your former ex-boyfriend, dick grayson, is nervous.
he’s planned the day out to the letter. some of your favorite things, a museum stroll and a picnic in the gorgeous spring weather. (he made sure you took your allergy pill this morning, too.) he got absolutely no sleep, up all night with nerves, trying to take deep breaths into your hair as he cradled you close. he knows where you two need to be and when, and he’s got a square shaped box in his pocket poking into the meat of his thigh every time he takes a step. a step further with you, a step forward into your future together. but he’s nervous.
nervous you’ll say no. nervous you don’t want him the way he wants you. nervous he’s still not in the clear. it’s only been a year or so since he’d broken up with you, trying to decide he knows what’s best for the both of you.
of all the times you’ve joked about your ‘bare ring finger.’
all the moments he’s caught you lingering in front of a jewelry store.
you do always tell him you want him forever and always.
he’ll mention something in the future, float the idea of kids, or more pets, and you’ll talk about wanting to buy a house with him, asking him his opinion of architecture styles when you go on walks together.
the topic of the future is heavily woven into almost every interaction you have, fitting into place as perfectly as your hands do when he grabs yours.
dick is being so weird. constantly checking his watch, hurriedly texting. eyes shifting around. you’d hugged him this morning, and felt his heart beating behind his ribs like a caged bird. he’s been a gentleman as always, curling your hair for you and asking you to twirl to show off your outfit. opening every door for you, walking on the side closer to the road as you walk down the sidewalk. but you know him. and something’s off.
you link your arm through his as you point out the brushstrokes in the rembrandt in front of you, and he nods in response, distracted.
“dick.” you say, exasperated.
“yes, angel?” he replies, obviously still a little distracted as you two continue down the gallery.
“what are you thinking about?” you ask, probing. he looks at you, the intensity in his blue eyes suddenly fully focused onto you. it’s a little jarring, one thing about dick you’ll probably never get used to. (and never want to.) having his full attention feels like being under a spotlight, like you’re the only other person in the world, and he wants nothing else but to hear what you have to say.
“i’m thinking about how gorgeous you look,” he says, the unexpected compliment sinking into your skin, warming you from the outside in.
“thank you, baby.” you say, a little flustered still.
he gives you his full and total attention the rest of the time you’re there, letting you look at every single exhibit until you’re satisfied.
he buys you a ridiculous keychain from the gift shop, a cutout of the panicked figure in edvard munch’s the scream.
it goes onto your keys immediately, dick’s satisfied smile even better than the keychain.
you head out of the museum, back to the car. dick opens your door, rounding to his side. he gets in, buckling his seatbelt after he’s sure you’ve already done yours. he kisses you on the cheek, starting the car.
“that’s for me to know and for you to find out.” he replies, and you laugh, rolling your eyes.
he drives further away from the city, deeper into the suburbs of gotham. the houses grow nicer and nicer as you drive up the hill, and you point some of them out to dick. he smiles, a knowing look on his face.
dick pulls into a park you’ve never seen before, and you get the oddest feeling in your stomach. almost a little apprehensive? you’re not sure why, you and dick have done a million dates like this before.
he parks, and opens your door for you, holding out a hand to help you out, even if you don’t need it.
you try to take the picnic basket from the trunk, but dick stops you, an incredulous look on his face. you smile in response, picking up the folded blanket instead. he easily slides the handle of the basket onto one arm, grabbing your free hand with his.
locking the car, he leads you to the hill crowning the park.
it’s a beautiful spring day, the sun shining but not too warm. birds sing out to each other from the trees, a light breeze rustling through the leaves, the lush grass covering the ground. one side of the park is covered in blooms upon blooms of flowers, intricately planted in order to be easily walked through. big, fluffy clouds float across the sky, every once in awhile in front of the sun.
you make it to the top of the hill, shaking the blanket out, setting it onto the grass. he sets the basket down, pulling out sandwiches and drinks from the cooler, a container of cut fruit, your favorite kind of chips. you go to sit down, take your shoes off, but he stops you.
bringing you over to the other side of the hill, he wraps an arm around your waist as you gape at the view. you’re overlooking the city, as far as the eye can see. the sun glints off of some of the high rises, and you pick the wayne enterprises building out easily. dick smiles at that, kissing your temple.
you turn from the view after that, focusing onto the one standing right next to you. his black hair gleams in the sun, his tanned skin making his blue eyes pop. he’s dressed so nicely, a good pair of jeans and a new button-up, his favorite pair of converse freshly scrubbed clean, a habit he has that’s so baffling to you.
you could’ve sworn you felt a raindrop or two, but nothing about the sky declares rain to come. you brush the idea off, turning back to look at the gotham skyline.
“angel,” dick says, and looking at him, you gasp.
he drops to one knee, and everything quiets except for the words he’s about to say. you can’t breathe, one hand is pressed to your chest, over your heart, the other one gripped tightly in dick’s. the ring in its ring box is positively breathtaking, but you only glance at it. he could propose with a ring pop, for all you care.
he opens his mouth to speak, and he’s cut off by a rushing sound. you both look up, confused. torrential rain sweeps across the park, across your picnic, thunder shaking the sky.
you’re soaked, your clothes and hair plastered to your skin. dick looks miserable, but you almost can’t help but laugh. poor dick, trying to get everything perfect. trying to do everything right, just for the one thing he couldn’t control, to be what ruins it.
dick’s only thankful for the rain because it’s hiding the tears threatening to fall.
“angel..” he starts again, his voice cracking. you shake your head. he doesn’t need to say anything, anything at all. you know what he has to say, and you agree with all of it, all of it and more.
his face sets into grim acceptance as he nods, but you just laugh again. he starts to close the ring box, but you stop him.
you slip the ring onto your wet finger, the stone glistening and sparkling, even under the dark skies. dick’s eyes light up, his mouth agape. before he can say a word, you tackle him into the grass.
“yes.” you say, peppering his face with kisses. some of the wetness on his face tastes salty, and you have no doubt in the world he was crying.
“yes, dick,” planting another on his forehead,
“yes,” the tip of his nose,
“a thousand times, YES!” on his lips, rolling him on top of you on the wet grass. he sighs into your mouth, relaxing into it, and you can feel the smile on his lips.
dick grabs champagne from the picnic basket, shaking it as he pops it. you squeal when he sprays you with it, grabbing it to do the same to him. you take a swig, giving it back to dick as he copies you. you kiss, tasting the alcohol, the cool rain on his lips. he picks you up, spinning you, and you’ve never felt so free, so happy.
later, you’re back in the car, the heater on full blast as you sit there soaked.
“mrs. grayson,” you say, sighing happily. dick blushes, his eyes popping. he watches you admire the ring on your finger, pulling you closer, into a kiss. you deepen it, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“did you mean to propose on the same day you broke up with me?”
love ya bae, you got one heck of a brain on you
