’s gonna intern with me,” you say bluntly, huffing. “And she’s gonna be staying at my place for a couple weeks while she does, since I work from home, mostly. Which means I’m gonna be home and not here for a while.”
“What?” he stares at you, sitting up a little straighter.
Oh, that got his attention.
No convenient sex was probably what he was worried about.
You sigh.
“Why does she have to stay with you?” he asks with a frown.
“Because it would be stupid of her to stay in a hotel or something or spend money when I have a spare bedroom. And I’m not going to stay here and let her be there, that would be ridiculous and we both know it.”
“Or, you could just move in with me already and drop that apartment completely.”
This again.
“Chris, I don’t want to move in with you.” you say for what has to be the millionth time in the last six months; he’d gotten overbearingly pushy about it lately.  “You know my reasons, already.”
“Yeah, I know them, but I’m not gonna dump your ass and kick you out on just a whim.” he scowls; you were going to throw a kink in his plan at this rate. “But you stay here all the time anyway, having a backup apartment seems ridiculous to me. Plus it’s in a bad side of town, and it’s falling apart.”
Well, it was cheap, what did he expect? And it was a place for all your things, which wouldn’t all fit in his apartment but you weren’t about to part with, and storage in the city was expensive.
“I was just telling you about it, Chris, not asking your opinion on it,” you mutter after a moment, rising to your feet. “You’ll actually have to cook your own dinners for a couple weeks.”
“(Y/N), that’s not —.”
“I’m gonna take a shower.”
Chris sighs, watching as you stride away from him, the bathroom door closing a little louder then necessary.
Well.
Fuck.
How was he going to get you to marry him when he couldn’t even get you to move in?