It’s not totally it but I tried Nonny! I tried! I’m sorry!!
Tonight’s going to be the night, Connor thinks as he pulls into the parking garage. Those other times he tried to propose and it didn’t work out were just…trial runs. Practice sessions, if you will, for tonight’s success. Tonight he is going to finally ask Oliver to marry him if it kills them. Which, considering the outcome of those other dry runs, is not necessarily that unlikely of an outcome. But, Connor rationalizes as he heads up to their apartment, the failures of the past are behind him and tonight is definitely going to be the night.
The apartment is quiet when he walks in. Which is a little odd, Oliver normally has the TV or music on for background noise. “Oliver?” he calls out, setting his keys and briefcase down. He peeks into the bathroom to check if Oliver’s in the shower and it’s empty. “Ollie?” He walks over to their bedroom and his tone turns singsong, “Ollie? Where are you?” Connor stops in the doorway, taking in the drawn curtains, the tissues littering the nightstand, and Oliver burrowed under the quilt. No. No. No. “Oliver?” he asks gently, making his way over to sit next to Oliver on the bed and touch a hand to his forehead.
The gentle touch wakes him and Oliver opens his eyes with a groan. “Hi,” he grumbles out.
“Hi,” Connor replies, his tone still low and soothing.
“I’m sick.” Oliver turns a little to burrow closer.
“I can see that.” Connor smiles to himself. “What happened? I saw you this morning and you were fine.”
“Remember that throat tickle I’ve had all week?” Oliver asks and Connor gives a quick “Yeah” before Oliver continues. “It exploded around lunch.”
Connor hums in sympathy. “Do you need anything?” Oliver mumbles a no. “Maybe the shower will help you feel better.”
“Don’t wanna shower,” Oliver mumbles, drifting off as Connor cards a hand through his hair.
“Okay. You want to take a bath. I think we’ve got enough time.”
The tone in which Connor says that causes Oliver to lift his head. “What?”
“Before the reservation,” Connor says. “If you want to take a bath, I think you have enough time before we’ve got to leave.”
“You still want to go to dinner?” Oliver asks, propping himself up on an elbow.
“Well, we’ve had this dinner planned for weeks. I don’t know when we’ll get another reservation.” Even as he’s saying it, Connor knows it’s ridiculous. Oliver’s sick; they can’t go to dinner but they have to go to dinner. He cannot wait any longer to propose to Oliver. He just can’t. That’s not an option.