Stripped to the waist clutching each other, water rumbling beside them, the familiar creaks of the ship every so often—it’s like he’s deep enough in his fortress to breathe again.

“Aerith would you—“ the words are out before he’s decided to say them, and when he catches himself, he’s not sure whether to avert or press on. He stalls by smoothing her hair behind her ear, heart tight at the tears on her face. All he could think about those endless days imprisoned was his anger and hurt at their beautiful life being torn apart before it really even started.

“If you were married, they wouldn’t be able to keep trying to ship you back to your parents.” His voice is tight, and now that he’s said it, he feels like he can’t breathe.

“And I’ve never been so sure of anything as I am about wanting to spend my life with you. I know you joined my crew to avoid your engagement but — would you consider it? Letting me be your husband?”

Maybe it’s selfish asking now, and gods know she deserved a better proposal, but his eyes are tracing her face like he could etch into his memory, hands lingering on her bare torso because he can’t stand to let her go.