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"you're my favorite person"
your eyes fall on john's profile as you sit in the diner booth together. a sharp nose, pouting lips, hard, watching face. usually, you catch him thinking, rather than doing, but today, he's scarfing down the rest of your shared banana split.
it's a double-date; pete and karen are completely involved with themselves and giggling with downcast eyes. you sigh and turn to john. you wish the two of you were alone.
"johnny?"
he finishes the ice cream and leans back into the booth. "i saved you the cherry."
"you can have it," you mumble to him. he eyes you briefly before scooping the maraschino up with his spoon. "are you ready to go?"
"you ready?"
you give him a nod and play with the frayed sleeve hem of his jacket.
he clears his throat; pete and karen look up from their footsie game. "we're going to go home." your finger draws a line across the back of his hand. you stare at the mess of chocolate fudge in the ice cream dish.
john's voice is deeper than all of the other boys', just another thing you like about him with his broad shoulders and playful smile. he used to be knobby-kneed and mousy-blonde as a boy. you wonder what he would look like with his natural hair color.
"oh, sure," karen speaks up. "it was nice having lunch with you. we'll see you soon."
"mmm, yeah," pete says. "don't be late tommorow, ol' ox." he waves his hand at john as you rise from the booth, finally free from the hot leather.
"course."
you give them your best smile and step out with john, grabbing for his arm. you know he'd rather take a car back, but keith has the bentley and it's only a short walk.
he huffs and glances in your direction as you begin the trip home. you shake your head. "you know i like that about you. your few words."
"my few words?"
"you say so much to me when we're alone. with your stories, your touch, your eyes." you count the cracks in the sidewalk and lick your lips. "you've let me in."
silence from him. you raise your eyes: he's back to thinking, gaze on his feet and jaw clenched. you wait. the sky is overcast as always. the cars move by quickly and his touch on yours is a good, good heat.
"i think i want to marry you."
at first, you're sure you misheard him. then the clouds settle and he stops the two of you on the center of the sidewalk. your house is just around the corner. john takes both your palms in his and stares, droopy lids and long lashes.
"i want to marry you," he says again.
your mouth opens and your lungs catch. "i — yes," you say. "let's get married."
his demeanor changes with a toothy, crooked grin. "this instant?"
you fish in your pocket and pull out the plastic toy you won in the diner's claw machine.
he giggles, schoolboy again, and watches as you take the blue butterfly ring and barely push it past the first knuckle of his pinkie.
"fits like a glove," john tells you with his still, monotone gruffness. you're glad he's yours. in all senses and meanings. he leans to you and you allow him the intimacy of kissing you in public. he grabs you by the waist and wraps you up, takes your mouth.
"you're my favorite person," you say in the middle of a breath, lips soft, sensitive against his own.
he hums. such a good, gentle sound, you think. "you're my favorite."
( i'm thinking i'll do a marriage scene with roger and keith as well. but blah, i'd 500% go back in time just to marry john )
